Blessed are you who circled desire with a blade, and the garden with fiery swords, and heaven and earth with a word.

Nothing like poetry when you lie awake at night. It keeps the old brain limber. It washes away the mud and sand that keeps on blocking up the bends.Like waves to make the pebbles dance...

I don’t need your praiseto survive. I was here first, before you were here, beforeyou ever planted a garden.And I’ll be here when only the sun and moonare left, and the sea, and the wide...

In this crooked blind alley, as the chill descends,they feed fireswith logs of song and poetry.Hazard not a thought:These are strange times, my dear.The man who knocks at your door in the noon of the...

But one kiss levitates above all the others. Theintersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.The I’ll love you through a brick wall kiss.Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth,like a mermaid...

A poet is a verb that blossoms light in gardens of dawn, or sometimes midnight.

I believe in spectacles, but I think eyes necessary too.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades.

New York! I say New York, let black blood flow into your blood.Let it wash the rust from your steel joints, like an oil of life Let it give your bridges the curve of hips...

That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.

Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater thar sorrow,’ and others say, ‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’But I say unto you, they are inseparable.Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your...

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new,Ring, happy bells,...

You do not need words to tell the truth.

Why is it that you still beguile me –As wind, stone, bird – and all the likes? Why is that you smile on me – With sudden summer lightning strikes?

What happens to a dream deferred?

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

The Decision…I wiped my hands on my pinaforenow sullied and stainednot crisp or pressedas it had been before…

Though solitude, endured too long,Bids youthful joys too soon decay,Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue,And overclouds my noon of day;When kindly thoughts that would have way,Flow back discouraged to my breast;I know there is,...

No lo creo todavía estás llegando a mi lado y la noche es un puñado de estrellas y de alegría palpo gusto escucho y veo tu rostro tu paso largo tus manos y sin embargo...

There was a sound you could smell / like you were inhaling tomorrow.

The Old Poets Of ChinaWherever I am, the world comes after me.It offers me its busyness. It does not believethat I do not want it. Now I understandwhy the old poets of China went so...

I wonder if a fish’sOne and only wish isThat other fish will never say,”This fish is sure delicious!

We join spokes together in a wheel, but it is the center hole that makes the wagon move.We shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness insidethat holds whatever we want.We hammer wood...

THE NEXT DAY WAS RAIN-SOAKED and smelled of thick sweet caramel, warm coconut and ginger. A nearby bakery fanned its daily offerings. A lapis lazuli sky was blanketed by gunmetal gray clouds as it wept...

Our confidence in the future restorative justice of God may even give us confidence to do justice ourselves in the present. We are called then, to stretch out the arms of our minds and hearts...

Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.

Poetry is born of a lack of love, born of a crazy and impossible passion…

YOU SAY “POET” LIKE THAT MEANS SOMETHING.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

Poetry led me by the hand out of madness.

~ Not every poem is meant for oral stimulation, some are better devoured mentally.

Jag föddes för att kränga rosor på de dödas avenyer

Where the bright seraphim in burning rowTheir loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.

May the energy of the day always call for celebration.” Barbara Botch

I Like For You To Be StillI like for you to be stillIt is as though you are absentAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not touch youIt seems as though your...

They were too much to carryso i left them behindfor a new life, in a new placebut no one forgot who i wasi didn’tand neither did the people who watchthey watched for yearsthey watch now

Hay una estrella mas abiertaque la palabra ‘amapola’?Is there a star more wide openthan the word ‘poppy”?

I choose to love this time for oncewith all my intelligence-from “Splittings

The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.

Time is in essence separation; separation produces pain; pain poesis; and poesis is what constitutes the unending stream of human life in this world.

No non-poetic account of reality can be complete.

There was also something about the smell of bookshops that was strangely comforting to her. She wondered if it was the scent of ink and paper, or the perfume of binding, string, and glue. Maybe...

If only you would realize some day, how much have you hurt me,If only your heart ever, craves for me or my presence…If only you feel that love again someday for me,If only you are...

If you come as softlyAs wind within the treesYou may hear what I hearSee what sorrow sees.If you come as lightlyAs threading dewI will take you gladlyNor ask more of you.You may sit beside meSilent...

All the same, we ought to point out that if the kinds of poetry and representation which are designed merely to give pleasure can come up with a rational argument for their inclusion in a...

IthakaAs you set out for Ithakahope the voyage is a long one,full of adventure, full of discovery.Laistrygonians and Cyclops,angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:you’ll never find things like that on your wayas long as you...

…the wind has a purpose – to rattle the window panes, disturb the cat and make me miss you …

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.