You crawled inside myribs to die. Giant becomes squirrelbecomes a dirt-wet girlfeverishly alive.

…Time held me green and dyingThough I sang in my chains like the sea.

their heart grew coldthey let their wings down

Ah, the freshness in the face of leaving a task undone!To be remiss is to be positively out in the country!What a refuge it is to be completely unreliable!I can breathe easier now that the...

I was compared to Charles Bukowski yesterday. It was the best and worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.

Now is History as fast as the mind remembers.

Kindness went out to play all on a summer’s day. With her about many smiles came out and joined in sweet array.Sara Loo, “Mother Goose Move Over or you’re gonna love poetry

Can you look at this brilliant wound?

The heart can think of no devotionGreater than being shore to the ocean-Holding the curve of one position,Counting an endless repetition.

Poetry creates the myth, the prose writer draws its portrait.

The journey back is always longer than the forward run.

solder. this is meand you together

Autumn DuskI saw above a sea of hillsA solitary planet shine,And there was no one, near or far,to keep the world from being mine.

Talk to me in poetry. / It is all I understand.

I was born to make mistakes, not to be perfect.

Poets should be crazy-but only in their poems.

… the fisherman’s daughter grinding serenity in her coffee grinder.

One day the English language is going to perish. The easy spokenness of it will perish and go black and crumbly — maybe — and it will become a language like Latin that learned people...

All that really matters isto feel alive, if only for a single moment –to feel in Intense Sensationthat our existence is not an endless repetitionof sleeping, eating, drinking, and dressing.

August is dust here. Droughtstuns the road,but juice gathers in the berries.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel’s prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o’er the starlit sea.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping…I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Dance,’ they told me, and I stood still,and while I stood quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.’Pray,’ they said, and I laughed,covering myself in the earth’s brightnesses,and then stole off...

This town of churches and dreams; this town I thought I would lose myself in, with its backward ways and winding roads leading to nowhere; but, I found myself instead. -Magic in the Backyard (excerpt...

Once you decide to do right, life is easy, there are no distractions.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,And fill all fruit...

The words were good words, Ulysses felt, maybe even great words, but the list was very incomplete. He was just getting started. The words needed to be arranged, fussed with, put in the order of...

But glad to have sat underThunder and rain with you,And grateful tooFor sunlight on the garden.

The characters in my novels are my own unrealised possibilities. That is why I am equally fond of them all and equally horrified by them. Each one has crossed a border that I myself have...

no’ might make them angrybut it will make you free.

Come quickly with me.Inhale the divine that swoopsfrom nostril to blunted throatthen sneaks past guarded doorsinto the hallway of your heartwhere the lamplight grows.

Time is a watchful adversary, who waits enduringly for that merciless hour, hurrying to work the hands of separation.

Time (again, Time) like the soul, wears many faces, many bodies and climates and attitudes. The past is one face, the present a second and the future yet another.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)

The stars are but tears shed by a miriad of unrequited dreams; each sparks with fire and guides its light homeward when a dream is revealed

The intensest feeling of the beauty of a cloud lighted by the setting sun, is no hindrance to my knowing that the cloud is a vapour of water, subject to all the laws of vapours...

Alma: ,Dónde está el oro aquel que viste? Todo ha cambiado cuando estuvo enfrente; mis ojos tocan realidad tan triste que digo: es el presente.

Death Be Not ProudDeath, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill...

we rijden door de nacht het licht schijnt voor ons uit het ronken van de motor ismeer stilte dan geluid.

One should write only those books from whose absence one suffers. In short: the ones you want on your own desk.

As the future ripens in the past,so the past rots in the future –a terrible festival of dead leaves.

There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.

It’s just me throwing myself at you,romance as usual, us times us,not lust but moxibustion,a substance burning closeto the body as possiblewithout risk of immolation.

White IrisThe iris danced acrossthe ancient Grecian skiesgliding with her embossedsatiny milken sides …

The appropriation of the creativity-procreativity metaphor by women is a conscious challenge to traditional poetics and beyond that to traditional metaphysics, for the gynocentric vision is not that Logos condescends to incarnate itself, but that...

Nos enseñaron desde niñoscómo se forma un cuerposus órganos sus huesossus funciones sus sitiospero nunca supimosde qué estaba hecha el alma

Good poetry does not exist merely for the sake of itself, but rather, is a byproduct of yearning and growth; great poetry canonizes that yearning for the growth of others.

Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.

Laser technology has fulfilled our people’s ancient dream of a blade so fine that the person it cuts remains standing and alive until he moves and cleaves. Until we move, none of us can be...

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming...