I froze before the keyboard. I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. No poems, no prose, no words. The pain cannot even be alchemized into art, into words, into something you can chalk...

Great writers experience their dreams. They put them on paper, where others can read about them.

All the drawing lacksis the final touch: To addeyes to the dragon

Evening by eveningAmong the Brookside rushes,Laura bow’d her head to hear,Lizzie veil’d her blushes:Crouching close togetherIn the cooling weather,With clasping arms and cautioning lips,With tingling cheeks and fingertips.”lie close,” Laura said,Pricking up her golden head:”We...

Praėjusią savaitę ponia Modžeri paskolino man knygą. Ji vadinasi “Oksfordo šiuolaikinės poezijos antologija, 1892-1935”. Jie leido tokiam žmogui, pavarde Jytsas, atrinkti eilėraščius. Geriau jau būtų to nedarę. Kas jis toks – ir ką jis išmano...

When Great Trees FallWhen great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall grasses,and even elephantslumber after safety.When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear.When great souls die,the air around...

Oh, there are no living poets, Miss Van Damn. We’re not entirely sure there ever were. They’ve found some shreds of sonnets in England and, embedded in a chalk wall of a cave in France,...

She was broken, I think it’s because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.

I wrote her story because she wanted to live forever and I loved her far more with every word, too much! Even in death her life sought out beauty, for her moments were consumed with...

kau mata, aku airmatamu…

God would seem to indicate to us and not allow us to doubt that these beautiful poems are not human, or the work of man, but divine and the work of God; and that the...

savorwith methe lushnessof a lingering sleep…and last night’sdream.

It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.

In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spirituality is usurped by the divisive politics of religious organizations, and when broken hearts bleed pain in...

SELFBENEATH THE SURFACE,VEILED ON PURPOSE,ALL KNOWING AND GRAND,DIRECTED, GUIDED, BY THE ETERNAL HAND,SUSTAINED, FULFILLED, FULL OF LIGHT,REALIZATION ACHIEVED, BY WILLFUL MIGHT.

With me: one minus one = one; with you: it’s zero. Here lies the only difference.

I love not man the less, but nature more

I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall...

Remove the computer chipslodged in your brain before they convince youthat you’ve gone insane…Take a bite out of realityinstead of becominga reality byte.

I believe in family values and following your dreams.

Careful.The fall is quick,steep,and permanent.

…you fantasize about me reading my poems to you – it doesn’t work that way – I write down everything later – living is not an after-thought…

Society will always be too fragile to accept us for all that makes us beautiful.

Madness and chaos are self-destructing but over thinking is the suicide.

A crimson fire that vanquishes the stars;A pungent odor from the dusty sage;A sudden stirring of the huddled herds;A breaking of the distant table-landsThrough purple mists ascending, and the flareOf water ditches silver in the...

La Courbe de tes yeuxLa courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur,Un rond de danse et de douceur,Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr,Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que...

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.

I love you in my very own way.Like a stone loves the mosses around itLike a sea loves the pebbles in itLike a coincidence…Taking you as the way you are,With all the bruises, scars and...

To write good poems is the secret of brevity.

a politician is an arse uponwhich everyone has sat except a man

Every moment of the nightForever changing placesAnd they put out the star-lightWith the breath from their pale faces

Le ChatJe souhaite dans ma maison:Une femme ayant sa raison.Un chat passant parmi les livres.Des amis en toute saisonSans lesquels je ne peux pas vivre.

I belong to clever words and bedtime storieseven a good riddle or twoI belong to the sound of musicand dance to my own rhythmI belong to the sunlight on a chilly autumn daywhen the world...

Today I write,riots with insite!Tomorrow I read,take the lead!Sometimes I sleep, health to keep!But for now I write,and got no gripe!

In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on rowThat mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns belowWe are the DeadShort days agoWe lived,...

anyone who has no feelings for animals has a dead heart.

Maybe I hope too much. Maybe I dream too much or maybe I love too much to just give up on you.

We may know who we are or we may not. We may be Muslims, Jews or Christians but until our hearts become the mould for every heart we will see only our differences.

Katanya,Kalau jodoh, alam semestapun akan ikut mendukung.Tapi ini BUKAN.Waktu tak pernah berpihak.Bahkan hatimu TIDAK.Bukan sekali, tapi 3 kali ketukan.Aku pikir itu cukup.Cukup untuk 1 kesimpulan.

When you left you left behind a fieldof silent flowers under a sky full of unstirred clouds…you left a million butterfliesmid-silky flutters You left like midnight rain against my dreaming ears Oh and how you...

let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver…overflowing with stars.

People used to say poems were different to songs but I don’t think they are.

all people start tocome apart finallyand there it is:just empty ashtrays in a roomor wisps of hair on a combin the dissolving moonlight.

I travel, always arriving in the same place.

If you had told me, though, when I was twenty-four that I would write about Skokie, Illinois, where I grew up, I would have said, ‘You’re out of your mind. Why would I have Skokie...

There was a young lady of NigerWho smiled as she rode on a tiger;They returned from a rideWith the Lady insideAnd the smile on the face of the tiger.

The world is a wide place where we stumble like children learning to walk. The world is a bright mosaic where we learn like children to see, where our little blurry eyes strive greedily to...

Is stuffed, de world, wif feeding girls.

You should gofrom place to placerecovering the poemsthat have been written for youto which you can affix your signature.Don’t discuss these matterswith anyone.Retrieve. Retrieve.When the basket is fullsomeone will appearto whom you can present it.