By Richard White ~ @RWhiteAuthor Crumbling Men Men don’t fall clean—they crumble slow, Like autumn leaves beneath the snow. A piece by piece, the edges fray, Yet still, they rise to face the day. The whiskey burns, a fleeting balm, A borrowed warmth, a fleeting calm. …
Read MoreAdapting Influences and Organizing Poetry
This blog post was initially an assignment for my poetry workshop class, and I’m excited to share it with my readers and audience. T.S. Eliot’s observation in his essay Philip Massinger—that “good poets make [what they take] into something better, or at least something different”—deeply …
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