Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.

Poetry expresses emotion. What does your inner poet convey?

You bothered yourself and changed the season. I was left behind with your awful sounds.

In math, the backwards E, ∃, means there exists. ∈ means part of a set. A line through that ∉ means excluded from. Everyone ∃, but not everyone ∈. We all feel that, unless we...

Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

Don’t Worry Be Happy

He [Mihaly Babits] hoped that some god might offer a bed to the river of words which rose to his lips, so that it might flow between ordered banks to the sea, there to vanish.

…at dawn, the grains of sleep turn to floating black spots, then out of focus the world tilts, and the cat scratches at the door…

Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.

It’s important to have your private enjoyments because sometimes that’s all we have.

There is another alphabet, whispering from every leaf, singing from every river, shimmering from every sky.

…I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs…strands of significance, traces of you in my life …

It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.

He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chestwhere a heart would fit perfectlyand he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place –well then, game over.

Pose your questions to people and you will get countless useless answers.

Poetry is the whispering of a truth by the shouting of the best possible lies

Death swallows death.

Little deer, I’ve stuffed all the world’s diseases inside you. / Your veins are thorns // and the good cells are lost in the deep dark woods / of your organs.

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.

Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.

I am not a Sunday morning inside four wallswith clean bloodand organized drawers.I am the hurricane setting fire to the forestsat night when no one else is aliveor awakehowever you choose to see itand I...

Someday you will name me, then gently place those burning holy roses in my hair.[Songs of Longing]

I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the...

Apakah hidup ini akan menjadi membosankan, jika hanya melulu soal patah hati dan perasaan yang tak berbalas?

Anger’s like a battery that leaks acid right out of meAnd it starts from the heart ’til it reaches my outer me

A Note Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the sand, rise on wings; to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything...