…flames moved towards himand dropped within-singed and marred his tender skin …(the frightful plight tale)

Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.

Ellerin neden ıslak?Yine yağmuru tutmaya mı çalıştın?Öldürmüşsün damlaları,fazla sıkma dedim sana.Pis! Pis!Dur! Nereye?İzin ver içeyim.

How many great gems were lost to thoughtand not put down to pen.You can but think of just a fewand then they’re lost again.

I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

I want you to judge me without thinking about it.I want you to give me advice without considering my opinion.I want you to expecting anything without the need to trust me.I want you to decide...

A poem isn’t selfish. It speaks to people.

THE ONE WHO STAYEDYou should have heard the old men cry,You should have heard the biddiesWhen that sad stranger raised his fluteAnd piped away the kiddies.Katy, Tommy, Meg and BobFollowed, skipped gaily,Red-haired Ruth, my brother...

You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear thorough the search.

And in a mad tranceStrike with our spirit’s knifeInvulnerable nothingsWe decayLike corpses in a charnelFear & GriefConvulse is & consume usDay by dayAnd cold hopes swarmLike worms withinOur living clay

Dance is the divine art that empowers a lady to express her most sacred emotions through the majesty of movements.

free from ivory-towerthe pencil twirlsacross the footpath

We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost’s familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on...

You can’t write a poem until you live.

you and i live in societieswhere our behaviourand the systems, policies and practicesthat rule usare set up to treatsome better than others.because of how much moneythey seem to have.

America, the plum blossoms are falling.

as long as there arehuman beings aboutthere is never going to beany peacefor any individualupon this earth (oranywhere elsethey mightescape to).all you can dois maybe grabten lucky minuteshereor maybe an hourthere.somethingis working toward youright now,...

Elle est mortelle mais elle n’a ni cœur ni me.Elle inflige la souffrance et invoque une justice ignorée.Elle est le glaive et la main qui la guide s’appelle vengeance.Ne la croise pas sur ton chemin...

Here is a list of terrible things,The jaws of sharks, a vultures wingsThe rabid bite of the dogs of war,The voice of one who went before,But most of all the mirror’s gaze,Which counts us out...

my bones are heavy” i would only mean itas a good thingheavy bones can’t be broken,you can’t break heavy bones

Create a massive drawing of what God has promised you.

I desired to praise the Chosen One and was hinderedBy my own inability to grasp the extent of his glory.How can one such as I measure an ocean, when the ocean is vast?And how can...

there are only so many thingsthat you can fix with your hands….What they don’t realize is I am not a thing to fix.

I think the perfect pen name is Quill McSeagull. Especially for writing flights of fancy—and nothing has more feathers than a love poem.

The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

the answer is to just let gothe betrayal is to the pastthe cocoon dangles emptythe desire outlasts the objectthe effort lingersthe frustration is in how pointless the effort wasthe ghost does not make itself transparentthe...

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me will full hands; How could I answer the child?……I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be...

Benarkah angin tidak sedang mencoba menyentuh bibirnya yang begitu sempurna?

You do not seem to realize that beauty is a liability ratherthanan asset – that in view of the fact that spirit creates formwe are justified in supposingthat you must have brains. For you, a...

Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we’ll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.

I say every dog looks like no otherbut that isn’t true. Not entirely.Difference is slippery.

White IrisThe iris danced acrossthe ancient Grecian skiesgliding with her embossedsatiny milken sides …

Compañera usted sabe que puede contar conmigo no hasta dos o hasta diez sino contar conmigosi alguna vez advierte que la miro a los ojos y una veta de amor reconoce en los míos no...

…as we are endowed. …with rhetorics. …none will deny. …of innocence. …towards scribbling. …of love lines. …and of lust. …to what seems like male. …to what seems like female. …in those days. …I mean nothing....

At night I dream that you and I are two plantsthat grew together, roots entwined,and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth,since we are made of earth and rain.

The things you struggle with today are the things you choose to struggle with.Because you believe that what you want to accomplish, is worth struggling for.

Discouragement, fear, and depression—three villains who lurk in the dark.They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark.Their tactics are highly effective.They crush a great many each...

A short poem from my book:PerspectiveOf coursethere is a hellshe saidand it hasan observation deck;so I maystand and waveto all those kindsouls belowwho warned meI would go there.

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,Who countest the steps of the Sun:Seeking after that sweet golden climeWhere the traveller’s journey is done. Where the Youth pined away with desire,And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: Arise...

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...

Sensuality came into existence the moment when the first beat of melody knocked on the door of the world of belly dance.

Sacred space in whichTo distil, like amber,The best of your love.

A fox will chew off its own foot before it calls for helpBut he saw glory in being a bird with broken wings And therefore he broke his own to fit into that illusion of...

I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

If liberty sang a song, little,as the larynx of a bird,nowhere would there remain a tumbling wall.

And you’re a tall drink of water because we’re so fucking thirsty

And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth’s noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night

beware those quick to praise for they need praise in return beware those who are quick to censor they are afraid of what they do not know beware those who seek constant crowds for they...

If you are a monster, stand up.If you are a monster, a trickster, a fiend,If you’ve built a steam-powered wishing machineIf you have a secret, a dark past, a scheme,If you kidnap maidens or dabble...

Monsieur, you must be mad!Box Five can never be hadFor money, love or the world …