The Poet

 
Poems are parts of the soul and thus sometimes messy, mussy and disordered. Thingummies are strewn across a less than tidy life.

Souls may be serious or blithe, sometimes they even are painfully trivial. Events and encounters trigger the poet gene. Seasons, unspeakabilities, commonplace adventures, afterthoughts, forbodings, dreams, moods, observations. Oh. And sheep.

If brevity is the soul of wit, my poems must be sadly witless.

Poems

You can find some poems here, and don’t mention the scansion:

 

Seasons, unspeakabilities, commonplace adventures, afterthoughts, forbodings, dreams, moods, observations.

Ju Honisch

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