The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire.He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back...

Git’er DoneThey beat their swords upon their shieldsTo no beast or man would they yield

My prayers, my tears, my wishes, fears, and lamentations, were witnessed by myself and heaven alone. When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties, or long oppressed by any powerful feelings which we must keep...

oxygen Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even, while it calls the earth its home, the soul. So the merciful, noisy machine stands in our house working away in its lung-like voice. I hear it...

But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall...

I went down not long agoto the Mad River, under the willowsI knelt and drank from that crumpled flow, call itwhat madness you will, there’s a sicknessworse than the risk of death and that’sforgetting what...

Therefore, since the world has stillMuch good, but much less good than ill,And while the sun and moon endureLuck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,I’d face it as a wise man would,And train for ill and...

Everything that drowned me taught me how to swim.

you’re already naked in this worldin this timein this lifebeacause your next loveyour next hungeryou next laughterand even your next tearmay never come

Caged BirdA free bird leaps on the back of the windand floats downstream till the current endsand dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.But a bird that stalks...

And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!

…for if a woman’s body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.

Look upward to himLook upward on our goalKeep your eyes on himLook upward to him

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.”Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub...

It’s better to swim in the sea belowThan to swing in the air and feed the crow,Says jolly Ned Teach of Bristol.

Sea-feverI must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song...

I paid, got up, walkedto the door, openedit.I heard the mansay, “that guy’snuts.”out on the street Iwalked northfeelingcuriouslyhonored.

Where is my oasis? Too far fromhere for me to crawl with thesedead legs, refusing to co-operateHands and fingers clawing uselesslythrough the grains of sand…

We remember though all the firelit glowOf a great hearth’s gleam and glare,And we looked for a space at each happy faceAnd the love that was written there.

Thou therefore on these Herbs, and Fruits, and Flow’rsFeed first, on each Beast next, and Fish, and Fowl, No homely morsels, and whatever thingThe Scyth of Time mows down, devour unspar’d, Till I in Man...

I wonder how many women are held up in their bed waiting to be sung to, served wine to, read poetry to, kissed slowly with.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

These aren’t still shots; the camera is always moving. And the scene is always just slipping out of sight, as if in spite of myself I were always descending a hill, rounding a corner, stepping...

Como se acuerda con los pajarosla traduccion de sus idiomas?How is the translation of their languages Arranged with the birds?

and I ask myself and you, which of our visions will claim uswhich will we claimhow will we go on livinghow will we touch, what will we knowwhat will we say to each other.

Just EnoughSoil for legsAxe for handsFlower for eyesBird for earsMushrooms for noseSmile for mouthSongs for lungsSweat for skinWind for mind

Hjuki and BilHjuki and Bil chased the moon,With waters from Byrgir’s well,Upon their shoulders they did share,Simul the pole and Saegr.‘Mani,’ they cried and chased the sky,‘From Byrgir whence we came,To water the earth and...

The first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet.

Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me…I use entirely too much sugar and so far don’t find sucralose to...

Loving you is no more a beautiful memory, but now just a pain,I cry and weep every time I walk down the memory lane,Your love always completed me in every sense as a whole,But now...

If what we need to dream, to move our spirits most deeply and directly toward and through promise, is discounted as a luxury, then we give up the core — the fountain — of our...

By means of poetry all this suffering and effort could be transformed into dream; no matter how much of the ephemeral existed, poetry could immortalize it by turning it into song. Only two or three...

He said he’d hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down.But there was probably some other reason for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder.With a rather abrupt gesture, reaching for a shelf to bring down...

…you fantasize about me reading my poems to you – it doesn’t work that way – I write down everything later – living is not an after-thought…

For a game, you don’t need a teacher.

…the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep …

Hope without love is hopeless.

…these vignettes I sketch for you – what are they? watercolors ..yes and dreams blurred with tears …

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into...

I cannot breathe, or see, nor swim,My darkness is composed of him.

With me: one minus one = one; with you: it’s zero. Here lies the only difference.

What is a woman that you forsake herAnd the hearth fire and the home acreTo go with that old grey widow-maker?

Digressions are part of harmony, deviations too.

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

Maybe all that we are is what people expect us to be.

To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.

Maybe one day we’ll find that place, where you and I could be together and we’ll catch our dreams within the waves of change. So hear me, you are not alone.

Beyond all vanities, fights, and desires, omnipotent silence lies.

Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.

The game itself is bigger than the winning.