I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.

It’s the end of man and I can do whatever I want.

It seems only yesterday I used to believethere was nothing under my skin but light.If you cut me I could shine.

I am, a shadowthat grows longer as the sunmoves, drawn outon a thread of wonder.If I bear burdensthey begin to be rememberedas gifts, goods, a basketof bread that hurtsmy shoulders but closes mein fragrance. I...

I cannot forgive you. That day, if you had not refused, I would have given you a present. I would have carved my love in stone.

OnceThere was a quiet island,With a name.You must believe me When I say that sunlight, Impure but beautiful, Broke upon the bay, silveredThe unrepentant, burning moon.

A good poem has rhyming but no ending, it continues to rhyme in our heart.

THE SILENT PEOPLESome people are so rude,Living their lives with no concern for others,Or possibly just intent on pissing other people off-Annoying everyone around them.The silent people-Want to kill them-And drive forks into their skulls-Create...

Inside my head / or in a distant / Galaxy / Soft I hear it / Calling me.” from the song “In the Blackness” in the poetry collection “Terra Affirmative”.

The IdealThis is where I came from.I passed this way.This should not be shameful Or hard to say.A self is a self. It is not a screen. A person should respectWhat he has been. This...

Look, do you see that poem?’ she said suddenly, pointing.

add onemake dumbadd twomake poo

ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink.

Nainen kerää kourat täyteen heinäsirkkoja,sudenkorentoja, kunnes eksyy yhä syvemmälleyhä paremmin eksyyeikä halua pois, sillä pedotvenyttelevät jäseniään janostavat kuonon kohti taivasta.

I’m looking for youin the bare corridor where my shadow is the only passerbyharmonizing an unsettling whisper: echoed through my chiming thoughtsFrom the poem ‘Looking For You

Butterfly KissesAged imperfectionsstitched upon my faceyears and years of wisdomearned by His holy grace.Quiet solitude in a humble homeall the family scattered nowlike nomads do they roam.Then a giftsent from abovea memorypure and tangiblewrapped in...

Si tu bendita soledadse funde con la míaya no sabré si soy en voso vos terminás siéndome.

It is time I came back to my real lifeAfter this voyage to an island with no name,Where I lay down at sunrise drunk with light.

I don’t think that I’ve been in love as suchAlthough I liked a few folk pretty wellLove must be vaster than my smiles or touchfor brave men died and empires rose and fellFor love, girls...

…my body has becomeanother countryand I feel like an unemployedillegal alienhow will I survivewhere I do not belongI belong with you

Chúng mình rồi có gì chungNgoài năm tháng ấy đã từng qua nhau?

Poem of the day 1. nóvember 2010:TunglskinOg vatnið starir, starir köldum augumá stirndan himin yfir bleikum tindum.Og inn í dalnum dökkir skuggar trjánna við dapra geilsa tunglsins stíga dans.Og yfir sandinn, langar óraleiðir, lýsir tunglið...

THE POEMS OF OUR CLIMATEIClear water in a brilliant bowl, Pink and white carnations. The lightIn the room more like a snowy air, Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snowAt the end of winter when afternoons return.Pink...

Standing is stupid, Crawling’s a curse, Skipping is silly,Walking is worse.Hopping is hopeless,Jumping’s a chore,Sitting is senseless, Leaning’s a bore.Running’s ridiculous,Jogging’s insane-Guess I’ll go upstairs andLie down again.

Okay, we didn’t work, and allmemories to tell you the truth aren’t good.But sometimes there were good times.Love was good. I loved your crooked sleepbeside me and never dreamed afraid.There should be stars for great...

Dance is the ritual of immortality

My life is filled with buckets of tears; thousands of people shouting in my ears; the humming and chirping of hundreds of Himalayan birds, which are irresistible to hear.

The sea loved the moonWhen she was supposed to love the shore.The moon knewAnd hence made his intentions known. That she should love the shoreWho was destined for her.Yet his protests seemed weak. And even...

To count the stones losing countis the sense of our life: the algebraof our displacements.To follow paths losing sense is the circumvolution, the evolution: the logicof our moments. But. No.There is no symmetry in our...

So here is my story, may it bringSome smiles and a tear or so,It happened once upon a time,Far away, and long ago,Outside the night wind keens and wails,Come listen to me, the Teller of...

My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.

it is so dark now with the sadness ofpeoplethey were tricked, they were taught to expect theultimate when nothing ispromisednow young girls weep alone in small roomsold men angrily swing their canes atvisions asladies comb...

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.Shovel them under and let me work– I am the grass; I cover all.And pile them high at GettysburgAnd pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.Shovel them under...

Pity that child who was born near Rouen,His only crime, to arrive deformed.

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.

Everything I do you are here to give me an assurance that I will succeed. What an awesome Father you are.

I notice you have the assault proof vest -So it’s my fault I guess.So apparently I didn’t say ‘no’ as loud as my clothes could say ‘yes.’You see I didn’t know that my ‘no’ wasn’t...

Don’t be afraid to be afraid. Have fear, and then conquer the shit out of it.

I submitted a poem last night to The New Yorker. They said it can take up to three months to hear back. I got rejected immediately.

Everything is all right,When you’re here,When you’re right next to me,When my hand is in yours,Don’t leave me,Don’t leave me empty handed.

ANY FOOL CAN GET INTO AN OCEAN BUT IT TAKES A GODDESS TO GET OUT OF ONE.

Kushtrimi i SkanderbeutÇ’asht moj Zanë kjo gjamë nga malet, Ç’asht kjo ushtimë që kurr nuk ndalet, L’shon kushtrimin Skanderbeu, Dridhet toka, tundët dheu.N’kambë shqiptarë ju me u çue, Me ngjesh armët me luftue, Ka ardhun...

Yes, I know,” Isadora said, and then read her poem, leaning forward so Carmelita Spats would not overhear:”I would rather eat a bowl of vampire batsthan spend an hour with Carmelita Spats.”The Baudelaires giggled and...

i am really colored & really sad sometimes & you hurt memore than i ever danced outta/ i am ready to die like a lily in thedesert/ & i cdnt let you in on it...

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you. I want to ride in the swing of your hips. My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs...

Qui croitPouvoir faire du mielSans partager le destin des abeilles?

Meadow’s Waltz…the meadow had becomeher sanctuary of spiritoffering an escape from a painno child should ever endureforeboding clouds began…

to live in this worldyou must be ableto do three thingsto love what is mortal;to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it...

she wanted because art

Yo te he nombrado reina.Hay más altas que tú, más altas.Hay más puras que tú, más puras.Hay más bellas que tú, hay más bellas.Pero tú eres la reina.Cuando vas por las callesnadie te reconoce.Nadie ve...