But when you kiss me there’s a spark, and I can’t remember I’m only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.

I am a student of life, and don’t want to miss any experience. There’s poetry in this sort of thing, you know–or perhaps you don’t know, but it’s all the same.

Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.

Truths are written, never said… Lines are drawn, but then they fade.

How surely gravity’s law,strong as an ocean current,takes hold of the smallest thingand pulls it toward the heart of the world.Each thing—each stone, blossom, child—is held in place.Only we, in our arrogance,push out beyond what...

I am a complicated person with a simple life.

The eye–it cannot choose but see;We cannot bid the ear be still;Our bodies feel, where’er they be,Against or with our will.

The glory of Christianity is to conquer by forgiveness.

I love my love with a b because she is peculiar.

I said: ‘A line will take us hours maybe;Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.

We live longerbut less preciselyand in shorter sentences.

Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It’s the crack cocaine of the...

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,Stuffed with the stuff that...

Plût au ciel que le lecteur, enhardi et devenu momentanément féroce comme ce qu’il lit, trouve, sans se désorienter, son chemin abrupt et sauvage, à travers les marécages désolés de ces pages sombres et pleines...

Nobody wanted your dance,Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your flounderingDrowning life and your effort to save yourself,Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,Looking for something to give.

Over the water of time I call to youIn a language I do not know.

Falling in desire with truth and hope is enhancing our soul with a precious love…

Each arrow you shoot offcarries its own targetinto the decidedlysecrettangle

Give me a life time by the fire, with a book in my hand, nothing more and I will tell you a great story.

Stain BoyOf all the super heroes,the strangest one by far,doesn’t have a special power,or drive a fancy car.next to Superman and batman, I guess he must seem tame.But to me he is quite special,and Stain...

Senja yang retak. Kapalkapal berlayar membawa kenangan. Airmatamu menjelma puisi paling duri, paling angin.

I am the eye that beholds… And I am the dreamer that paints the stars in the night sky… For I am the one they call artist, and you call Love.

Speak against unconscious oppression,Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,Speak against bonds.

We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun. We are not afraid of the darkness. We trust that the moon shall guide us. We are determining the future at this very...

I wear the universe backwards. I imagine putting stars in my coffee, and sugar in the sky. I imagine going fishing in clouds, and watching the sun hide behind lakes. I’m too busy dancing with...

My heart’s scripture tastes foreign in the mouths of cowards and on the tongues of those who have never breathed inthe moon and breathed out the world.

It is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem,—a thought so passionate and alive that like the spirit of a plant or an animal it has an architecture of its own, and...

I’ve learned to lickmy own foul woundsand prize the taste of ache.

Brother, It would hurt, And make me the motherOf every living thing.But, Fire Boy, you ain’t lifting my grass skirtUntil you burn me a ring.

Consider the difference between the first and third person in poetry […] It’s like the difference between looking at a person and looking through their eyes.

But yester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I...

Enjoy a life of poverty. Become a poet.

It is not our job to remain whole.We came to lose our leavesLike the trees, and be born again,Drawing up from the great roots.

Haiku does not express emotion from the inside out by displaying the mind of a character. Haiku builds the emotional thrust, makes the artistic statement from the outside in, from the physical world to the...

My love is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June: My love is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. How fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love...

Inside your heartA golden flower blossoms;Inside of meAnd inside of youNever dying . . .This flower of your soul

For the blind poor, Rx: bleed. For yourself; Rx: love nothing.Sow rows of onions only. Plant turnips in the dark of the moon.

children of the mist” – they must dwell apart from men and contemn their kind, or they fear they shall be only taken for common-place characters. They forget that poetry is the language which speaks...

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows, Are proud and implacable, passionate foes;It is always the same, wherever one goes.And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people saythat they do not like fighting, will...

I was the first Chicano to write in complete sentences.

Late FragmentAnd did you get whatyou wanted from this life, even so?I did.And what did you want?To call myself beloved, to feel myselfbeloved on the earth.

This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

the onewho will jolt awakeall the unwrittenthe unsungand the unlived in me. i am waitingfor him.

kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.

A touch so tenderBliss of sweet words fills of desire Open Hearts of sweet surrender Nightly poison gas the fire. A quite place to romance Touches as we held hands. No loud words spoken, but...

Dear, I can’t write, it’s all a fantasy: a kind of circling obsession.

I searched for my own heartand long after I had lost my wayin the days trailing past with their foliagein the aloof sky blue with distanceI thought I’d find my heartwhere I’d kept your eyes...

Often one spends weeks trying to write a poem out of the conscious mind that never comes to anything – these are sort of ‘ideal’ poems that one feels ought to be written, but don’t...

En la tarde lluviosami corazon aprendela tragedia otonalque los arboles lleuven.

I want to have a romance so grand,it would have made Shakespeare fumble for words.