There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold;The Northern Lights have seen queer...

MISERABLERelease the toxic and infectious-Spreaders of misery,Souls destroying souls-And poisonous liars.Awaken from the hallucinations-And take back your heart.Reclaim your self-esteem-And leave the toxic be.

I chase the wind and get lost in the clouds. I’m sweep into darkness in my search for the light.

…soy un fue y un será y un es cansado…

Never miss a minute to Sexercise your mind!

Random thoughts that fly away. Where words has no place to stay. Let it be right where they are. Let the work of art preserve its life.

The rain set early in tonight,The sullen wind was soon awake,It tore the elm-tops down for spite,And did its best to vex the lake:I listened with heart fit to break.When glided in Porphyria; straightShe shut...

I’d love to give you somethingbut what would help?

I can give not what men call love;But wilt thou accept notThe worship the heart lifts aboveAnd the heavens reject not:The desire of the moth for the star,Of the night for the morrow,The devotion to...

Hemingway is overrated,Twain is even more lost at sea,And all truths point to the mouth of a woman,Where both her whispers and her screams,Are born.Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey,I don’t care,So long as its...

Time present and time pastAre both perhaps present in time futureAnd time future contained in time past.

Why does a heart wear its eyesinto helllike slivers of false sunshine

The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth’s dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

My house burned downBut anyway, it was afterThe flower petals had already fallen

I never spoke — unless addressed —And then, ’twas brief and low —I could not bear to live — aloud —The Racket shamed me so —And if it had not been so far —And any...

One clear moment, one of trance One missed step, one perfect dance One missed shot, one and only chance Life is all…but one fleeting glance.

Eché mi esperanza al mar:y aún fue en el mar, mi esperanza verde-mar…

Next, PleaseAlways too eager for the future, wePick up bad habits of expectancy.Something is always approaching; every dayTill then we say,Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear,Sparkling armada of promises draw near.How slow they are!...

Poetry has its uses for despair. It can carve a shape in which a pain can seem to be; it can give one’s loss a form and dimension so that it might be loss and...

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.

Go then, O my inseperable, this once more,

i writebecauseit is the only wayi can reach you.

The Arrow and the SongI shot an arrow into the air,It fell to earth, I knew not where;For, so swiftly it flew, the sightCould not follow it in its flight.I breathed a song into the...

for we all have our own twilights and mistsand abyssesto return to.

We are each what never leaves us, what we never seethe back ofis the self. But what loves usis at the back, as Eurydice wasescorting him outwithout his knowing.

I live there…where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit’s a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt’s a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.

My heart aches for you! But don’t despair! I am persuaded you will come about! Recollect what the poet says! I’m not sure which poet, but very likely it was Shakespeare, because it generally is,...

For poetry was all written before time was, and whenever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music, we hear those primal warblings and attempt to...

All of these teeth had once been in real, live people. They had talked and smiled and eaten and sang and cursed and prayed. They had brushed and flossed and died. In English class, we...

Neither shall you know nor meMan is the killer and creator of thee

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you.

Right words are born in courage, which results from our struggle to make sense of our various predicaments. Cheer is what words are “trying to tell us/… It’s native to the words/and what they want...

To be great, be whole;Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you.Be whole in everything. Put all you areInto the smallest thing you do.So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendorBecause it blooms up...

Being human means throwing your whole life on the scales of destiny when need be, all the while rejoicing in every sunny day and every beautiful cloud.

The poet’s job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way, that...

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

Little world, full of scars and gashes, ripened with another’s pain,Your flowers feed on carrion–so do your birds;Men feed on each other because you taught them life was cheap,Flowing from your endless womb without pain...

I now wish that I had spent somewhat more of my life with verse. This is not because I fear having missed out on truths that are incapable of statement in prose. There are no...

True poetry is the perception of human feelings, the voice of the heart, open or hidden. It is the lyrics, compositions, and melody of the relation between humankind, the universe and God, a shadow pinpointing...

Tree at my window, window tree,My sash is lowered when night comes on;But let there never be curtain drawnBetween you and me.Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,And thing next most diffuse to cloud,Not all...

…but beautiful mosaics are made of broken pieces.

I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me

It is true that a mathematician who is not somewhat of a poet, will never be a perfect mathematician.

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly...

More sailors have drowned in words than in the sea.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;And to do that well craves a kind of wit:He must observe their mood on whom he jests,The quality of persons, and the time,And, like the haggard,...

It’s not pain. It’s raw material.

All the new thinking is about loss. In this it resembles all the old thinking

There are no barriers to poetry or prophecy; by their nature they are barrier-breakers, bursts of perceptions, lines into infinity. If the poet lies about his vision he lies about himself and in himself; this...