Baby new cat
I love your little tummy
Full of mama cat milk
Your little round belly
I try to tickle
To make you giggle
And lightly mew
“bew bew bew”

A poet is,
before anything else,
a sage who knows nothing
and knows
he or she knows nothing.

Stravinsky once said
Music is powerless to express anything.
Poetry expresses
that powerlessness, too.

All Art,
or at least,
that which intoxicates you,
is like that.

It's all optional, so it's all negotiable.

That is where
true wisdom
and poetry
reside.

(Walter Tomaszewski; Tuesday, 27 June 2017)

The way we're being led in,
well,
it's doing my fukin head in.

real in the
unreal city,

Eliot put it better,
when he
wrote,
' I had not thought death had undone so many '

who's had a hand in this 'Wasteland'
and
where's your love song now
Mr Prufrock?

so long
which is as long as it is or
longer if the government decrees.

no one talks of Michelangelo.

to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy