I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act.We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where...

With red clay between my toes,and the sun setting over my head,the ghost of my mother blows in,riding on a honeysuckle breeze, oh lord,riding on a honeysuckle breeze.

I shivered in thosesolitudeswhen I heardthe voiceofthe saltin the desert.

It’s the poet we love in Caeiro, not the philosopher. What we really get from these poems is a childlike sense of life, with all the direct materiality of the child’s mind, and all the...

I am awaitingperpetually and forevera renaissance of wonder

The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore,Are what ten thousand envy and adore:All, all look up, with reverential Awe,At crimes that ‘scape, or triumph o’er the Law:While Truth, Worth, Wisdom, daily they decry-`’Nothing...

A truth should exist,it should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon?

Professionally he declines and falls, and as a friend he drops into poetry.

A rose lay open in full bloomand, looking from my garden room,I watched the sun-baked flower fill with rain.It seemed so fragile,resting there,and such a silence filled the air,the beauty of the moment caused me...

The heart under your heart is not the one you shareso readily so full of pleasantry & tendernessit is a single blackberry at the heart of a brambleor else some larger fruit heavy the size...

…who would have known the dark eyes staring into mine would become our children’s eyes…?

In my more rebellious days I tried to doubt the existence of the sacred, but the universe kept dancing and life kept writing poetry across my life. (Beyond Religion, p. 81)

She has learned to love. To fear. To hate. And then to love again. Through it all, she writes.” ~Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl

To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge

Everyone calls him BlockheadNo one sings his praisesOr takes him to heart…That is the kind of personI want to be

Sound unbound by nature becomes bounded by art.

Always write exactly what you’re feeling at the exact moment when writing something like poetry or an emotional novel. Put yourself, pour all emotions into your work…make yourself cry, feel joy if you are writing...

Every man needs his Siren To check his courage and strength When he hears her song In his travels through the unknown.

There are two ways to dislike poetry: One is to dislike it; the other is to read Pope.

The image of a wood has appeared often enough in English verse. It has indeed appeared so often that it has gathered a good deal of verse into itself; so that it has become a...

There is nothing like scrubbing toilets for a living to make you question the choices you have made in life.

If emptiness is endless, then everything rests in emptiness.

To love is to soar in the wild unexpectedly.

Get out, but don’t cause unneeded accidents.

Maybe what this is. What we have, is something that will save us from ourselves.

Too often, feelings arrive too soon, waiting for thoughts that often come too late.

Car j’ai vécu de vous attendre,Et mon coeur n’était que vos pas.

The fly lands on the swatter.The movie runs backwardsand catches fire in the projector.This species apes us wellby talking only about itself

When I took my poetry class in school. I read an e. e. cummings poem. I don’t mind eels except how they feels and maybe as meals. I knew there was hope for me.

Now that we are all so smart, we don’t easily find resolutions.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I’m 56 and I often want to write like a child.

Different languages, the same thoughts; servant to thoughts and their masters.

Deep down,I lay dormant inside her head,Deep down,I lay the rules inside her head,Deep down,I lay inside inside her heart,Deep down,I know she will never move onBecause deep down, I am always there

Her magnificence is deeper than skin.

History says, Don’t hopeOn this side of the grave,But then, once in a lifetimeThe longed-for tidal waveOf justice can rise up,And hope and history rhyme

This weekin live currentevents: your eyes.All power can bedangerous:Director alternating,you, socket to me.Plugged in and the gridis humming,this electricity,molecule-deep desire:particular friction, a chargestrong enough to stopa heartor start itagain; volt, re-volt–I shudder, I stutter, I...

He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest,My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

Today is such a lovely day, my heart is dancing with joy.My mind is flowing with timeand my soul is longing for your soul.

Your smile is poetry to my soul igniting flames of old

Second FigSafe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

Historical sense and poetic sense should not, in the end, be contradictory, for if poetry is the little myth we make, history is the big myth we live, and in our living, constantly remake.

It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyse; the name of the poet, Hafiz, Hali, Iqbal, was sufficient guarantee. India—a hundred Indias—whispered outside...

REFLECTIONS OF TRUTHWhere you find TruthIs where you find your reflectionAnd where you find your reflectionIs where you find loveAnd where you find loveIs where you find lightAnd where you find lightIs where you find...

Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.

Kebenaran indah. Kepalsuan juga didendangkan indah. Maka, kebenaran itu palsu?” Memang –kebenaran memiliki imam tersendiri kecuali ketika engkau melihat makmum di belakang terkial-kial mengikutinya lalu bermufaraqah.

Alleen al het feit dat je bij een Vlaamse poëzievoorlezing of een Hollandse toneelvoorstelling onveranderlijk naar gewichtsverlies verlangt is voldoende reden n ooit een Hollandse poëzievoorstelling of Vlaamse toneelvoorstelling te willen bijwonen.

The poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.

When a group of people get up from a table, the table doesn’tknow which way any of them will go.

I want my own will, and I wantsimply to be with my will,as it goes toward action.And in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times,when something is coming near,I want to be with those who knowsecret...

I want my life to be the greatest story. My very existence will be the greatest poem.Watch me burn.Love always, Charlotte