Locked in a room with Sarah Teasdale and William Blake

I awoke to the return of the screaming headache from last week. Who needs anthrax? All terrorists need to do is figure out how to cause sinusitis and they'd bring this country to its knees in a week.

Selected the poems for this week's podcast show...just looking for a clean copy of Gertrude Stein's "Sacred Emily"...

other poets in the list are (se if you can guess which of their works I am doing):

Emily Dickinson (anyone who knows me personally can probably guess which one I'm reading)
Sarah Teasdale (poet and muse, an archetype)
William Blake (of course, but no snakes)
Percy Bysshe Shelley (this is an easy guess)
Sappho (hey, good poetry is good poetry)
Edgar Allan Poe (stop looking at me that way)
George Gordon, Lord Byron (mad, bad and dangerous to know, y'know)
Walt Whitman (the first ever disgruntled ex-postal worker)
John Donne (ever since a reviewer in "Poetry Heaven" compared me to him, I've been itching for this)

Don't expect this very often...I rarely publicly read other poets. I was going to do "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll, but found so many other works I wanted to take a whack at...maybe some other time.

Runners up? How about both Brownings, Longfellow, a handful of poets laureate and some guy who slept with Gwyneth Paltrow in a fictionalized recounting of his coming of age as a playwrite...I also considered Ginsberg and Buchowski, but decided ultimately to avoid possible legal entanglements. I almost added Swinburne as an inside joke...and there are some nice translations of Rabindranath Tagore...but I didn't know if you'd sit still for a six-hour reading.

All in all, a goodly crew, one worthy to, to paraphrase Frank Capra "speak to you for a half hour in the silence".

Enjoi.