Love can be so hauntingly beautiful, waking up past selves that have been wandering aimlessly through the corridors of our soul, for far too long. When someone else can take us from the ghost-town of...

The Little Boy and the Old ManSaid the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”Said the old man, “I do that too.”The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”I do that too,” laughed the little...

A daily diet of God’s Word is guaranteed to bless.

O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

The world was fair, the mountains tallIn Elder Days before the fall…

Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.

I do believe in poetry. I believe that there are creatures endowed with the power to put things together and bring them back to life

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which movesTo that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave...

When people say, “I’ve told you fifty times,” / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, “I’ve written fifty rhymes,” / They make you dread that they ‘II recite them...

brave love, dreamnot of staunching such strict flame, but come,lean to my wound; burn on, burn on.

July 4th fireworks exhale over the Hudson sadly.It is beautiful that they have to disappear.It’s like the time you said I love you madly.That was an hour ago. It’s been a fervent year.

I quickly, swiftly, reach in, pluck out, and peer into the mirror. ‘I am still here.’ I am in the glass, in this moment. After this moment, I may not be here; I may be...

The purpose of poetry is to remind ushow difficult it is to remain just one person,for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at...

from Open HouseMy truths are all foreknown,This anguish self-revealed.I’m naked to the bone,With nakedness my shield.Myself is what I wear:I keep the spirit spare.

The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.

The foremost watchman on the peak announces his news. It is the truest word ever spoken, and the phrase will be th fittest, most musical, and the unerring voice of the world for that time.

It is humor’s job to laugh at the futility oft engendered by the improbable; but it is poetry’s job to dream of the potentiality of that which is not impossible.

I drift like a cloud,Across these venerable eastern lands,A journey of unfathomable distances,An endless scroll of experiences…Lady Zhejiang here we must part,For the next province awaits my embrace.Sad wanderer, once you conquer the East,Where do...

Each loved one went silently down;bubbles bursting leaving behindimages they heldto stick on the glass of memory.

moonrisesettle back with muffins and teauntil the window empties

Poetry is as necessary to comprehension as science. It is as impossible to live without reverence as it is without joy.

Rap in its form is poetry, meaning the point of convergence is words.

The best grammarian still can’t write a verse.

(1)BEING A POETis like opening a car door& exposing yourself.(2)BEING A GOOD POETis like opening the door& exposing the passengeras well.

We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time.

Hungry for beautiful words, the fox comes rooting around in the hedge, almost too close to the fire. He reads my mind with one glance and is gone. All my poetry is now trotting around...

Spirituality is the poetry of our experience. Science is the gauge of our reality. Together, they create the essence of our humanity.

We do not play on Graves—Because there isn’t Room—Besides—it isn’t even—it slantsAnd People come—And put a Flower on it—And hang their faces so—We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—And crush our pretty play—And so we...

Between the desireAnd the spasm,Between the potencyAnd the existence,Between the essenceAnd the descent,Falls the Shadow.

The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide, Earth a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth...

Like a speeding trainI am passing by…I don’t knowwhere I’m headingwith whom or whyall I know is thatI will never, everpass from here againall I know is I’m skidding forwardon this track of life.

…what the Man-Moth fears most he must do..

Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness’s song.

Poetry rhymes, a song our souls need to nourish upon. Poetry is a drum, a sound our bodies wish to have. Poetry is organized, a reading our eyes wish to view. Poetry is refined, a...

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:The sun-comprehending glass,And beyond it, the deep blue air, that showsNothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

Fuck I hate fucksWho think they’re so fucking greatThey know everything about fucking,When they’re just fucking fucks fucking!And no one changes the fucking worldWhen they keep fucking to another fuck’s fuck.

What are days for?Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over.They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days?Ah, solving that questionBrings the priest and the...

God, A Poem ‘I didn’t exist at Creation, I didn’t exist at the Flood, And I won’t be around for SalvationTo sort out the sheep from the cud-‘Or whatever the phrase is. The fact isIn...

when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.

Think of your woods and orchards without birds!Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beamsAs in an idiot’s brain remembered wordsHang empty ‘mid the cobwebs of his dreams!

Whatever you get out of poetry – take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature’s monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only...

depth and substance.the two most exquisite qualities. be it in a poemor a person.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

Not everything can be felt and not everything will be ever understood.

Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate sodas! / You really are beautiful! Pearls, / harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins!

Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you fore defeated Challengers of oblivion Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down, The square-limbed Roman letters Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as...

This poem has been called obscure. I refuse to believe that it is obscurer than pity, violence, or suffering. But being a poem, not a lifetime, it is more compressed.

]sing to usthe one with violets in her lap]mostly]goes astray

Be true to your word and your work and your friend.