Obliging a lady with respect is to pay tribute to her womanhood in elevating society from her role as a daughter, sister, mother and wife.

I am nobody, even if I say I am this or that.

Time Out To Cry ©All alone at the end of the dayThe time, just a little past tenEvening has come for a short stayIt’s time for her sorrow againThe smile on her face she’s been...

Many CastlesOn My Travels i have been A guest in Many castles Yet the Monument Which i Find Divine Is the oasis Where the heart And the silence Intertwine.

Scarring smiles, hidden tears,You stand, heads bowed and revereThe soul before us, burnt and tornHer faded essence, we sadly mournAnd though she walked a path of liesHer spirit surely still shall riseAnd among her own,...

ASK NOT IF POETRY IS DEAD, ASK HOW YOU CAN LIVE FOR POETRY.

Go tell your father about it.”They leave. I inhale the lavender mist. Slather bubbles over my skin. Five more minutes … And, next time, I shall lock the door.

There was a young man who said though, it seems that I know that I know, but what I would like to see is the I that knows me when I know that I know...

Now Leroux, what think youOf this twist to the story?

I could go on all night, Lake. I could go on and on and on about all the reasons I’m in love with you. And you know what? Some of them are the things that...

My heart is crushed, my knees are weakened. My tears drench my pillow, my tears flood my bed every night. Do you know how much I miss you father of my children.

We’ll shape it withour souls.”Desire illuminates the dark manuscriptof our skin with beetles and butterflies.After the lightning and rain has ceased,after the lightning and rain of lovemakinghas ceased, Selah will dive again into thesunflower-open river.

There are no lungs like the ones that breathe poetry.

Holding up an oil-paper umbrella,I loiter aimlessly in the long, longAnd lonely rainy alley,I hope to encounterA lilac-like girlNursing her resentmentA lilac-like color she hasA lilac-like fragrance,A lilac-like sadness,Melancholy in the rain,Sorrowful and uncertain;She loiters...

Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels because if he advances another foot...

Şiir bizim eski suç ortağımızBiz ne işledikse onunla işledik

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.