The Publisher

A collection of spring poems   flowered  by some of the greatest word artists. Accompanied by images with wise words to bring spring forward to our minds:  blooming optimism, renewal, inspiration and beauty. Spring by William Blake  Sound the flute! Now it’s mute. Birds delight Day and night; Nightingale In the dale, Lark in sky, Merrily, Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year. Little boy, Full of joy; Little girl, Sweet and small; Cock does crow, So do you; Merry voice, Infant noise, Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year. Little lamb, Here I am; Come and lick My white neck; Let me pull Your soft wool; Let me kiss Your soft face; Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year . SPRING by  BY  GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –              When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;   ...

Blow your horn. If nobody hears it.  No harm no foul. If somebody hears it and likes the beat of the drum. I figure nobody reads much unless renowned.  Then the thump of nations echo through all sounds.  So why not be engaged in laughter? From a giggle to a snort.  A way to evade the real world full of evil and dismay. If one can poke fun at oneself regardless of one's name. That is the gift of optimism. For the greater good. Join in music, hum along with heart. Who cares if anyone listens. You are becoming one with your heart that echoes within your soul. Do what YOU love. Regardless of acclaim. You do it because YOU love it. It doesn't need any fame. The glue that sticks us all together is filled with optimism and hope. Drowning out the empty noise  of anything of fame or violence or corruption. If we heed only the automatic reaction to the reflection of others grief. We are desperately trying to get relief from sorrow, ...

“Poetry operates by hints and dark suggestions. It is full of secrets and hidden formulae, like a witch’s brew.”   ~Anthony Hecht Academy of American Poets Chancellor (1971-1997) SOURCE :  https://www.poets.org Spookiness in poetry ..... Robert Frost Ghost House I Dwell in a lonely house I know   That vanished many a summer ago,  And left no trace but the cellar walls,  And a cellar in which the daylight falls,  And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.  O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield  The woods come back to the mowing field;  The orchard tree has grown one copse  Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;  The footpath down to the well is healed.  I dwell with a strangely aching heart  In that vanished abode there far apart  On that disused and forgotten road  That has no dust-bath now for the toad.  Night comes; the black bats tumb...