Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
I had a whole mini essay on why I like this poem, sadly it got lost and way too much time and effort went into it the first time for me to wish to write it again. I’m sure you’ll be thinking along the same lines as myself being the esteemed and intelligent readers that you are.
*Image found at Pixabay
The sights and sounds of the morning fresh
Are subsumed within your deep, black depths
For a time nothing else matters but that scalding, fresh kick
A jump-start towards the obstacles ahead.
An effervescent explosion of ideas begins
Soon lost to the diminishing aftermath
To be forgotten evermore
Just as soon as the banal everyday acts crowd in.
Yet in that diminutive, personal oasis of time
where calm battles a raging heart and mind
I find my contentment in this swirling juxtaposition
And reflect on just how flawless life can be.
Today I came across an email with the title, How many poems do you write? Quality vs Quantity. As a moderately interesting subject heading it seemed worth a couple of minutes perusal as an accompaniment to my breakfast of coffee and pandesal.
The email asked if poets and readers favour the raw poem as first written, or an edited version, which may be technically better but dilutes some of the immediacy of the original writing.
It then went on to mention that a question often asked is how do I get published in the print journals? The short and underwhelming response to that bein; nobody really knows, its all subjective, people on blogs and websites won’t be judging to anything like the same criteria as journals.
It’s a shame there was no real point to the email, as asking and then avoiding any real exploration of the question (but inviting you to hop over to the website to discuss it) just wastes everyone’s time. Continue reading “Quality or Quantity?”
Ways well worn
This familiar place of stone and brick
Temporal, yet not entirely material
Spectres of the past
memories distant impose themselves
On the present,
An overlay of times a world away
Recovered only in reminiscences
The bustling city
Shorn of its socialness,
A perturbing reminder of the past
Often we meet in imagination
Do I dream
Or the city?