I Dwell With A Strangely

My Definition Of Poetry (if I Were Forced To Give One) Would Be This: Words That Have Become Deeds.

He Says The Best Way Out Is Always Through. / And I Can Agree To That, Or In So Far / As That I Can See No Way Out But Through

Life Is Tons Of Discipline. Your First Discipline Is Your Vocabulary; Then Your Grammar And Your Punctuation Then, In Your Exuberance And Bounding Energy You Say You're Going To Add To That. Then You Add Rhyme And Meter. And Your Delight Is In That Power.

Of Course There Is Matter For Remark In Poems. Nobody Denies That. But It Must Be Solemnly Laid On Everybody In This World To Make His Own Observations And Remarks. That's What We Mean By Thinking, And That's About All We Mean. A Teacher Says To A Pupil "watch Me Notice A Few Things In The Next Few Months: Let's See You Notice A Few Things Too."

But Strictly Held By None, Is Loosely Bound By Countless Silken Ties Of Love And Thought To Everything On Earth The Compass Round, And Only By One's Going Slightly Taut In The Capriciousness Of Summer Air Is Of The Slightest Bondage Made Aware.