The American bards shall be marked for generosity and affection and for encouraging competitors… . The great poets are also to be known by the absence in them of tricks and by the justification of perfect personal candor… . How beautiful is candor! All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.

One does not become a poet by uttering beautiful words. One becomes a poet by pouring their soul as wine into the Cup of Love.

for sometime now I have believed that it is our own force, all our own force that is still too great for us. It is true that we do not know it; but is it not just that which is most our own of which we know the least?

The poet produces the beautiful by fixing his attention on something real.

My girl was mad and I loved her. Upon a night, she read my poetry; and kissing me madly she cried, ‘You are a genius, my love!’ To which I replied, ‘My girl,’ whispering, ‘Every doctor in this land with a prescription pad is more of a genius than I.

What the poet has to say to the torso of the supposed Apollo, however, is more than a note on an excursion to the antiquities collection. The author’s point is not that the thing depicts an extinct god who might be of interest to the humanistically educated, but that the god in the stone constitutes...

when you’re a poetyou can dish out whatever’son your mind and you don’t have toapologize for it

Whenever you’re called on to make up your mind,and you’re hampered by not having any,the best way to solve the dilemma, you’ll find, is simply by spinning a penny.No – not so that chance shall decide the affairwhile you’re passively standing there moping; but the moment the penny is up in the air,you suddenly know...

All that really matters isto feel alive, if only for a single moment –to feel in Intense Sensationthat our existence is not an endless repetitionof sleeping, eating, drinking, and dressing.

Another breath, left to translate

I try to stay a civilian, to live as a human, not as a poet.

Some minds corrode and grow inactive under the loss of personal liberty; others grow morbid and irritable; but it is the nature of the poet to become tender and imaginitive in the loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive bird, pours forth his soul in melody.

Show me a person who found love in his life and did not celebrate it with a dance.

Dance to inspire, dance to freedom, life is about experiences so dance and let yourself become free.

Dance is the ritual of immortality

God sent as a revelation the gift of dance so his creation may experience one of the divine pleasures of paradise.

Give the mind rest, do not stress too much on thoughts, close your eyes and let your spirit dance.

Audience of angels descend in the ambiance reciting praises in your glory, when you wear your dance shoes, when you arrive at the stage and with every step you take beneath your feet heaven moves. That is the power of dance.

If the power of love is in your heart then dance away to a universe beyond the stars.

And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.

Nations conquered and true love prevails, all encompassed in a poets tale.

To the poet, to the philosopher, to the saint, all things are friendly and sacred, all events profitable, all days holy, all men divine.

Francis Webb is easily our greatest poet and one of the greatest poets in the world but he’s hardly ever mentioned.

I thought, ‘There are a lot of poets who have the courage to look into the abyss, but there are very few who have the courage to look happiness in the face and write about it,’ which is what I wanted to be able to do.

…a bard’s down-to-earth love: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red and when she walks, treads on the ground…

For once touched by love, everyone becomes a poet

Sometimes I feel as if I am read before I write. When I write a poem about my mother, Palestinians think my mother is a symbol for Palestine. But I write as a poet, and my mother is my mother. She’s not a symbol.

Only faith and restraint against the tyrant damns the saint.

If you were destined to be a poet, then you won’t brainstorm for lines that rhymes. If you were destined to be a celebrity, then you shouldn’t start searching for fans. If you are truly a god, then let others worship you!

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav’n,and strikesThe Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light

Really, he thought, if you couldn’t trust a poet to offer sensible advice, who could you trust?

Marko Vešović sjedi u Staroj Grčkoj na bijelom kamenu…nad njim nebo..

I am hard to disgust, but a pretentious poet can do it

It is the poet and philosopher who provide the community of objectives in which the artist participates. Their chief preoccupation, like the artist, is the expression in concrete form of their notions of reality. Like him, they deal with the verities of time and space, life and death, and the heights of exaltation as well...

Give contemporary POET more SPACE & a long-last MAGIC will surround you all again.

Use all the ugliness you’re feeling to make something beautiful

The Best Thing I love about being a writer and a poet is, I can make up my own words to fit my imagination.

Think of my Pleasure in Solitude, in comparison of my commerce with the world – there I am a child – there they do not know me not even my most intimate acquaintance – I give into their feelings as though I were refraining from irritating a little child – Some think me middling, others...

Whatever is language is poetic language and if the word required by the poet does not exist in his known language then it is up to him to discover it.

Euphemisms chosen by fear are a covenant with hypocrisy and will immediately destroy the poem and eventually destroy the poet.

You do not need a boyfriend or a girlfriend to write an emotional poet; because poetry is beyond hooks and holes.

A poet is not somebody who has great thoughts. That is the menial duty of the philosopher. A poet is somebody who expresses his thoughts, however commonplace they may be, exquisitely. That is the one and only difference between the poet and everybody else.

The poet is at the edge of our consciousness of the world, finding beyond the suspected nothingness which we imagine limits our perception another acre or so of being worth our venturing upon.

The poet is a faker / Who’s so good at his act / He even fakes the pain / Of pain he feels in fact.

I prefer people to consider me by who I am and what I do and not by how I look!

Hazel blue anemone in a little SeaSide cave…drawing currents from the sea turquoise blue on sparkling waves. In ocean dreams, the poet waits by his grotto, passing days. Rhyming verse, his mind creates where his smiling Sea Nymph plays. The lapping seas of emerald green stir the poet’s fantasy neath crystal skies aquamarine and cotton...

Just take my hand, lead, dance with me…and I will simply follow the blueness of the water, the white waves rolling free…where the earth beneath my feet and stars make my heart whole again…in long and priceless moments of shared solitude…

Philosophy is to the mind of the architect as eyesight to his steps. The Term ‘genius’ when applied to him simply means a man who understands what others only know about. A poet, artist or architect, necessarily ‘understands’ in this sense and is likely, if not careful, to have the term ‘genius’ applied to him;...

The Lone Star of Africa Land of the free, on your beach and sacred forests loves flourished. You, Liberia, you my love to echo, the scream of freedom, holding tight and will never let go. O beautiful land, The Lone star for decades has survived wars and tribalism the elders who keep the ancestral treasures...