* S * * O * * D * * A * * * * - William Carlos Williams

By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast — a cold wind.

If you are not already too blind
too deaf, too lost in the past
to know or to care — I will write a book about you — making you live (in a book!)
as you still desperately
want to live — to live always — unforgiving

I would say poetry is language charged with emotion. It's words, rhythmically organized . . . A poem is a complete little universe. It exists separately. Any poem that has any worth expresses the whole life of the poet. It gives a view of what the poet is.