𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

16 October 2026 18:00

'I Was Her Lover'

By Charles Bukowski

it’s my turn now
up through the green wave
blood bubbles,
my body
flesh on some great hook;
names, cities, dreams,
it’s my turn now,
I have watched them all go,
friends and lovers,
I have watched the pianist play on
after the audience has left,
it’s my turn to go now,
all large growing fit to a thimble,
down,
down
with them, with her,
cities taken and buried
this way,
animals like mountains
and mountains themselves,
lightning and prayer and then
the sea,
snuffed out we are
like nothing,
like nothing we are
and the pianist plays on
as small devils slide down the balustrade,
I am going
down now through the green wave
where no lightning can reach
hold me
air and water,
hold me,
blot out the
voices from faces that eat stale bread and grit
and speak nothing but lies,
I was her lover and she was life
and she turned her back and walked away.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

14 October 2026 18:00

'A Cider Song'

By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

To J.S.M.

The wine they drink in Paradise
They make in Haute Lorraine;
God brought it burning from the sod
To be a sign and signal rod
That they that drink the blood of God
Shall never thirst again.

The wine they praise in Paradise
They make in Ponterey,
The purple wine of Paradise,
But we have better at the price;
It's wine they praise in Paradise,
It's cider that they pray.

The wine they want in Paradise
They find in Plodder's End,
The apple wine of Herford,
Of Hafod Hill and Herford,
Where woods went down to Herford,
And there I had a friend.

The soft feet of the blessed go
In the soft western vales,
The road of the silent saints accord,
The road from heaven to Herford,
Where the apple wood of Herford
Goes all the way to Wales.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

12 October 2026 18:00

'Words From Cold Mountain'

By Han-shan

XXI

Always it’s cold on this mountain!
Every year, and not just this.
Dense peaks, thick with snow.
Black pine-trees breathing mist.
It’s summer before the grass grows,
Not yet autumn when the leaves fall.
Full of illusions, I roam here,
Gaze and gaze, but can’t see the sky.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

08 October 2026 18:00

'All Summarised The Soul…'

By Stéphane Mallarmé

All summarised, the soul,
When slowly we breathe it out
In several rings of smoke
By other rings wiped out

Bears witness to some cigar
Burning skilfully while
The ash is separated far
From its bright kiss of fire

Should the choir of romantic art
Fly so towards your lips
Exclude from it if you start
The real because it’s cheap

Meaning too precise is sure
To void your dreamy literature.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

06 October 2026 18:01

'Fungi From Yuggoth'

By Howard Phillips Lovecraft

XX. Night-Gaunts

Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings,
And tails that bear the bifid barb of hell.
They come in legions on the north wind’s swell,
With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,
Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings
To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare’s well.

Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
Heedless of all the cries I try to make,
And down the nether pits to that foul lake
Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.
But oh! If only they would make some sound,
Or wear a face where faces should be found!

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

02 October 2026 18:00

'On A Night You Don't Sleep'

By Charles Bukowki

at the sea at the beach in the dark there was somebody
sitting in a car along the shore and playing this drum
as if in Africa and the cops rode by on the sidewalk
and I went down to the disappointing sea
and saw two blue lights in the water and a boat
and a man walked by in a white shirt and squatted by the
shore and got up and walked along the shore
and then another man came and followed him:
they both walked along the shore by the water
one 12 feet behind the other and I watched them until
they disappeared and then I got up and walked through
the sand to the cement and through a bar door I saw a
negro singing with a light on his face
he wailed a strange song and the sound of the song twisted
in the air and everything was empty and dry and easy
and I got into my car and drove back to the hot city
but I knew I would always remember the time
and the catch of it—the way the night hung undisturbed
with people walking on it like some quiet rug
and a small boat rocking bravely by bulldogging water
and the colored pier lights like a broken mind sick in the sea.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

30 September 2026 18:00

'As The Ruin Falls'

By Clive Staples Lewis

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love —a scholar's parrot may talk Greek—
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

28 September 2026 18:00

From 'All's Well That Ends Well'

By William Shakespeare

Act 2, Scene 2

Countess

To the court! why, what place make you special,
when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown

Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he
may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men.

Countess

Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
questions.

Clown

It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
buttock, or any buttock.

Countess

Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown

As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

Countess

Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions?

Clown

From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
will fit any question.

Countess

It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
must fit all demands.

Clown

But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn.

Countess

To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown

O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them.

Countess

Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

24 September 2026 18:01

'The Deluge'

By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign.
Though earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up, and drank to God.

