HarlemWhat happens to a dream deferred?Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore– And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over– like...

But then you left exactly how all the sad songs said you would

Meadow’s Waltz…the meadow had becomeher sanctuary of spiritoffering an escape from a painno child should ever endureforeboding clouds began…

Things change, time changes. People change, life changes. Time changes things, life changes people.

Cuando uno se enamora las cuadrillasdel tiempo hacen escala en el olvidola desdicha se llena de milagrosel miedo se convierte en osadíay la muerte no sale de su cuevaenamorarse es un presagio gratisuna ventana abierta...

Naming nature doesn’t tame nature.

Love SorrowLove sorrow. She is yours now, and you musttake care of what has beengiven. Brush her hair, help herinto her little coat, hold her hand,especially when crossing a street. For, think,what if you should...

Säjer att jag rymt hit för din skull men ljuger förstås det låter vackrare då ville bara att du skulle ta bort nåldynan från badrummet ställa in kanske mjölk i kylen låtsas att vi lever...

…they come to us, these restless dead,Shrouds woven from the words of men,With trumpets sounding overhead(The walls of hope have grown so thinAnd all our vaunted innocenceHas withered in this endless frost)That promise little recompenseFor...

I hear they make greeting cards now to thank your therapist… for NOTHING

Cansado,sobre todo,de estar siempre conmigo,de hallarme cada día,cuando termina el sueño,allí, donde me encuentre,con las mismas naricesy con las mismas piernas…

I don’t think I’ve ever dared to write down what I see in the ruins of me, or tell in any detail the scars and all their secrets.

, gathering fantasies about her. Curiosities were most sweet to accumulate, it is my heart, that does not beat without her.

You are my strength when I am weakYou are my shield when I am hurtingWhatever you say unto me LordI will do

Loneliness why do you accompany me if I wish to be alone?

SOME PEOPLE SIMPLY DO NOT EXIST ANYMORE. GET USED TO IT. QUESTION MARK.

This worldthat was our homefor a brief spellnever brought us anythingbut pain and grief;its a shame that not one of our problemswas ever solved.We departwith a thousand regretsin our hearts.

Fee-fi-fo-fum -Now I’m borrowed.Now I’m numb.

If a serious statement is defined as one that may be made in terms of waking life, poetry will never rise to the level of seriousness. It lies beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and...

Apples of HesperidesGlinting golden through the trees,Apples of Hesperides!Through the moon-pierced warp of nightShoot pale shafts of yellow light,Swaying to the kissing breezeSwings the treasure, golden-gleaming,Apples of Hesperides!.Far and lofty yet they glimmer,Apples of Hesperides!Blinded...

So you heroically undertook to endure the pains of faithlessness, just to be able to write good poems. But you didn´t realise then that when you lost that voice inside you, you´d end up all...

Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.

I opened a book and in I strode.Now nobody can find me.I’ve left my chair, my house, my road,My town and my world behind me.I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring,I’ve swallowed the...

Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdiò todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.

A song rises up from the belly of my pastand rocks me in the bosom of buried memories.

. . . All artists’ work is autobiographical. Any writer’s work is a map of their psyche. You can really see what their concerns are, what their obsessions are, and what interests them.

The Amorous Shepherd is a fruitless interlude, but those few poems are among the world’s greatest love poems, because they’re love poems about love, not about being poems. The poet loves because he loves, not...

Fai do meu sexo // un río sen leito.

We lay our words like tenuous plats, build a bridge over itsunsinkable depth: Not a sea of longing,but the brack of wanting what’s physicalto help us forget we are physical.

I want to look into a mirror that will love my own reflection harder than I hate myself.

We maintain, therefore, that the first essential, the life and soul, so to speak, of Tragedy is the Plot; and that the Characters come second—compare the parallel in painting, where the most beautiful colours laid...

Don’t you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?

At last everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I could not help admiring the setting: these mingled touches betrayed on a small scale the inspiration of a poet, the research of a scientist, the good taste...

The poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his sneses, and the mind is no longer in...

Poetry most often communicates emotions, not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions. It therefore communicates something more than the emotion; only by means of that something more does it communicate the...

He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.

Deb and I were married on a snowy night – wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church…

Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.

Poetry is one of my guilty pleasures and I want to thank you poets for providing me with beautiful words that I can devour and selfishly indulge in any time I want. ♥-Nina Jean Slack

In greatness, life and death merge.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.

The farther away, the closer the home becomes.

In fact, unconscious scanning goes on all the time. It seems more than ever that what we know as the visionary or poetic mode is our response via the unconscious senses to what is really...

The world is a navy in an empty ocean.

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

The fear of loving a dog, is knowing one day they’ll be gone and you could never find eyes that express all that you feel.

Introduction to PoetryI ask them to take a poemand hold it up to the lightlike a color slideor press an ear against its hive.I say drop a mouse into a poemand watch him probe his...

Late, by myself, in the boat of myself,no light and no land anywhere,cloudcover thick. I try to stayjust above the surface, yet I’m already underand living within the ocean.

Nobility is not only in forgiveness.