Usually when your imagination is bigger then one’s comprehension, this normally means you’ve out grown the small circle. Get with like-mined people and go after your vision.By T-cupp

Let them Teach,Let them learn,let them pray,for the world is theirs.

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.

Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by...

Say to them,say to the down-keepers,the sun-slappers,the self-soilers,the harmony-hushers,”Even if you are not ready for dayit cannot always be night.”You will be right.For that is the hard home-run.Live not for battles won.Live not for the-end-of-the-song.Live...

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted Than you are now.

man acīs cērt saule rokā guļ zvārgulītis bez mēlesun es gaidu kad tajā iespers zibens

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)

Inside these letters, the eye will seeNearby are your friends, and VFD.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have...

Now that Karen has been resurrected, I can travel beyond the black mirror. I can discover who I have lost with thefloating hearts and severed heads of my medicine. I must now whisper my other...

Discovery’s friend is creativity

the poet I saw once…but whose words have long beenin my mind, windows of invincible candles…

The fury of confession, at first,then the fury of clarity:It was from you, Death, that such hypocriticalobscure feeling was born! And nowlet them accuse me of every passion,let them bad-mouth me, let them say I’m...

I don’t believe we should carry backupplans in life’s suitcase—they’re too easy to unpack like living a life in yoga pants, so comfortable our hips spreadinto new timezones…

I heard a bird congratulating itselfall day for being a jay.Nobody cared. But it was gladall over again, and said so, again.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at...

Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rudeAnd fled to the silence of sweet solitude.

In the final analysis it is between you and God, it was never between you and them anyway.

Living together/ is one move closer/ to living apart

Gargoyles sat on the battlements- lean they were and the same hideous damp grey as the stone. They looked at her with hollow eyes and rattled their silver chains. They had wings of bats or...

life is other, always there,further off, beyond you andbeyond me, always on the horizon,life which unlives us and makes us strangers,that invents our face and wears it away

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some...

I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice the ring that’s landed on your finger, a massiveinsect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the endof a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurtin...

Many Americans first fell in love with the poetry of the thirteenth century teacher and spiritual leader Jelalludin Rumi during the early 1990s when the unparalleled lyrical grace, philosophical brilliance, and spiritual daring of his...

Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper,That we may record our emptiness.

. . . car il n’est point vrai que l’oeuvre de l’homme est finie que nous n’avons rien à faire au monde que nous parasitons le monde qu’il suffit que nous nous mettions au pas...

I’d spent way more years worrying about how to look like a poet — buying black clothes, smearing on scarlet lipstick, languidly draping myself over thrift-store furniture — than I had learning how to assemble...

Safety isn’t always safe. You can find one on every gun.

But far more numerous was the herd of such,Who think too little, and who talk too much.

That loss is common would not makeMy own less bitter, rather more:Too common! Never morning woreTo evening, but some heart did break.

The Coming of LightEven this late it happens:the coming of love, the coming of light. You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, sending up...

The greatness of poetry comes from its struggle to express the rapture of the soul in the contemplation of beauty.

I love being able to see an un-written future.

L’aube exalteé ainsi qu’un peuple de colombes, et j’ai vu quelquefois ce que l’homme a cru voir!(And dawn, exalted like a host of doves – and then I’ve seen what men believe they’ve seen!)

Chainschains that hold me to the groundchains that keep me solidly boundchains that tether my heart to youchains that hold only one truth…

Long have I dwelt forgotten hereIn pining woe and dull despair;This place of solitude and gloomMust be my dungeon and my tomb.

The best tourist is one without a camera

What’s not there is.

So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing,and put your lips to the world.And live your life.

Etchings endure, But not in SandMeanings Collide To Unresolved FragmentsCodes fizzle to StaticThey are not lostBut UnheardNever lostFading slowly to SilenceBy infinite degrees

Nobody the dead man & Nobody the livingNobody is giving in & Nobody is givingNobody hears me but just Nobody caresNobody fears me but Nobody just staresNobody belongs to me & Nobody remainsNo Nobody knows...

Your skin reminds me of everything beautiful I’ve ever loved…how the moon gets jealous at how you mock her crescent figure with the shape of your mouth…echo of unborn galaxies bounce forth through your vocal...

There are some griefs so loudThey could bring down the sky,And there are griefs so stillNone knows how deep they lie,Endured, never expended.There are old griefs so proudThey never speak a word;They never can be...

The music is a vibration in the brain rather than the ear.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

In another land there is gloryIn another land there is happinessIn another land we all get alongIn another land we will stand with others

Little,It is a small measureBut can you measure love?