i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens;only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses

A.E.Housman’No one, not even Cambridge was to blame(Blame if you like the human situation):Heart-injured in North London, he becameThe Latin Scholar of his generation.Deliberately he chose the dry-as-dust,Kept tears like dirty postcards in a drawer;Food...

Pity me that the heart is slow to learnWhat the swift mind beholds at every turn.

part memory part distance remainingmine in the ways that I learn to miss you

Harold’s Bow and FoodBowl bowl bowl bowlFood food food foodThe miracle of the heavenly restaurantI mouth thisgreat dark sad eveningSuddenly they come for me in a limousineHow could I have believed I was vanquishedI never...

When the shadows shroud the woods,And the mountains are empty and bare;I am flying with the crow…

McGough: I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve caught poetry. Mr Bones: Oh really? Well, don’t worry, sir – I used to suffer from short stories.McGough: Really? When?Mr Bones: Oh, once upon a time …

Irish improves a poet.

He hoped and feared,’ continued Solon, in a low. mournful voice; ‘but at times he was very miserable, because he did not think it possible that so much happiness was reserved for him as the...

After the final no there comes a yes / And on that yes the future world depends.

But I was youngand didn’t know betterand someone should have told me to capture every secondevery kiss & every nightBecause now I’m sitting here alone and it’s getting really hard to breath because tears are...

A billion stars go spinning through the night, / glittering above your head, / But in you is the presence that will be / when all the stars are dead.

Sometimes you need to sit lonely on the floor in a quiet room in order to hear your own voice and not let it drown in the noise of others.

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough

For you was I born, for you do I have life, for you will I die, for you am I now dying.

How do god fit him ass in them jeans when he is, in fact, Everywhere

Les enfants qui s’aiment s’embrassent deboutContre les portes de la nuitEt les passants qui passent les désignent du doigtMais les enfants qui s’aimentNe sont là pour personneEt c’est seulement leur ombreQui tremble dans la nuitExcitant...

He taught me to be a Da Vinci and I sit here, with his portraits waiting for him to returnI do not think he willIs that what it means to be humanto be all powerful,...

Anger is easier than forgiveness.

Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn’d love; But now I think there is no unreturn’d love—the pay is certain, one way or another; (I loved a...

O may I join the choir invisibleOf those immortal dead who live againIn minds made better by their presence; liveIn pulses stirred to generosity,In deeds of daring rectitude…

What, after all, is mathematics but the poetry of the mind, and what is poetry but the mathematics of the heart?

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...

I wish for magic this season,laughter and fun.I wish for mistletoe kisses-those sparkly ones.

rush of pine scent (once upon a time),the unlicensed convictionthere ought to be another wayof sayingthis.

At the Beginning there was Incomplete information,then belief and then an abstract idea but if you reach Pure reasoning then you start to understand the dualities of life itself.The sunset,the sunrise;A star from approximately 93...

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I’m here.

Dan kerinduan pagi pada matarimemberi jejak pada puisi yang resah senantiasa,memanjati dinding hari dalam dekapan memori,menanti takdir berikutnya bagi cinta tanpa spasi ini

I believein love at first sightbut I will always believe that the peoplewe lovewe have loved before.Many, many, many times beforeand when we stumblethrough grace and circumstance and that brilliant illusion of choiceto finally meet...

I write sappy love poetry. Mostly about bleeding trees.

They say that I am a poetI wonder what they would say if they saw me from the inside I bottleemotions and place them into the sea for others to unbottle ondistant shores I am...

Happy the man, and happy he alone,he who can call today his own:he who, secure within, can say,Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.Be fair or foul, or rain or shinethe joys I...

The South-wind bringsLife, sunshine and desire,And on every mount and meadowBreathes aromatic fire;But over the dead he has no power,The lost, the lost, he cannot restore;And, looking over the hills, I mournThe darling who shall...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some...

Go to the poets, they will speak to theeMore perfectly of purer creatures–

sometimes I hearscreaming like a childand wake upto find it’s me

DICK’S DESIREDick’s eyes-Soft, cold, and blue-Meet Devonshire’s-Dark, sexy, and yearning.Turning away-Dick grabs two packets of sugar-While Devonshire’s eyes-Are still upon him-Pondering his every move.Is Dick a playboy,A ladies’ man,A mans’ man,Or a killer?Does his sex...

Sufilere sohbet gerek Ahilere ahret gerek Mecnunlara Leyla gerek Bana seni gerek seni

Water, water, everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water, everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.

,De qué sirve presumir,rosal, de buen parecer,si aun no acabas de nacercuando empiezas a morir?

Deep feeling doesn’t make for good poetry. A way with language would be a bit of help.

Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.

A good story is like a well-placed punch: quick, effective, and impossible to ignore.

Colliding with the bright lightOf my true self,My illusions scream loudly,Themselves illusionsCreated by other illusions,Finally knowing thatDeep within meBeneath the shellLies the sacred beautyOf my true self.

As Borges has taught us, all the books in the library are contemporary. Great poems are like granaries: they are always ready to enlarge their store.

Used to be hewas my heart’s desire.His forthright gaze,his expert hands:I’d lie on the couch with my eyesclosed just thinking about it.Never about the factthat everything changes,that even this,my best passion,would not be immune.No, I...

You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;They called me the hyacinth girl.’ —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and...

The skies bend, the time stops, the lanes move and the fires dance,It can mean only one thing that I am with you.You are enigmatic yet so beautiful that I have lost my sense, You...

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.

The Tao Te Ching is partly in prose, partly in verse; but as we define poetry now, not by rhyme and meter but as a patterned intensity of language, the whole thing is poetry. I...