I have found so much beauty in the dark,as I have found a lot of horror in the light.

At Blackwater Pond At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settledafter a night of rain.I dip my cupped hands. I drinka long time. It tasteslike stone, leaves, fire. It falls coldinto my body, waking the...

Nobody reads poetry anymoreSo who the hell are youI see bent over this book?

won’t you celebrate with mewhat i have shaped intoa kind of life? i had no model.born in babylonboth nonwhite and womanwhat did i see to be except myself?i made it uphere on this bridge betweenstarshine...

The unity in diversity lies only in your heart.

I can tell you that solitudeIs not all exaltation, inner spaceWhere the soul breaths and work can be done.Solitude exposes the nerve,Raises up ghosts.The past, never at rest, flows through it.

Outside our small safe place flies mystery.

Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.

We need your patienceYour knowledgewe need your caring heart

The important thing in life is to be.

YOUR WORDS ARE MADE OF THE AIR I BREATHE.

one day, when tenderness has become the single rule of the morning,/ I will wake in your arms. perhaps your skin will be overly gorgeous./ and the light will include the impossible understanding of love.

she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn’t feelalone.

Love is a fire that burns unseen,a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,an always discontent contentment,a pain that rages without hurting,a longing for nothing but to long,a loneliness in the midst of people,a never feeling...

unless you’re the lead dog the view never changes…mercy out does justice every time:always find your way back home/

If you only write when you’re inspired you may be a fairly decent poet, but you’ll never be a novelist because you’re going to have to make your word count today and those words aren’t...

The centuries are sprinkled with rare magicwith divine creatureswho help us get past the common and extraordinary ills that beset us

I want to see thirstIn the syllables,Tough fireIn the sound;Feel through the darkFor the scream.

Men and women who are lonely create. Those who are gregarious rarely do… Any poet would rather bed with a girl than write a poem about her. All art is the result of frustration. Art...

I like for you to be still: it is as though you are absentdistant and full of sorrow as though you had diedOne word then, one smile is enoughAnd I’m happy; happy that it’s not...

Poetry is dancing with words.

I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops.

I’m in love with New York. It matches my mood. I’m not overwhelmed. It is the suitable scene for my ever ever heightened life. I love the proportions, the amplitude, the brilliance, the polish, the...

Almost every truly creative being alienated & expatriated in his own country

While pensive poets painful vigils keep,Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

Who among us has not suddenly looked into his child’s face, in the midst of the toils and troubles of everyday life, and at that moment “seen” that everything which is good, is loved and...

Cut my life into pizzas. this is my plastic fork. oven baking, no breathing, dont give a fuck if its carbs that i’m eating’ -Catherine Spann

I am the author of my Life and Lovestory,I wrote it in poetry

I thought leaving you would be easy, just walking out the door but I keep getting pinned against it with my legs around your waist and it’s like my lips want you like my lungs...

…perhaps in actions I’m less of a man – but, oh the words – such lovely words…

Nature is an outcry, unpolished truth; the art—a euphemism—tamed wilderness.

…I recall that day on the beach – the sand so brilliant, the clouds so massive, and the wind punishing your hair…

Cosmos is God, who whispered the syllable of life.

..snow gently settles like dust in a shaft – for one moment there is no one else – only the wind like the hiss of an ice skate …

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Poetry [is] more necessary than ever as a fire to light our tongues.

Creating means living.

And blue-lung’d combers lumbered to the kill.

He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.

It’s funny, for all it took was a broken heart and that alone was enough, enough for her to do everything she ever dreamed of.

To go where no one else has ever gone before is the secret of heroism.

She wildly burned for the one she loved and he stood there watching, hoping he too would catch a blaze from the violence stirring in her heart.

Even great men bow before the Sun; it melts hubris into humility.

I kept loving and loving and loving. Every waking hour, I marveled on how these moments would make made me feel. I wanted to love the world and be the change it so deliciously craved.

I could feel the day offering itself to me,and I wanted nothing morethan to be in the moment-but which moment?Not that one, or that one, or that one,

So it’s off with the shellsuit and on with the Armanis,Bring out the champagne and the caviar sarnies

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call’d No-more, Too-late, Farewell

Poetry is more than a form of art. It’s a vibration and a pulsing heart. Whether it’s sour or whether it’s sweet. It can give you strength no one can defeat

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

My best testimonies are from the times I thought I couldn’t survive.