Cook was a captain of the powder-days When captains, you might have said, if you had been Fixed by their glittering stare, half-down the side, Or gaping at them up companionways, Were more like warlocks than a humble man— And men were humble then who gazed at them, Poor horn-eyed sailors, bullied by devils’ fists...

Yes You Are!Like the Blossoming rose,Like the Rays of hope.Like a deer in the forest,Like an athlete full of zest.Like a lamp in temple,Like the life feeling ample.Like the feel of the dawn,Like the grace of the swan.Like the melody of sitar,Like the rage of guitar.Like a group of angels in the sky,Like the pot...

Some who grow dull religious straight commenceAnd gain in morals what they lose in sense.

Cheapen words and they’ll cheapen you

The life we’re given is on a thread, so wear it well.

I love with love, so that we all may love.

Shelley’s servant”. Wasn’t that a wonderful gesture of humility by someonewho was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who tookthe pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam’s poetry inspired yet another poet who wrote as Surada, short for Subburathina-dasan. And to think this long chain of inspiration spans centuries,...

You Know love when you see it, hear it, and feel it.

Love is as we will it to be.

Ultimately not one amongst usWill ever be denied that,The glimmer of a chance to shine.

Be Visionary …

The pure products of Americago crazy……[] No one to witnessand adjust, no one to drive the car

Danse Russe If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,– if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: “I am lonely,...

It is at the edge of the petal that love waits

This is Just to Say I have eatenthe plumsthat were inthe iceboxand whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfastForgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold

I would say poetry is language charged with emotion. It’s words, rhythmically organized . . . A poem is a complete little universe. It exists separately. Any poem that has any worth expresses the whole life of the poet. It gives a view of what the poet is.

WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear—it never tires me. To you, your name also; Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in the sound of your name?

So very lovely His blood on her swollen lips His first vampireSo very lovely He would have to remember Each salacious cutHe took her slowly Bled her of secrets and screams He smiled contemplating That vampires bled just like whores.

If you are a dreamer, come sit by my fire. For we have some flax-golden tales to spin; come in! Come in!

For we cannot tarry here,We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!

This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,You shall possess the good of the earth and sun…. there are millions of suns left,You shall no longer take things at second or third hand…. nor look through the eyes of the dead…. nor feed on the spectres in...

It’s best to watch out for men, like me.

Peace is always beautiful.

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

Birds are flyin’ south for winter.Here’s the Weird-Bird headin’ north,Wings a-flappin’, beak a-chatterin’,Cold head bobbin’ back ‘n’ forth.He says, “It’s not that I like iceOr freezin’ winds and snowy ground.It’s just sometimes it’s kind of niceTo be the only bird in town.

Nobody wanted your dance,Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your flounderingDrowning life and your effort to save yourself,Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,Looking for something to give.

Song of myselfSmile O voluptuous cool-breath’d earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset–earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and...

Beautiful feelings soar freely, while true care roots deeply. Real love can only bedefined by them both.

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.

You may be ableto fly to heaven with my love.But for real, my love is onlya cheap wine.Seriously,Only God’s love is the precious wine.And She evengives it to everyone.For free!

Fear of joy is the darkest of captivities.

Prayer is an insurance policy that you can never lapse on.

so quiet now my dearest knightyour armor shines white stillfor my lips shall not say the wordsthat make you flee with fear”White Knight

evet kimsesizdik ama umudumuz vardıüç ev görsek bir şehir sanıyorduküç güvercin görsek meksika geliyordu aklımızacaddelerde gezmekten hoşlanıyorduk akşamlarıkadınların kocalarını aramasını seviyorduksonra şarap içiyorduk kırmızı yahut beyazbilir bilmez geyikli gece yüzünden

Our story has been told,our song has been sung.You’re a road I’ve already traveled,and from it, I have moved on.”Already Traveled

I wish to get you out of my veins, but you are my third skin; I can’t rub you off.

A beautiful woman can be the downfall of a gentleman . . . but the uplift of a beggar!

Hinged to forgetfulnesslike a door,she slowly closed out ofsight,and she was the woman I loved,but too many times she slept likea mechanical deer in my caresses,and I ached in the metal silenceof her dreams.

TeenagerMe—a teenager? If she suddenly stood, here, now, before me, would I need to treat her as near and dear, although she’s strange to me, and distant? Shed a tear, kiss her brow for the simple reason that we share a birthdate? So many dissimilarities between us that only the bones are likely still the...

There is a Moment in each Day that Satan cannot find

I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee’s life of the poet. She died young–alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this...

I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man’s. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.

Aku harus pergi. Aku tak bisa terus-terusan berdiri disini. Hatiku sesak, pengap. Yang aku tahu aku harus pergi.

But to go to school in a summer morn,O! It drives all joy away;Under a cruel eye outworn,The little ones spend the dayIn sighing and dismay.

Poetry in the dark of the night you are my torch.Poetry makes you believe in the freedom in your own home.Poetry causes the increase of the human race.Poetry ennobles the spirit of man.Poetry is like a noble fragrance that caresses your soul.Poetry is the royal essence of beauty.

Death stoops over me.I’m a problem in chess. Hehas the solution.

Isn’t it time that, in love, we freed ourselves from the loved one and, trembling, endured:as the arrow endures the string, collecting itselfto be more than itself as it shoots?

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,has grown so weary that it cannot holdanything else. It seems to him there area thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,the movement of his powerful soft stridesis like a ritual dance around a centerin which a mighty will stands...

O Stunden in der Kindheit,da hinter den Figuren mehr als nurVergangnes war und vor uns nicht die Zukunft.