When You Write It Doesn't

The Spirit World Doesn't Admit To Communicating With Me, So It's Fairly Even.

Nothing In The Universe Can Travel At The Speed Of Light, They Say, Forgetful Of The Shadow's Speed.

When In Still Air And Still In Summertime A Leaf Has Had Enough Of This, It Seems To Make Up Its Mind To Go; Fine As A Sage Its Drifting In Detachment Down The Road.

I've Never Read A Political Poem That's Accomplished Anything. Poetry Makes Things Happen, But Rarely What The Poet Wants.

When I Was Starting To Write, The Great Influence Was T.s. Eliot And After That William Butler Yeats.