Big Brown MooseI’m a big brown moose,I’m a rascally moose,I’m a moose with a tough, shaggy hide;and I kick and I prancein a long-legged dancewith my moose-mama close by my side.I shrug off the coldand...

Oh, mightiest wind,wilt thou cease thy breathing inand hold thy exhales?

yo soy mi propio ángel y mi único demonio.

It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be, with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other’s hands in the dark. No chains or promises, just a...

Maggunitanay ta, unya binanwagan sa bituon, / Latason ta ang hataas nga patag sa kagabhion.(Let us hold hands, and guided by the stars, / Let us tread the long pathway of the night.)

Possible impossibility emerges From an impossible possibility, Or possibly, impossible possibility Blooms from the impossibly possible impossibility.

When shall I be dead and rid Of all the wrong my father did? How long, how long ’till spade and hearse Put to sleep my mother’s curse?

Fear of joy is the darkest of captivities.

If I were stranded in the woods with nothing to eat but nuts, berries, and the complete works of Allen Ginsberg, I’d eat the latter first, because at least the nuts and berries might be...

In a tired time, with the light outside drifting away for another day and the lights inside flickering as they come to life, I cup my hands together and prepare to give thanks … to...

Reading haiku is as much an art as writing it. The reader needs to pause and listen to the silences, to feel the spaces between the words, and to journey into the depths of many...

A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that...

Limitations are possibilities . . . Opportunities to perceive ourselvesBeyond our present selves . . .

~A Comparison of Seasons~Snow’s unforgiving power causes some men to wish for spring’s flower.Some might hate snow’s bitter chill, but you love it at your own will.I see snow as something fun, but others might...

That night, when the creature sleeps, when he sleeps, the mother escapes into her daughters’ room. She tells her daughter that the creature’s afraid of her having too much love, too much heart. She takes...

Honest criticism and sensible appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry.

Author’s PrayerIf I speak for the dead, I mustleave this animal of my body,I must write the same poem over and overfor the empty page is a white flag of their surrender.If I speak of...

Maybe I should just lie quietly inside you while our old selves slip in and out of the back rooms of the soul.

Mine Enemy is growing old –I have at last Revenge –The Palate of the Hate departs –If any would avenge Let him be quick — the Viand flits –It is a faded Meat –Anger as...

Don’t read books!Don’t chant poems!When you read books your eyeballs wither awayleaving the bare sockets.When you chant poems your heart leaks out slowlywith each word.People say reading books is enjoyable.People say chanting poems is fun.But...

As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feetinto the night’s velvet slippersI settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag,of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.

My religion consists of a dwelling admiration of illimitable spirit, with no hate in place, a whole heart to Love and care about the human race. There is lust within each of us, it’s sometimes...

I keep my kindness in my eyes Gently folded around my iris Like a velvety, brown blanket That warms my vision I keep my shyness in my hair Tucked away into a ponytail Looking for...

Onwetend van dit alles maakte ik eind vorige eeuw mijn entree in dit discours door aan een tijdschrift te vertellen dat poëzie volgens mij entertainment is. Als iemand dat platvloers vindt, voegde ik er behulpzaam...

Hands. Cheeks. Eyes. Lips.Neck. Ears.Thighs.Heart. Soul.Ahh!the things I get tosavor you with.

Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to...

I have wished you something None of the others would….

Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of time;Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart...

The MercyThe ship that took my mother to Ellis Islandeighty-three years ago was named “The Mercy.”She remembers trying to eat a bananawithout first peeling it and seeing her first orangein the hands of a young...

In those days I used to talk to myself as if reciting poetry.

What’s a rainy daywithout some deliciouscoffee-flavoured loneliness?

When power narrows the areas of a man’s concerns, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence

There is no hope for the hopeless but there is always some love for the loveless.

When I die, don’t come, I wouldn’t want a leafto turn away from the sun — it loves it there.There’s nothing so spiritual about being happybut you can’t miss a day of it, because it...

You crawled inside myribs to die. Giant becomes squirrelbecomes a dirt-wet girlfeverishly alive.

…Time held me green and dyingThough I sang in my chains like the sea.

their heart grew coldthey let their wings down

Ah, the freshness in the face of leaving a task undone!To be remiss is to be positively out in the country!What a refuge it is to be completely unreliable!I can breathe easier now that the...

I was compared to Charles Bukowski yesterday. It was the best and worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.

Now is History as fast as the mind remembers.

Kindness went out to play all on a summer’s day. With her about many smiles came out and joined in sweet array.Sara Loo, “Mother Goose Move Over or you’re gonna love poetry

Can you look at this brilliant wound?

The heart can think of no devotionGreater than being shore to the ocean-Holding the curve of one position,Counting an endless repetition.

Poetry creates the myth, the prose writer draws its portrait.

The journey back is always longer than the forward run.

solder. this is meand you together

Autumn DuskI saw above a sea of hillsA solitary planet shine,And there was no one, near or far,to keep the world from being mine.

Talk to me in poetry. / It is all I understand.

I was born to make mistakes, not to be perfect.

Poets should be crazy-but only in their poems.