Where do the words gowhen we have said them?

In my poetry a rhymeWould seem to me almost insolent.Inside me contendDelight at the apple tree in blossomAnd horror at the house-painter’s speeches.But only the secondDrives me to my desk.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

I’ve no need for a limited chimney when am feeling the warmth of the motherly sun.

… you are lovely – God has painted every feature of your soul …

Hesitate once, hesitate twice, hesitate a hundred times before employing political standards as a device for the analysis and appreciation of poetry.

…you want the sweetness of our beginning without the bitterness of our struggle – what are you asking – do you want light without shadow? …

Life into death— Life’s other shape, No rupture, Only crossing.

… yes I speak a different language – the dark fire of poetry – it flutters and gutters in tune with the mood…

A hidden spark of the dream sleeps In the forest and waits In the celestial spheres of the brain.

A night of exhilaration, of boredom and terror, in which the merest of sounds took on other forms – grew large in the expanse of darkness. After several hours the sheep gradually stopped calling to...

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

He lives the poetry that he cannot write; the others write the poetry that they dare not realize.

To the knights of faith nobody believes.

I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.

We traveled long and forgot why poetry was invented.

She had more of me then I had of myself. We were both wild birds chasing the stars. We’d lose our way and find new places, close our eyes and fall back towards a constellation...

My feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world.

It does not matter how strong your gravity is, we were always meant to fly.

There are many secrets; don’t try to resolve them all.

Darling, do you rememberthe man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.

Whatever others may say, they say it to deceive and comfort themselves, not help you.

This gesture is one of the motifs of modernity’s turn against the principle of imitating nature, that is to say, imitating predefined morphological expectations. It is still capable of perceiving message-totalities and autonomous thing-signals when...

You mark and celebrate errors, transforming failures into successes.

දෙසැම්බරය අඳුරු ‘මුත්ඔව්, නිල් පෑය අහස ඇස්ඉතිං දිය කඩිතිවලට තට්ටු කරන්නමල් පිපෙන තුරු බලන් ඉන්න

Life is only a flicker of melted ice.

It’s been awhile since I have heard from you,To me it felt like it was only yesterday that all we could do was talk to each otherTo me it felt like it was only yesterday...

A mask you ask? Optional I find!Masks lend appeal of a mysterious kind.

It is always betterto avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning.For every one of us, living in this worldmeans waiting for our end. Let whoever canwin glory before death. When a warrior is gone,that...

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhereI go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)I fear no fate...

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.

One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the StrandOne day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washèd it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide and...

Material creation begins in a tiny corner of a large island called imagination.

Moon, that against the lintel of the westYour forehead lean until the gate be swung,Longing to leave the world and be at rest,Being worn with faring and no longer young,Do you recall at all the...

And the testicles of the fathers hang down like old lace

The busybody (banned as sexist, demeaning to older women) who lives next door called my daughter a tomboy (banned as sexist) when she climbed the jungle (banned; replaced with “rain forest”) gym. Then she had...

HEARTWORKEach day is born with a sunriseand ends in a sunset, the same way weopen our eyes to see the light, and close them to hear the dark.You have no control overhow your story begins...

Glory be to God for dappled things. (“Pied Beauty”)

How envious I am that the sun may kiss your porcelain skin and forever change how the world sees you.

In search of Truth the hopeful zealot goes,But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!

The Poem That Took The Place Of A MountainThere it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in the...

I am not collarbones or drunken letters never sent. I am not the way I leave or left or didn’t know how to handle anything,at any time,and I am not your fault.

O Stunden in der Kindheit,da hinter den Figuren mehr als nurVergangnes war und vor uns nicht die Zukunft.

[H]e initially conceived of Olivier as a man of the greatest promise destroyed by a fatal flaw, the unreasoning passion for a woman dissolving into violence, desperately weakening everything he tried to do. For how...

Aku harus pergi. Aku tak bisa terus-terusan berdiri disini. Hatiku sesak, pengap. Yang aku tahu aku harus pergi.

The poet…is the man of metaphor: while the philosopher is interested only in the truth of meaning, beyond even signs and names, and the sophist manipulates empty signs…the poet plays on the multiplicity of signifieds.

My choices are rejections, since there is no other way,but what I reject is more numerous,denser, more demanding than before.A little poem, a sigh, at the cost of indescribable loss.

… Fourier’s great mathematical poem …{Referring to Joseph Fourier’s mathematical theory of the conduction of heat, one of the precursors to thermodynamics.}

Sexual Immorality provides a very pleasurable ride to the grave. Her vehicles are all luxury, but they cannot seat many passengers. She parks her employees nearly everywhere, and makes you feel incredibly good. The temperatures...

Good or bad, positive or negative, there is no comment more insulting to a poet than one displaying that you have not properly read and considered the things they wrote.