Monday, February 04, 2008


Sometimes it's just the way a mixbag of words are strung together.

To read a poem.

Be fascinated by the imagery. Or fall into the hypnotic rhythm of an iambic pentameter. The tone of which seldom you hear in time.

Nature doesn't fool around just being decorative.

I second that opinion. Attraction in nature happens for a reason. Nature has no room for vanity.

Letters from Iceland is a travelogue written in poetry and prose by Auden and MacNeice. (not Spender or Isherwood, surprise surprise!)

Homosexuality does create a grievous effect on word play. Wystan Hugh Auden - Hush, unWanted gAy

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