Time is a watchful adversary, who waits enduringly for that merciless hour, hurrying to work the hands of separation.

Time (again, Time) like the soul, wears many faces, many bodies and climates and attitudes. The past is one face, the present a second and the future yet another.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)

The stars are but tears shed by a miriad of unrequited dreams; each sparks with fire and guides its light homeward when a dream is revealed

The intensest feeling of the beauty of a cloud lighted by the setting sun, is no hindrance to my knowing that the cloud is a vapour of water, subject to all the laws of vapours...

Alma: ,Dónde está el oro aquel que viste? Todo ha cambiado cuando estuvo enfrente; mis ojos tocan realidad tan triste que digo: es el presente.

Death Be Not ProudDeath, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill...

we rijden door de nacht het licht schijnt voor ons uit het ronken van de motor ismeer stilte dan geluid.

No one wants to read poetry. You have to make it impossible for them to put the poem down–impossible for them to stop reading it, word after word. You have to keep them from closing...

When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it, what will it be when I remember it as I lie down...

Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imaginedfuture, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love ora passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convincedthat even...

Pensar incomoda como andar à chuvaQuando o vento cresce e parece que chove mais.

Nothingness…there in this placewhere nothingness takesbut for the glimmera steadfast shimmerall would be consumed…

Only times and places, only names and ghosts.

…unquestioning automatonsblindly marching to the beat -an eerie crunching soundhoards of shuffling feet…(from silent moments)

Severed and gone, so many years! And art thou still so dear to me, That throbbing heart and burning tears Can witness how I cling to thee?

oxygen Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even, while it calls the earth its home, the soul. So the merciful, noisy machine stands in our house working away in its lung-like voice. I hear it...

But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall...

I went down not long agoto the Mad River, under the willowsI knelt and drank from that crumpled flow, call itwhat madness you will, there’s a sicknessworse than the risk of death and that’sforgetting what...

Therefore, since the world has stillMuch good, but much less good than ill,And while the sun and moon endureLuck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,I’d face it as a wise man would,And train for ill and...

Everything that drowned me taught me how to swim.

you’re already naked in this worldin this timein this lifebeacause your next loveyour next hungeryou next laughterand even your next tearmay never come

Caged BirdA free bird leaps on the back of the windand floats downstream till the current endsand dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.But a bird that stalks...

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!

…for if a woman’s body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.

I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me.

Look upward to himLook upward on our goalKeep your eyes on himLook upward to him

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.”Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub...

It’s better to swim in the sea belowThan to swing in the air and feed the crow,Says jolly Ned Teach of Bristol.

Sea-feverI must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song...

I paid, got up, walkedto the door, openedit.I heard the mansay, “that guy’snuts.”out on the street Iwalked northfeelingcuriouslyhonored.

Where is my oasis? Too far fromhere for me to crawl with thesedead legs, refusing to co-operateHands and fingers clawing uselesslythrough the grains of sand…

We remember though all the firelit glowOf a great hearth’s gleam and glare,And we looked for a space at each happy faceAnd the love that was written there.

Thou therefore on these Herbs, and Fruits, and Flow’rsFeed first, on each Beast next, and Fish, and Fowl, No homely morsels, and whatever thingThe Scyth of Time mows down, devour unspar’d, Till I in Man...

I wonder how many women are held up in their bed waiting to be sung to, served wine to, read poetry to, kissed slowly with.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

These aren’t still shots; the camera is always moving. And the scene is always just slipping out of sight, as if in spite of myself I were always descending a hill, rounding a corner, stepping...

Como se acuerda con los pajarosla traduccion de sus idiomas?How is the translation of their languages Arranged with the birds?

and I ask myself and you, which of our visions will claim uswhich will we claimhow will we go on livinghow will we touch, what will we knowwhat will we say to each other.

Just EnoughSoil for legsAxe for handsFlower for eyesBird for earsMushrooms for noseSmile for mouthSongs for lungsSweat for skinWind for mind

Hjuki and BilHjuki and Bil chased the moon,With waters from Byrgir’s well,Upon their shoulders they did share,Simul the pole and Saegr.‘Mani,’ they cried and chased the sky,‘From Byrgir whence we came,To water the earth and...

The first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet.

Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me…I use entirely too much sugar and so far don’t find sucralose to...

Loving you is no more a beautiful memory, but now just a pain,I cry and weep every time I walk down the memory lane,Your love always completed me in every sense as a whole,But now...

If what we need to dream, to move our spirits most deeply and directly toward and through promise, is discounted as a luxury, then we give up the core — the fountain — of our...

By means of poetry all this suffering and effort could be transformed into dream; no matter how much of the ephemeral existed, poetry could immortalize it by turning it into song. Only two or three...

He said he’d hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down.But there was probably some other reason for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder.With a rather abrupt gesture, reaching for a shelf to bring down...

…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…

For a game, you don’t need a teacher.