I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.

HAPPY 4th of JULY!!!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

I feel it....the muse is back

There he was, a few feets from her,
with only a few people separating him from her.
All he could do was stand from a distant,
watching...waiting.

Memories set adrift to a time not so long ago
A time of innocence
Where Love was pure
When it was you and him against the world

Oh sweet memory
Although the ravages of time
Will consume you
All he could do is just keep the memories alive
in his heart

There he was, a few feets from her,
feet rooted to the ground
as if an unknown force was holding him
The words could not escape from his mouth

Oh the dastard,
why did you cower beneath the pressure.
Alas, you are half the man you used to be,
for underneath that sharp exterior
you are but a lonely child.

Have you seen My Love?
Did she pass here?
If you've seen her
Could you tell her
That I miss her.