What troubles me about the typical politician is the glibness of his words; he has ever an answer at the ready, never is there a pause—a moment of reflection to suggest genuine thought.
Thoughts
From the earliest stages of a poem’s development, there is almost always one stanza that remains all but unchanged. I find it is usually the first in the poem for from it the rest of the stanzas proceed. While they generate many variations—versions of themselves informed by that stanza—it is a near-constant throughout.
It is spring in South Africa (September to November), and the Greater Striped Swallows (Cecropis cucullata) are returned from north Africa for the breeding season. A week ago, I photographed one of their many mud-pellet nests in the entrails of a bridge where I often stop to admire them as they frolic in the air.
Forgotten Fields 