Sad that there is books that are based on bad events that has happened. But there is books that has been based on really good events. I like to read the ones that are based...

If I knew where poems came from, I’d go there.

YOU

You will not know all about the firesimply because you asked.When she speaks of the forestthis is what she is teaching you,you who thought you were her master.

The Power of the Dogby Rudyard KiplingThere is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always...

Maybe all that we are is what people expect us to be.

The greatest adventure is to have no fear for the blaze that lies ahead.

Perasaan tidak sejalan dengan logika!Kebodohan macam apa ini?

moonlight disappears down the hillsmountains vanish into fogand i vanish into poetry.

when I finally begin to driftinto sleepyour memory is the…firstand the moonlightthe last, to kiss my face.

[poems are] crystals deposited after the effervescent contact of the spirit with reality.(cristaux deposes apres l’effervescent contact de l’esprit avec la realite)

Start Where You StandStart where you stand and never mind the past,The past won’t help you in beginning new,If you have left it all behind at lastWhy, that’s enough, you’re done with it, you’re through;This...

Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.

What else is a poem about?The rhythm and the images buried in the language. All the ways you can build an emotion with words, but you can’t just write ‘I feel sad.’ I mean, you...

Words I ONCE HEARD A MAN SAY OR WAS IT SOMEWHERE I READ, OR MAYBE SOMETHING I WROTE A THOUSAND TIMES IN MY MIND. YOU GOT TO FIND YOUR OWN MEANING IN THIS WORLD. NO...

Good folk, I have no coin,To take were to purloin:I have no copper in my purse,I have no silver either,And all my gold is on the furzeThat shakes in windy weatherAbove the rusy heather.

The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move & breathe.

My demons creep like a pedo in a park full of kids. Each one reminding me of the consequences, what I didn’t do, or did.

When They Die We Change Our Minds About Them When they die we change our minds about them. While they live we see the plenty hard they’re trying,to be a star, or nice, or wise,...

Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself.

Excuse me, I feel interrupted and I think I’ve overdose from the idea of loving you.

I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places.

When I Read the Book”When I read the book, the biography famous, And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man’s life? And so will some one when I am dead and...

i am permanentlytannedin the summer of poetry.

Projection from the beginning of time White women with a passionate horns Butchered yet another beloved

[L]ife is a phenomenon in need of criticism, for we are, as fallen creatures, in permanent danger of worshipping false gods, of failing to understand ourselves and misinterpreting the behaviour of others, of growing unproductively...

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.

Sublime wonders lie in store,I am shown a regal residence;a mighty kingdom, an empirewith more grandeur than before …

There is never a time or place for love. It happens accidentally. Oops!

I hide myself behind, a cloud of smoke; the smoke screen varies, dependent on the variable. The variable consists of: stress, anguish, boredom, madness, anger, depression, apathy, negativity, sex, violence & a little chunk of...

In fiction, the characters have their own lives. They may start as a gloss on the author’s life, but they move on from there. In poetry, especially confessional poetry but in other poetry as well,...

If lighthouse becomes a burning candle, flickered upon ocean’s insanity.Your sailing heart there anchors to handle the obsessed breeze towards sand dune’s vanity.

I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

Words mean nothingActions are everythingExpect nothingAppreciate everything

Appreciate the moment of a first kiss; it may be the last time you own your heart.

The truth is I didn’t need therapy; I just needed to feel loved and know that someone out there craved my attention.

When one does not die for the other, then we are already dead_

Too lazy to be ambitious,I let the world take care of itself.Ten days’ worth of rice in my bag;a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?Listening to the night rain on...

Once in a while i am struckall over again… by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

when the glory night envelop the moon that would light up the exhilaration of heart..the sun was reluctant to reveal smile to warm the earth..when the fire burn until the wood becomes charcoal yield and...

The WeaverMy life is but a weavingbetween my Lord and me;I cannot choose the colorsHe worketh steadily.Oft times He weaveth sorrowAnd I, in foolish pride,Forget He sees the upper,And I the underside.Not til the loom...

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

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...

There is nothing to save, now all is lost,but a tiny core of stillness in the heartlike the eye of a violet.

The streets are silent / The playgrounds are still /The noise has moved elsewhere / Into our homes / Into our hearts / It’s been too long /Children are not where they belong /The streets,...

I love the way he says my name. With the elegance and utmost respect of a King, just before he bows to his Queen.

Learning to See” I’m always teaching myself to see beauty in all aspects of reality, yearning to learn the beauty in others, from their vision of everyday life to their deepest secrets of their dreams....

the poem doesn’t have stanzas, it has a body, the poem doesn’t have lines,/ it has blood, the poem is not written with letters, it’s written/ with grains of sand and kisses, petals and moments,...

If the poets offered us nothing more than another make-believe world, they would be mere sellers of drugs or, at best, sweetmeats.

She had the power to change the world but she couldn’t save the one she loved.