Loneliness why do you accompany me if I wish to be alone?

SOME PEOPLE SIMPLY DO NOT EXIST ANYMORE. GET USED TO IT. QUESTION MARK.

This worldthat was our homefor a brief spellnever brought us anythingbut pain and grief;its a shame that not one of our problemswas ever solved.We departwith a thousand regretsin our hearts.

Fee-fi-fo-fum -Now I’m borrowed.Now I’m numb.

If a serious statement is defined as one that may be made in terms of waking life, poetry will never rise to the level of seriousness. It lies beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and...

Apples of HesperidesGlinting golden through the trees,Apples of Hesperides!Through the moon-pierced warp of nightShoot pale shafts of yellow light,Swaying to the kissing breezeSwings the treasure, golden-gleaming,Apples of Hesperides!.Far and lofty yet they glimmer,Apples of Hesperides!Blinded...

So you heroically undertook to endure the pains of faithlessness, just to be able to write good poems. But you didn´t realise then that when you lost that voice inside you, you´d end up all...

Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.

I opened a book and in I strode.Now nobody can find me.I’ve left my chair, my house, my road,My town and my world behind me.I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring,I’ve swallowed the...

Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdiò todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.

A song rises up from the belly of my pastand rocks me in the bosom of buried memories.

. . . All artists’ work is autobiographical. Any writer’s work is a map of their psyche. You can really see what their concerns are, what their obsessions are, and what interests them.

The Amorous Shepherd is a fruitless interlude, but those few poems are among the world’s greatest love poems, because they’re love poems about love, not about being poems. The poet loves because he loves, not...

Fai do meu sexo // un río sen leito.

We lay our words like tenuous plats, build a bridge over itsunsinkable depth: Not a sea of longing,but the brack of wanting what’s physicalto help us forget we are physical.

I want to look into a mirror that will love my own reflection harder than I hate myself.

We maintain, therefore, that the first essential, the life and soul, so to speak, of Tragedy is the Plot; and that the Characters come second—compare the parallel in painting, where the most beautiful colours laid...

Don’t you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?

At last everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I could not help admiring the setting: these mingled touches betrayed on a small scale the inspiration of a poet, the research of a scientist, the good taste...

The poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his sneses, and the mind is no longer in...

Poetry most often communicates emotions, not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions. It therefore communicates something more than the emotion; only by means of that something more does it communicate the...

He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.

…winter crescent resting in the high pine bough – you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird…

Beauty is a cheap word, but beauty remains priceless.

Boy and EggEvery few minutes, he wantsto march the trail of flattened rye grassback to the house of mutteringhens. He too could makea bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so freshit felt hot in his...

What you gain here, you lose on the other side.

Early mapmakers kept their backs to the sea

The world contained in a seed, Determined by its program.

A tamed woman will never leave her mark in the world.

It is futile to spend time telling stories about the fleetness of each day.

I will soothe you and heal you,I will bring you roses.I too have been covered with thorns.

If the sun rolled back like an eye,it would see the mind of God.

I arrived, I saw humans and I saw through their faces. Nothing ever changes but the light in their eyes. For I too have buried my demons today, without knowing what might remain beneath the...

Love is almost never simple.

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,I see my father strolling outunder the ochre sandstone arch, thered tiles glinting like bentplates of blood behind his head, Isee my mother with a...

It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.

As we know, Rilke, under the influence of Auguste Rodin, whom he had assisted between 1905 and 1906 in Meudon as a private secretary, turned away from the art nouveau-like, sensitized-atmospheric poetic approach of his...

How many unuttered words died in the heads of those for whom a word was too expensive.

මට දෙන්න ඔය තරු එළියතුරුපත් මත අතුරන්නනිම්නයක වැතිර සිටහමන සුළඟට කන් දෙන්න

Stars are only the rain of the Absolute.

Maple. MaypoleCatch and carry.Ash and Ember.Elderberry.Woolen. Woman.Moon at night.Willow. Window.Candlelight.Fallow farrow.Ash and oak.Bide and borrow.Chimney smoke.Barrel. Barley.Stone and stave.Wind and water.Misbehave.

Now Leroux, what think youOf this twist to the story?

The way we are living,timorous or bold,will have been our life.

down with hell and heaven and all the religious fussinfinity pleased our parents one inch looks good to us

O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start;You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart.

What seems real one moment is fiction the nextand gone out of existence the moment after that.Nostalgia is the greatest enemy of truth,and change our only constancy.

The season was waning fastOur nights were growing cold at lastI took her to bed with silk and song,’Lay still, my love, I won’t be long;I must prepare my body for passion.”O, your body you...

The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

He had been searching for it his entire life. He had devoted himself to poetry to find it. Now, in the middle of his life, he found it. It was in the face of the...