Sun has been where the rain is now,
Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
Now let the deluge come:
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now!
Drink to the wrath of God.

High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were the heaven and earth,
This hollow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight,
And drained it like a cup.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

22 September 2026 18:00

'A Clock Stopped -- Not The Mantel's'

By Emily Dickinson

A clock stopped -- not the mantel's
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still.

An awe came on the trinket!
The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.

It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless No

Nods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

18 September 2026 18:04

'Tougher Than Corned Beef Hash—'

By Charles Bukowski

the motion of the human heart:
strangled over Missouri;
sheathed in hot wax in Boston;
burned like a potato in Norfolk;
lost in the Allegheny Mountains;
found again in a 4-poster mahogany bed
in New Orleans;
drowned and stirred with pinto beans
in El Paso;
hung on a cross like a drunken dog
in Denver;
cut in half and toasted in
Kalamazoo;
found cancerous on a fishing boat
off the coast of Mexico;
tricked and caged at Daytona Beach;
kicked by a nursery maid
in a green and white gingham dress,
waiting table at a North Carolina
bus stop;
rubbed in olive oil and goat-piss
by a chess-playing hooker in the East Village;
painted red, white, and blue
by an act of Congress;
torpedoed by a dyed blonde
with the biggest ass in Kansas;
gutted and gored by a woman
with the soul of a bull
in East Lansing;
petrified by a girl with tiny fingers,
she had one tooth missing,
upper front, and pumped gas
in Mesa;
the motion of the human heart goes on
and on
and on and on
for a while.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

16 September 2026 18:00

From 'The Merchant Of Venice'

Act 2, Scene 9: Belmont. A room in Portia's house.

By William Shakespeare

ARRAGON

And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
To my heart's hope! Gold; silver; and base lead.
'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
What many men desire! that 'many' may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:'
And well said too; for who shall go about
To cozen fortune and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.
O, that estates, degrees and offices
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover that stand bare!
How many be commanded that command!
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times
To be new-varnish'd! Well, but to my choice:
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
He opens the silver casket

PORTIA

Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON

What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia!
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA

To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON

What is here?

Reads

The fire seven times tried this:
Seven times tried that judgment is,
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head:
So be gone: you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.

Exeunt Arragon and train

PORTIA

Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA

The ancient saying is no heresy,
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA

Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

14 September 2026 18:01

'Gold Leaves'

By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.

In youth I sought the prince of men,
Captain in cosmic wars,
Our Titan, even the weeds would show
Defiant, to the stars.

But now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.

In youth I sought the golden flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

10 September 2026 18:00

'Pull A String, A Puppet Moves...'

By Charles Bukowski

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand—
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you’ll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she’ll ask:
my god, what’s the matter?
and you’ll answer: I don’t know,
I don’t know...

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

08 September 2026 18:07

From 'Scachs d'Amor'

By Don Francí de Castellví, Narcís Vinyoles & Mossèn Fenollar

Castellví

(Plays King’s Knight to the Bishop’s third house)

One in love, realizing that pride
And annoyance does not please the gentle lady,
Had to use Reason, to temper events;
And Reason was a willing and great ally:
Her Sweet Speech, that so seduces,
Gave him, with no need of fearsome sword
To reach one whom the world adores.
What great help, and at very little cost,
The sweet sound is of composite Praise.

Vinyoles

(Plays the Queen’s Bishop to four houses from the other King’s Knight, whom the Bishop threatens)

A bitter treat encased within sweet crust
Is the Adulator, who flatters all senses,
And flattering Beauty, approaches
The deceit hiding beneath flattery.
From his eyes, to give her the pay of love,
A Sweet Regard comes in place of an answer,
Thus healing the wound of her Disdain.
The eyes can look at the invisible
And torment the dispassionate spirit.

Fenollar

(Says that with the jump of the third he cannot take the King)

Because Kings, with invincible power,
Cannot extend themselves beyond their reason,
It is decreed that, by making the move possible,
They can never checkmate, or take;
Thus showing the world that in meting punishment or revenge
They must blend mercy with wrath,
And not overflow their understanding;
For, if they are great with their wings of potency,
Greater they’ll be by using clemency.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

15 October 2026 18:00

From 'Scachs d'Amor'

By Don Francí de Castellví, Narcís Vinyoles & Mossèn Fenollar

Castellví

(Plays the King side rook pawn one point, threatening the Bishop)

Seeing the Gaze on such fine countenance,
The good Desire, serving under Reason,
Soon sent, with great reverence,
His Service, to receive one who excites him.
Affection, written upon one’s eyes,
Awakens the heart, for convenience
Of the lover, where true love dwells.
Conformity is the most certain bet
As among lovers it feeds their friendship.

Vinyoles

(His Queen’s Bishop takes the King’s Knight)

As Praise awakens the spirit
And placates Beauty with noble mien,
With Sweet Regard, hitting right on the heart,
Took Praise, in whom hope finds closure,
And to signify that the lover never lacks,
At any time, the offered end of love,
If the fountain of praise is never stanched.
For flatterers make the lady so happy
That discontentment appears as contentment.

Fenollar

(Says the King should not move to the third house over the other pieces)

It was agreed that Kings, in whom such value
Sits, should not jump over the others,
But rather, along safe roads
They must go, where robbers won’t attack.
For, as they shine with hour homage,
Leaving behind those who cannot help them,
If poorly guarded, they hurt themselves and their subjects.
Nature wills for members to defend
The head from hurt, as that’s where offense hits.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

13 October 2026 18:00

'Her Retinue'

By Paul Verlaine

A monkey in brocaded vest
Gambols and cavorts for She
Who twists a lace handkerchief
In her hand gloved to the wrist,

While a small black slave in red
Holds the train, at arm’s length,
Of her heavy robe, intent
To see that no fold’s disordered.

The monkey never takes his eyes
From the lady’s soft white throat.
Opulent treasure whose rich note
Asks a god’s torso, bare, as prize.

The slave will sometimes raise the height,
Rascal, higher than he needs,
Of his sumptuous load, so he
May see what he dreams of at night;

Yet she appears now unaware
As up the flight of stairs she goes
How insolent approval shows
In her familiar creatures’ stare.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

09 October 2026 18:00

'Jane And Prince'

By Charles Bukowski

we all lived together
in a small shack in
central L.A.

there was a woman in bed
with me then

and there was a very large
dog
on the foot of the bed

and as they slept
I listened to them
breathe

and I thought, they depend
on me.
how very curious.

I still had that thought
in the morning
after our breakfast
while backing the car
out of the drive

the woman and the dog
on the front step
sitting and watching
me

as I laughed and waved
and as she smiled and
waved

and the dog watched
as I backed out into the
street and disappeared
into the city.

now tonight
many years later
I still think of them
sitting there on that
front step

it’s like an old
movie—50 years
old—that nobody ever
saw or could understand
but me

and even though some
critics would dub this
ordinary

I like it
very much.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

07 October 2026 18:02

From 'Tao Te Ching'

The Book of The Way and its Virtue

Credited to Lao-Tzu (Laozi)

Book 1

V

Heaven and earth are ruthless,
Trampling the myriad creatures like straw dogs.
The wise are ruthless,
Considering the people as straw dogs.
The space between earth and heaven,
Isn’t it like a bellows?
It’s empty but never exhausted.
The more it works the more flows out.
Much speech leads in the end to silence.
Better to hold fast to the Void.

VI

The spirit of the valley never dies.
It is called the mysterious female.
The gate of the mysterious female
Is called the root of heaven and earth.
Barely seen, it hardly seems there,
Yet use will never exhaust it.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

05 October 2026 18:00

'The Human Tree'

By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Many have Earth's lovers been,
Tried in seas and wars, I ween;
Yet the mightiest have I seen:
Yea, the best saw I.
One that in a field alone
Stood up stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fly.

Birds had nested in his hair,
On his shoon were mosses rare,
Insect empires flourished there,
Worms in ancient wars;
But his eyes burn like a glass,
Hearing a great sea of grass
Roar towards the stars.

From them to the human tree
Rose a cry continually:
Thou art still, our Father, we
Fain would have thee nod.
Make the skies as blood below thee,
Though thou slay us, we shall know thee.
Answer us, O God!

Show thine ancient fame and thunder,
Split the stillness once asunder,
Lest we whisper, lest we wonder
Art thou there at all?'
But I saw him there alone,
Standing stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fall.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

01 October 2026 18:01

'Words From Cold Mountain'

By Han-shan

XX

What a road the Cold Mountain road!
Not a sign of horse or cart.
Winding gorges, tricky to trace.
Massive cliffs, who knows how high?
Where the thousand grasses drip with dew,
Where the pine trees hum in the wind.
Now the path’s lost, now it’s time
For body to ask shadow: ‘Which way home?’

