Front cover from Hood’s poems, illustrated by Myles Birket Foster, London, 1871.
(Source: archive.org)
Front cover from Hood’s poems, illustrated by Myles Birket Foster, London, 1871.
(Source: archive.org)
… With whom he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for nearly half a century.
Cecil Aldin, from Old Christmas, by Washington Irving, London, 1908.
(Source: archive.org)
Tolled the sweets from all the rosy lips of the country around.
Cecil Aldin, from Old Christmas, by Washington Irving, London, 1908.
(Source: archive.org)
Front cover from Old English ballads, collective work, London, 1864.
(Source: archive.org)
Everything seems more fluent when you are awake. And not the Zen or ego free awake that is sold in texts and tongue. That particular conscience seems harder to atain..but then again everything seems. One way or another. I think the most important thing to remember is not to half step. I give no slack to nobody..respect to you if your flowing freely, regardless if I don’t agree or I’m not on the same wave length as you. In a way, we are. Are we, in many ways?…sorry, just trying to be poetic. Speaking of, I’ve written my best poetry in the last couple months. Funny thing is I havnt written a single word.
i’ve longed to write for a long time now
the other day
i picked up my mind and refilled my pen
then laid down the most
comfortable bed
and fell into it’s arms
i woke up and picked up my pen
and refilled my mind
then i began to right down
up left the creative flow
the nerve of I
the nerve and I eye the eyes of you
because yes,
yes
this is what is golden
the rust encrusted raw outpour of mine own rich self
wealthy of self and donning the dawn of my potential
made
i am the don
calling a hit
on the little bastard
who is always write
my pen
we like to have these things on record
The nearer I got to the house, the drearier it appeared.
Louis Rhead, from Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson, New York, 1921.
(Source: archive.org)