When I read through my nine poems, I see that the quality of my lines is consistent. Big poem or small poem, you dig?
That's helpful.
It means I could write a very big free verse poem if I wanted to. It's just a matter of time and energy.
Maybe if I find a good subject for such a poem, I can write it slowly over a number of years - while also writing smaller poems.
I don't know.
By the way, I'm not writing about poetry in this blog next year, after the Christmas holiday, like. No more updates! Just horrible, horrible, horrible finance until my appointment with The Owlman.
I hope you understand.
'I understand, Mikey!'
Nice one, Voice!
Anyway ...
I'm going to see if I can reach twelve poems by the end of this year. I might still reach thirty by March, or the, uh, end of March.
I just don't know.
Anyway ...
Yeats spent Christmas with Oscar Wilde.
'When?!'
Oh, years ago now.
Actually, Wilde's wife, Constance, used to go along to that Golden Dawn place in Hammersmith.
'And Bram Stoker!'
Yes, him, too.
Ha! Now it's a cafe. I might get some egg and chips.
'And a mug of tea!'
Yes, Voice. And a mug of tea.
It's only a short walk from Hammersmith Tube.
Maybe I'll go at the weekend.
Oh, there's a brilliant biography of Wilde by Hesketh Pearson (1946). HOWEVER ... Google Play has got loads of his other biographies, but not the Wilde one. / I got it out of the library, er ... a long time ago.
'When?!'
When we still had libraries.
'Ah, those were the days, Mikey.'
Yes, yes.
Those were the days.
Anyway, Pearson is almost as witty as Wilde himself. It's a very entertaining book.
I found the Ellmann biography boring.
Anyway ...
What else?
There's nothing else.
Laters.
'Bye!'