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

29 September 2026 18:03

'Acrobats'

By Guillaume Apollinaire

The strollers in the plain
walk the length of gardens
before the doors of grey inns
through villages without churches

And the children gone before
The others follow dreaming
Each fruit tree resigns itself
When they signal from afar

They have burdens round or square
drums and golden tambourines
Apes and bears wise animals
gather coins as they progress

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

25 September 2026 18:11

'It’s Not Who Lived Here'

By Charles Bukowski

but who died here;
and it’s not when
but how;
it’s not
the known great
but the great who died unknown;
it’s not
the history
of countries
but the lives of men.

fables are dreams,
not lies,
and
truth changes
as
men change,
and when truth becomes stable
men
will
become dead
and

the insect
and the fire and
the flood
will become
truth.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

23 September 2026 18:02

'The Town Of Cologna Veneta'

By Gaius Valerius Catullus

O Cologna, who want a long bridge to sport on,
and are ready to dance, though you fear
the useless bridge-props with their
much-patched standing timber,
lest they tumble and lie in deep mud:
let a good bridge be made for you as you desire
where even leap-frogging priests are safe: but
Cologna, give me that greatest gift, a good laugh.
I want a fellow-citizen of mine to go head over heels
straight into the deep mire from your bridge,
since truly the whole pool and the putrid marsh
is the blackest and deepest of chasms.
The man’s totally dull, knows no more than
a two-year-old child, asleep in its father’s trembling arms.
Who, though he’s married a girl in her first flowering,
a girl more delicate than a pretty little kid,
needing to be tended more carefully than choicest grapes,
let’s her play as she wishes, doesn’t care a fig,
hasn’t risen to the occasion, but like an alder
in a Ligurian ditch, crippled by the axe,
feels as much of it all as if there were no woman there:
Such is his stupor he doesn’t see, or hear me, he,
who doesn’t know who he is, or whether he is or not.
Now I want to toss him headlong from your bridge,
if it’s possible suddenly to raise that stupefied dullness,
and abandon that indolent mind in the heavy bog,
as mules cast shoes into tenacious depths.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

21 September 2026 18:00

'Words From Cold Mountain'

By Han-shan

XIX

Level after level, falls and hills,
Blue-green mist clasped by clouds.
Fog wets my flimsy cap,
Dew soaks my coat of straw.
A pilgrim’s sandals on my feet,
An old stick grasped in my hand.
Gazing down towards the land of dust,
What is that world of dreams to me?

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

17 September 2026 18:00

From 'Dune'

By Frank Herbert

Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear’s path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

15 September 2026 18:01

From 'Tao Te Ching'

The Book of The Way and its Virtue

Credited to Lao-Tzu (Laozi)

Book 1

III

Don’t give honours to the worthy,
Protect people from ambition.
Don’t value scarce things,
Protect the people from envy.
Don’t show what’s desired,
Keep people from temptation.
So, in governing, the wise
Empty the mind
But fill the stomach,
Weaken ambition
But strengthen the bones,
Keep things free of
Desire and learning,
So the clever take no action.
Act without taking action
And things will be in order.

IV

The Way is full: use won’t empty it.
Deep is the matrix of the myriad creatures.
Blunt the sharp:
Loosen the knots:
Dim the glare:
Follow old tracks.
Shadowy, it seems hardly there.
I don’t know whose child it is.
It seems like the ancestral form.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

11 September 2026 18:00

'The Choice'

By Ezra Pound

It is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies,
But for all that I have seen you on a high, white, noble horse,
Like some strange queen in a story.
It is odd that you should be covered with long robes and trailing tendrils and flowers;
It is odd that you should be changing your face and resembling some other woman to plague me;
It is odd that you should be hiding yourself in the cloud of beautiful women, who do not concern me.
And I, who follow every seed-leaf upon the wind!
They will say that I deserve this.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

09 September 2026 18:00

'Words From Cold Mountain'

By Han-shan

XVIII

Far-off is the place I chose to live.
High hills make for silent tongues.
Gibbons screech in valley cold
My gate of grass blends with the cliff.
A roof of thatch among the pines,
I dig a pool, feed it from the stream.
No time now to think about the world,
The years go by, shredding ferns.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

07 September 2026 18:00

'A Child Of The Snows'

By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim,
And never before or again,
When the nights are strong with a darkness long,
And the dark is alive with rain.

Never we know but in sleet and in snow,
The place where the great fires are,
That the midst of the earth is a raging mirth
And the heart of the earth a star.

And at night we win to the ancient inn
Where the child in the frost is furled,
We follow the feet where all souls meet
At the inn at the end of the world.

The Gods lie dead where the leaves lie red,
For the flame of the sun is flown,
The Gods lie cold where the leaves lie gold,
And a Child comes forth alone.