the next time you hear someone in a workshop remarking on how good a particular free-verse line or passage sounds, scan it. The odds are that it will fall into a regular metrical pattern.

My tongue remembers your wounded flavor.The vein in my neckadores you. A swordstands up between my hips,my hidden fleece sends forth its scent of human oil.

Poems are like dreams: in them you put what you don’t know you know.

To write poetry and to commit suicide, apparently so contradictory, had really been the same, attempts at escape.

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,The proper study of mankind is Man.Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,A being darkly wise and rudely great:With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,With too...

Poetry should only occupy the idle.

Poetry is Life. We experience poetry from the time we awake each morning and inhale that fresh breath of air. You are living poetry. Poetry is not defined by the laws of man. Inspiration is...

nothing is more opaque than absolute transparency. Look–my feet don’t hit the marble! Like breath or a balloon, I’m rising, I hover six inches in the air in my blazing swan-egg of light. You think...

Almost none of the poetries I admire stick to their labels, native or adopted ones. Rather, they are vagrant in their identifications. Tramp poets, there you go, a new label for those with unstable allegiances.

…you disappoint me -I am the worst liar in the world – I can’t hide my pain or my need so I make a bouquet of my sorrows and give them to you …

Come boy, and pour for me a cupOf old Falernian. Fill it upWith wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear;Our host decrees no water here.Let dullards drink the Nymph’s pale brew,The sluggish thin their blood with...

When the holly’s in the redAnd the pine is in the green,When the mornings all are frosty,In a brilliant silver sheenThen I love to go a’ walkingRambling here and there, quite slow,Plucking greenery and berries;Wishing...

Everything that looks too perfect is too perfect to be perfect.

It was a scary thought. A man could be surrounded by poetry reading and not know it.

There can be no forced inspiration.

Oh, the things we invent when we are scaredand want to be rescued.

When he is most powerful, nothing does he become.

truth is a friendthat asks for loyaltyand acceptancethen it enters our heartsdissolving the boundariesfreeing us from lonliness

Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke.

Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product’s something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.

In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.

Ill love you with every little bit of everything that has ever consumed me and I will forever love you and forever find you in every life time and so on. Until the stars die...

Unjustified ambition kills value,Kills someone else’s desire to fly, Cuts their wings, sucks their air.If there is nothing else, it eats its own life.

My world was the size of a crayon box, and it took every colour to draw her

There is no born lover, There is no born Don Juan, For we are all lovers.

Thơ ca là thứ vô cùng phù phiếm nhưng vô cùng thiêng liêng. Tôi tin ngay. Cũng như tôi tin ở trền đời có những thứ vô cùng thiêng liêng nhưng vô cùng phù phiếm.

Our desire to say more grows bigger and what to say about it, except that saying is not always about saying, growing is not always about growing.

This dwarf still observes the world from his own self-imposed height.

poetry’s favourite moment is when one loses one’s footing because of a landslide or seismic shaking of thought

How does one say something new and not retell?

I did what I could,I tried to stay away,I told myself that I don’t need you,I don’t need to feel this way,But soon I realized that I am just a fishAlways falling as you’re prey

I’m a man of integrity. My heart is locked and I have given you the only key.

Dear to me is sleep: still more, being made of stone,While pain and guilt still linger here below,Blindness and numbness–these please me alone;Then do not wake me, keep your voices low.

Focus on beauty, not on feardance with stress to let it clear

Poetry is no rocket science, a good poet writes from his heart!

if everything happens that can’t be done(and anything’s righterthan bookscould plan)the stupidest teacher will almost guess(with a runskiparound we go yes)there’s nothing as something as oneone hasn’t a why or because or although(and buds know...

He is the Way.Follow Him through the Land of Unlikeness;You will see rare beasts, and have unique adventures.He is the Truth.Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;You will come to a great city that has...

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

I offer you what I have myPoverty

We are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable, and only to be approached by the statistician or the poet.

This is definitely / for the brothers / who ain’t here.

The burning off and the gathering together are one.

To Your eyes a thousand years are like yesterday come and gone, no more than a watch in the night.You sweep men away like a dream, like grass which springs up in the morning.In the...

Examens zijn sadistische loterijen

The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.

You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can, to the extreme,...

Isn’t it time that these most ancient sorrows of ours grew fruitful? Time that we tenderly loosed ourselves from the loved one, and, unsteadily, survived: the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string...

Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes.Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after...

Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand.

You ask me why I don’t speakNot a word at willBut write so much worth well over a mill’Well I value words like I value kissesA sober one, a closer one penetrates the heartDarling it’s...