David’s latest post is of his poetry and this is well worth visiting this. He is very accomplished and full of feeling.
A President’s Death
Poor Professor Johnson,
I pitied him–his deep feelings.
A dignified man, a scholar,
Teacher of eighteenth
Century British poetry,
Couldn’t speak but to
Say go home, there would
Be no class today.
On the subway someone
Had a portable radio.
No passenger speaking,
Everyone listening in shock,
The tinny, crackling
Radio voice telling us over
And over as though we
Wouldn’t believe him, that
The President I felt I knew
Though he was rich and I
A student struggling with
Illness and poverty,
Had been shot. Professor
Johnson went home and read
Alexander Pope’s masterful
Couplets through tears.
How my heart sings 