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True poetry is the perception of human feelings, the voice of the heart, open or hidden. It is the lyrics, compositions, and melody of the relation between humankind, the universe and God, a shadow pinpointing...

I forced myself out of a love that I knew would only end fatally.I forced myself into the dark, until I could no longer remember how to feel with my eyes. I forced my mind...

They don’t know I only speak in runaway train stationsand everybody is always a few minutes too late to the platform.No one has ever gotten the chance to get too closebecause it is never romantic...

And now dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson...

Sometimes he did not know if he slept or just thought about sleep.

I ache not from need -but from my heart’s gluttony of you.

It’s easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don’t understand. Something that makes them feel strong or...

The time has come,” the walrus said, “to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships – and sealing wax – of cabbages and kings

The monsters were neverunder my bed.Because the monsterswere inside my head.I fear no monsters,for no monsters I see.Because all this timethe monster has been me.

Bring death to those of Evenfall.

She cries,I laugh,She becomes numb,I become filled with joy,She slowly crumbles,I feel on top of the world,Yet somehow in the end,Out of the ashes,She rose like a Phoenix,As if nothing had ever touched her

It takes an aeon to shift position, get comfortable, let alonecreate a wave in this fishbowl full of glue.- from the poem ‘Critical Mass

MagicSandra’s seen a leprechaun,Eddie touched a troll,Laurie danced with witches once,Charlie found some goblins gold.Donald heard a mermaid sing,Susy spied an elf,But all the magic I have knownI’ve had to make myself.

I’ve triedto become someone else for a while,only to discover that he, too, was me.

I should be writing a poem every morning but I’m not.

In this world there are thousands of healers but none possesses the medication of spiritual ecstasy like dance.

And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.

Strike, with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp strung with Apollo’s golden hair; fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until...

You are a noted friendOf mine, a truly excellent beautifier of my tribute.”Yes, I would sacrifice my soul for the dust of his sanctuary.His favor should be that he accept my sacrifice.He has triumphed who...

Hers is a timeless life weaving through other longer lives like a flash of lightning in a clouded evening sky.

A Book I Can Put DownI’m halfway throughand I’ve gotten usedto the way it wantsto be read. This writerwants to spoon it up,wants to watch meswallow it. This writermakes a point of gooddeeds, clean living,god...

the gods seldomgivebut so quicklytake.

when you’re younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you’re oldit’s justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

YOU YOU YOUyour eyes, thick as a high school scrapbook crackling and yellow, curling at the edgesa book of myths in which i do not appear.

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. I...

Gle malu voćku poslije kiše:Puna je kapi pa ih njiše.I bliješti suncem obasjana,Čudesna raskoš njenih grana.Al nek se sunce malko skrije,Nestane sve te čarolije.Ona je opet kao prvo,Obično, jadno, malo drvo.

This separation happened for a reason, this esason is for our own good; God is just positioning us.

Despair and Genius are too oft connected

Mom wholeheartedly… She loved me—and inspired me—with transcending devotion. It was a blessing—to have been her son, to have been loved—without conditions. Her words of wisdom opened my eyes to the world—and to myself. By...

The children walk away from me, flick flickety off at a tangent between thin blotched beech trunks, then turn like yo-yos at the end of their strings and come back to me” from the poem...

As Henry Moore carvedor modelled his sculpture every day,he strove to surpass Donatello4. and failed, but woke the next morningelated for another try.

The Cloudy VasePast time, I threw the flowers out,washed out the cloudy vase.How easily the old clearnessleapt, like a practiced tiger, back inside it.

what is a journeywithout someone who wandersif sometimes a pairis made of two

I escape disaster by writing a poem with a joke in it:The past, present, and future walk into a bar—it was tense.

The future belongs to all who, refusing to look back at the past move ahead with the clock as it ticks.

Your whispers are gentle echoes that sway ardent winds of harmony and in the symphony of life each word is wrapped in rhapsody… Dance with me within the wind… Let me love You…

Little Maiden Encounters FearDeepest regions walked she therelittle maiden sweet and fairventured far from the pathnever a whispernever a laugh…

Saturated Arrogance…she rebuked those about herin darkness did she dwella pathetic historyall mortal man would tell..

But tears are an indulgence. Memory sings.

aku kembali lagi ke dalam elok puisimencari pelepasan atau sekedar rindumaukah ikut bersamaku menjadi burung terbang bebas pada lanskap senjamaukah ikut bersamaku menjadi kabut pada segenggam gelap subuhmaukah ikut bersamaku menjadi embun di daunatau ingin...

Shade for a manAnd shelter for animals,Planted in your name,May you be the same for those around you,Every year the same.

I will love you with too many commas, but never any asterisks.

Katie says, “You can’t choose the time and place the when and where with whom you fall in love.”She says, “It just happens like that weird feeling you get right before you fall asleep when...

Poems ought to reflect the work the poet does, and his relationships with other people, and family, and institutions, and organization.

TREE HOUSEA tree house, a free house,A secret you and me house,A high up in the leafy branchesCozy as can be house.A street house, a neat house,Be sure to wipe your feet houseIs not my...

J’aime la folle cruauté des chimères qu’on apprivoise.

Music does not need the language of words for it has movements of dance to do its translation.

Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath,From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud-Oh! why should the spirit of...

A stream of primal voicesWhispering in the breeze of your heartTo urge you on.