Lineation can make your break your poems.

Higgledy piggledy, my black hen,She lays eggs for gentlemen.Gentlemen come every dayTo count what my black hen doth lay.If perchance she lays too many,They fine my hen a pretty penny;If perchance she fails to lay,The...

We never said farewell, not even lookedOur last upon each other, for no signWas made when we the linked chain unhookedAnd broke the level line.And here we dwell together, side by side,Our places fixed for...

How many fears came between us?Earthquakes, diseases, wars where hellrained smoldering pus from skies made of winged death.Horror tore this world asunder.While inside the bleeding smokeand beyond the shredded weeping fleshwe memorized tales of infinite...

Romantic waves beat deep in my chest of playful untouchable thoughts of you… As dreams are the threads I weave with care the path for you to me…the sky above lagoon with lovely lights, soft...

Remember: In poetry, each word is like a loaded gun; very heavy, and full of intent

You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.This is but half the truth.You are also as strong as your strongest link.To measure you by your smallest...

{…]I began to feel tears of frustration build up in my eyes, yearning to free themselves from their glandular prisons.

Love’s mysteries in souls do grow,But yet the body is his book.

The talked about their messed-up, dysfunctional families, carefully respecting boundaries, never probing too deep in any one sitting. And they always ended up laughing. Even when the subject matter was intense or macabre, Henry’s sick...

We hear the saints saying: Our brother the world. We hear the revolutionaries: Dare we win?

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apartFlesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

Xs and OsLove is a gameof tic-tac-toe,constantly waiting,for the next x or o.

The ocean-blue bowl won’t refuse to bruise, won’t hold it back from the gaping earth-wounds.There will still come water, chill wind and happy goosebumps, and in the utmost corners of oaks, leaves laughing.

Honor LostAmbulant sunshine piercedthe soot covered glass ~the feeble man wandered byin this ritual morning pass …

How could poetry and literature have arisen from something as plebian as the cuneiform equivalent of grocery-store bar codes? I prefer the version in which Prometheus brought writing to man from the gods. But then...

Do You Believe…on this road of lifeon this dayI take younow husband and wife…

Prowling the meanings of a word, prowling the history of a person, no use expecting a flood of light. Human words have no main switch. But all those little kidnaps in the dark. And then...

to live in this worldyou must be ableto do three thingsto love what is mortal;to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it...

Had we but world enough, and time…

On the beach, at dawn:Four small stones clearlyHugging each other.How many kinds of loveMight there be in the world,And how many formations might they makeAnd who am I everTo imagine I could knowSuch a marvelous...

Up, lad: thews that lie and cumberSunlit pallets never thrive;Morns abed and daylight slumberWere not meant for man alive.

Prison MoonFour a.m. work duty and I beginmy solitary trudge from outer compoundto main building. A shivering guard,chilled in his lonely outpost, strip searchesme until content that my inconsequential nudity.poses no threat and then whispersthe...

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and handand asshole...

Ali ipak uz mene se može, mada je neobično, Sa mnom je opasno hteti, ja nikad ne odustajem.

Any healthy man can go without food for two days–but not without poetry.

Paris and HelenHe called her: golden dawnShe called him: the wind whistlesHe called her: heart of the skyShe called him: message bringerHe called her: mother of pearl barley woman, rice provider, millet basket, corn maid,...

I’m Noah, and you are the ship coasting along the banks and as long as you are my valentine I will sail between your eyes..

And so I’ve written everything down, too afraid of my demons and what they may say, the doubt that eats at me from the inside. Too afraid that I’ll forget and it’ll all be a...

Watch out for intellect,because it knows so much it knows nothingand leaves you hanging upside down,mouthing knowledge as your heartfalls out of your mouth.

I’m merely dying to be remembered for simply writing about my living memories

For books are more than books, they are the lifeThe very heart and core of ages past,The reason why men lived and worked and died,The essence and quintessence of their lives.

I had forgotten such innocence exists,/forgotten how it feels/ to live with neither calendars nor clocks

from my chair i can see the street and it seems depressing

Love.Because of you, in gardens of blossomingFlowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.I have forgotten your face, I no longerRemember your hands; how did your lipsFeel on mine?Because of you, I love the white...

I see a brightportionunder the overhead lightthat shades intodarknessand then into darkerdarknessand I can’t see beyond that.

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.

Outside the study hall the next fall, the fall of our senior year, the Nabisco plant baked sweet white bread twice a week. If I sharpened a pencil at the back of the room I...

That’s what I want, that kind of recklessness where the poem is even ahead of you. It’s like riding a horse that’s a little too wild for you, so there’s this tension between what you...

Poetry is above all a concentration of the power of language, which is the power of our ultimate relationship to everything in the universe. It is as if forces we can lay claim to in...

Everything is temporary, almost like a passing fase, some of laughter Some of pain. What we would do, If we had the chance to explore What we had taken for Granted the very day before,...

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;Thus unlamented let me die;Steal from the world, and not a stoneTell where I lie.

A bush-warbler,Coming to the verandah-edge,Left its droppingsOn the rice-cakes.

Amé, fuí amado, el sol acarició mi faz.¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!I loved, I was loved, the sun stroked my face.Life, you owe me nothing! Life, we are at peace!

The strings in her mind grew flatter, calmer. The shapes in the hologrid had changed. She heard the man’s words, and yet she didn’t; the words were not what was really important. And wasn’t that...

To use the term ‘clerk’ as an insult is simply a banal vulgarity; Pessoa and Svevo, however would have welcomed it as a just attribute of the poet. The latter does not resemble Achilles or...

…dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins – now the crows own the field…

In their effort to divorce language and experience, deconstructionist critics remind me of middle-class parents who do not allow their children to play in the street.

The things you struggle with today are the things you choose to struggle with.Because you believe that what you want to accomplish, is worth struggling for.

Words rich in meaning can be cheap in sound effects.