Autumn by T. E. Hulme
A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
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a women could never write like this as their simply inferior
How do I into poetry. I love Shaekspeare, but I know there are lots of other great Brits out there. Any advice on where to start?
Try Chaucer
are there any contemporary poets that aren't fags or nigs bitching about Whitey?
not really
and the ones who don't fit that description still write like those who do, stylistically speaking
poetry is dead
poetry is a rump state, more accurately
Poetry has been around for over 2000 years, give it time
Is there a place I could buy all chaucer and similar middle English in that instead of buying some shitty ass translation?