I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Behold the poet, violet and blue Melancholy and mad with love by turns To him, only what’s beautiful is true In him, the flame of awe too brightly burns
By D. J. Reddall3 months ago in Poets
Those who cannot take Criticism show that they Urgently need it
The state of the world Is brittle, precarious Tempting feline fate
By D. J. Reddall4 months ago in Poets
The dreams seemed innocent at first. They were always the same, and they happened when I had been really bored or frustrated during the day. They were "a consolation."
By D. J. Reddall4 months ago in Fiction
Please do not fear an unusual tree Some of us are rooted in the broad sky Light and air preparing our food for free While the natural order we defy
Eight hundred poems Stories, essays, falling leaves You caught their meaning
The wheat cannot hear my apologies Trembling with fear and dry confusion Jacob looks for his wise father and sees Divinely mad Abraham’s conclusion
What are the greatest hunters of our age doggedly pursuing? Safety Where do we feel safest, least in danger and most free?
The sleepers feel rage Their teeth are ground to powder Gnawing frustration
I wish I could read The orange correspondence Trees hoped stones would love
Be not ashamed that your light is borrowed You owe no debt to the smug, swollen sun Thoughtless and profligate, long has he glowed
My lantern grows heavier every year I vowed to search for honesty with it So many listen, yet so few can hear Three thousand years of vacuous bullshit!
