If a serious statement is defined as one that may be made in terms of waking life, poetry will never rise to the level of seriousness. It lies beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and...

Apples of HesperidesGlinting golden through the trees,Apples of Hesperides!Through the moon-pierced warp of nightShoot pale shafts of yellow light,Swaying to the kissing breezeSwings the treasure, golden-gleaming,Apples of Hesperides!.Far and lofty yet they glimmer,Apples of Hesperides!Blinded...

So you heroically undertook to endure the pains of faithlessness, just to be able to write good poems. But you didn´t realise then that when you lost that voice inside you, you´d end up all...

Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.

I opened a book and in I strode.Now nobody can find me.I’ve left my chair, my house, my road,My town and my world behind me.I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring,I’ve swallowed the...

Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdiò todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.

A song rises up from the belly of my pastand rocks me in the bosom of buried memories.

. . . All artists’ work is autobiographical. Any writer’s work is a map of their psyche. You can really see what their concerns are, what their obsessions are, and what interests them.

The Amorous Shepherd is a fruitless interlude, but those few poems are among the world’s greatest love poems, because they’re love poems about love, not about being poems. The poet loves because he loves, not...

Fai do meu sexo // un río sen leito.

We lay our words like tenuous plats, build a bridge over itsunsinkable depth: Not a sea of longing,but the brack of wanting what’s physicalto help us forget we are physical.

I want to look into a mirror that will love my own reflection harder than I hate myself.

We maintain, therefore, that the first essential, the life and soul, so to speak, of Tragedy is the Plot; and that the Characters come second—compare the parallel in painting, where the most beautiful colours laid...

Don’t you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?

At last everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I could not help admiring the setting: these mingled touches betrayed on a small scale the inspiration of a poet, the research of a scientist, the good taste...

The poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his sneses, and the mind is no longer in...

Poetry most often communicates emotions, not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions. It therefore communicates something more than the emotion; only by means of that something more does it communicate the...

He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.

Deb and I were married on a snowy night – wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church…

Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.

Poetry is one of my guilty pleasures and I want to thank you poets for providing me with beautiful words that I can devour and selfishly indulge in any time I want. ♥-Nina Jean Slack

In greatness, life and death merge.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.

The farther away, the closer the home becomes.

In fact, unconscious scanning goes on all the time. It seems more than ever that what we know as the visionary or poetic mode is our response via the unconscious senses to what is really...

The world is a navy in an empty ocean.

Appreciate the moment of a first kiss; it may be the last time you own your heart.

The fear of loving a dog, is knowing one day they’ll be gone and you could never find eyes that express all that you feel.

Introduction to PoetryI ask them to take a poemand hold it up to the lightlike a color slideor press an ear against its hive.I say drop a mouse into a poemand watch him probe his...

Late, by myself, in the boat of myself,no light and no land anywhere,cloudcover thick. I try to stayjust above the surface, yet I’m already underand living within the ocean.

Nobility is not only in forgiveness.

A finger beckons.My choice is to turn away.It is a mistake.

Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.

I do have a funny perception of mine I’d like to share. Being basically a lifetime poet. I’ve had many people say “I don’t like poetry” But they’ll listen to song after song that rhymes...

He did not profess to anybody how to reach others without professing.

Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of clasping your hands so tight,Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of the shipwreck that is in my heart would end

I beg you, help me, in angelic charity,Pray my efforts will reflect your mastery!

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

All the black leathershe needsis the E-Z boy reclinerwhere her love is parkedwith one of his hands wrapped around a remote,the other, a bottle of beer.She’s right. It’s kinky.The way he doesn’t look awayfrom the...

The More Loving OneLooking up at the stars, I know quite wellThat, for all they care, I can go to hell,But on earth indifference is the leastWe have to dread from man or beast.How should...

If”If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie, Life would be delight,– But things couldn’t go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn’t...

A Poet never denies creativity entrance.

Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would noteIn me a beauty that was never mine,How first you knew me in a book I wrote,How first you loved me for a written line….

The poem is a little myth of man’s capacity of making life meaningful.

He lived to near the things he loved to seem poetical.

Oh the stellar sensation,Oh the cosmic elevation;Time is sober in death,For the wine of love;Is the blue life of the earth.

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fallFrightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.

For if our bodies aren’t our own,And justice isn’t ours,And our love is just a sin,And voices by the peopleAre no longer for the people,What have we left to lose?

With a metal heartI came to this life,My head was a crucible, full of elixir.Pearl by pearlMy heart was poured,Drop by dropMy head was splashed.The world was entirely a magnet.