I think that concrete poetry seems to have as far as I can see come to a kind of a dead end. It doesn't seem to be going any further than it went in its high period of about five or six years ago.
Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.
Pride slays thanksgiving but a humble mind is the soil out of which thanks...
The babe at first feeds upon the mother's bosom but it is always on her heart.
It's not the work which kills people it's the worry. It's not the revolution...
Live life fully while you're here. Experience everything. Take care of...
Anybody can make a difference and be a voice for the voiceless.
I had to make my own living and my own opportunity! But I made it!...