He did not waste time in a vain search for a place in history.

Children are our future. We teach them today; what will they do tomorrow?

Burning the witch Giordano Bruno is one more wound inflicted on Christ’s body.

I want you to judge me without thinking about it.I want you to give me advice without considering my opinion.I want you to expecting anything without the need to trust me.I want you to decide...

Dreams are the poetry of life to be written with love and actions.

A snake bites your ankle.Recoiling, you scream.Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream……where a man bites your ankle.Expecting no guile, ‘Again,’ softly falls from your lips with a smile.Yet, the man and the snake...

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not...

The Ogre does what ogres can,Deeds quite impossible for Man,But one prize is beyond his reach:The Ogre cannot master speech.About a subjugated plain,Among it’s desperate and slain,The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,While drivel gushes...

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.

What is this life so full of care,We don’t have time to stand and stare.

Better off dead than giving in; not taking what you want.

The panther that has stalked yousince you were a childis old now. No longer wild,and tired of guarding the treasureyou yourself left behind – blind and deaf, she will give it all to youif you...

MenThey hail you as their morning starBecause you are the way you are.If you return the sentiment,They’ll try to make you different;And once they have you, safe and sound,They want to change you all around.Your...

victor hugo, Les Contemplations, MorsJe vis cette faucheuse. Elle était dans son champ. Elle allait à grands pas moissonnant et fauchant, Noir squelette laissant passer le crépuscule. Dans l’ombre où l’on dirait que tout tremble...

With one perfect kiss on one perfect English summer afternoon, we understand the meaning of all the colors of every rainbow, forevermore.

How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of...

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.

It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does...

no, you will never do that, that’s not you, not who I know, not who I thought you were”, and I will say “watch me”.

Poetry in the dark of the night you are my torch.Poetry makes you believe in the freedom in your own home.Poetry causes the increase of the human race.Poetry ennobles the spirit of man.Poetry is like...

Loveis not leaning on each other, adjusting to fit a different size.Loveis simply two hands reached out in the darkness,saying; I’ll be your light, if you’ll be mine.

According to [Galway] Kinnell, to make a poem you need the creatures of the world, language, and the unconsious brought together.

This is almost always the case: A piece of art receives its f(r)ame when found offensive.

I offer you my soulWithin are my flawsMy grace, my kindnessMy love for you”The Offer

Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road.Healthy, free, the world before me.The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose.Henceforth, I ask not good fortune, I myself am good fortune.Henceforth, I...

i don’t want to hate the presidenti don’t want to go to harvardi don’t want to win the pulitzer prizei just want to sit in my bathtuband think about relationships i will never havewith people...

Black was the without eyeBlack the within tongueBlack was the heartBlack the liver, black the lungsUnable to suck in lightBlack the blood in its loud tunnelBlack the bowels packed in furnaceBlack too the musclesStriving to...

I wrote poetry from the time I could write. That was the only way I could begin to express who I was but the poems didn’t make sense to my teachers. They didn’t rhyme. They...

If you don’t look before the dusk and beyond the dawn, you won’t be able to see the sun. (Soar)

One could say that artists are people who think naturally in highly patterned ways.

Her belly ruptures full of parasites, Her eyes sink back in her skull Her butchered wrists, dangle From the edge of the bathtubHer children cuddle against her Desperate for love she cannot give

She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that’s best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes…

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it

When he asks you whyyou chose alone all these years.Tell him that it’s becauseyou love with all claws and bared teeth.Apologize for the scratchesthat you will leave on his skin;ask forgiveness for the bite marks.Tell...

I’m supposed to a man who never blows his composureA boy trapped in a war, forced to be a soliderThe weight of the world just put on top of my shouldersBut if there’s one thing...

Change happens for youthe moment you want somethingmore than you fear it.

What’s madness but nobility of soulAt odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!I know the purity of pure despair,My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,That place among the rocks–is it a cave,Or winding path? The...

Your flesh is not a reflection of your soul. So when you look in the mirror, remember that your light outshines your flaws.

There is some awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world, two or three hundred years ago, says that which lies close to my own soul,...

To HelenI saw thee once-once only-years ago;I must not say how many-but not many.It was a july midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,There...

Walk the midway and hear the carnival barker. Come see the freak named after his deceased father. Come see the prince who wants to abdicate his throne. Come see the son whose name is carved...

Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

I submitted a poem last night to The New Yorker. They said it can take up to three months to hear back. I got rejected immediately.

Reclaiming the sacred in our lives naturally brings us close once more to the wellsprings of poetry.

What’s the use of writing poetry for your peers? I don’t think I should sell my poetry to other poets. If that’s who my audience is, I’m dead, I’m not going to make any money.

Some hae meat and canna eat,And some wad eat that want it,But we hae meat and we can eat,And sae the Lord be thankit.

Don’t use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.

Snow harder! Snow more!Snow blizzards galore!I can’t get enoughOf the fluffy white stuff!Snow! Snow! Snow!Snow a ton! Snow a heap!Snow ten feet deep!I wouldn’t cryIf it snowed til July.Snow! Snow! Snow!