A retired college teacher who has turned to poetry in his old age.
Piles of refuse, block after block, homes and their contents, pushed to the curb, still wet from the driving rain. • And on one of the piles a butterfly flaps
By William Alfred5 months ago in Poets
Don’t laugh when something isn’t funny. Make the laughers uncomfortable if you can. That is a small action that can stop hatred
There are wholes and heaps, says Aristotle. A pile of stones may look like a single thing, But it is not. It’s a heap with no real connection
Take off the armor of busy, sit in a chair with no work, and wait to see what happens. If you can stick it out, the busy will stop its chatter,
It is harsh, brutal in the winds of hardness to remain soft in serene gentleness. But that is what the world needs most. ___________________________________________________
We choose one and lay the blame on him, put him away, make him pay the price. And it may very well be just to do so. But keeping ourselves open just a little
I found it in a chest I didn’t know I had: the fear my parents gifted me along with love, the fear they too inherited from their parents.
If we don’t do it now, we might as well forget it. Tomorrow does not exist. And yet it exerts pressure: The things we don’t do Now
Authoritarianism is vast darkness. In the dark, laughter blazes brightly, lighting a zone of freedom in the gloom. Authoritarians know this. It frightens them,
If a poem could be silent, it might be more powerful. ____________________________________________________ In a noisy world, silence still speaks. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is nothing at all.
Don’t take the nasty remarks to heart. Don’t even hear them. They are ignorant. ____________________________________________________
If the clock weighs heavily upon you, you cannot lift the pressure by achieving more faster and faster, like a caged hamster
