When magic through nerves and reason passes, Imagination, force, and passion will thunder. The portrait of the world is changed.

Being in prison for seven years was like being in an army that never drilled, never deployed, and only fought itself.

Good is not always good.

The more I learned the less I felt I knew you and I got lost counting stars, I fell dreaming. Sometimes I’d wander away. Maybe I wasn’t ready or maybe it was just a hard...

There is a moonlight note in the Moonlight Sonata; there is a thunder note in an angry sky.

We’re only instruments of love, flowing through heaps of pain hoping one day we’d hatch a passion of our own.

It is time to float on the waters of the night. Time to wrap my arms around this book and press it to my chest, life preserver in a sea of unremarkable men and women,...

…few young poets [are] testing their poems against the ear. They’re writing for the page, and the page, let me tell you, is a cold bed.

A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.

In the midst of the ubiquitous dealings with prostituted signs, the thing-poem was capable of opening up the prospect of returning to credible experiences of meaning. It did this by tying language to the gold...

If you could have walked on the planet before humans lived here, maybe the Ivory Coast would have seemed more beautiful than La Côte d’Azur.

පෙම්වතිය ඔබ මල් රැගෙනමා එනතුරු රැඳෙන්නඑහෙත් මම දොරක් නැති නිවෙස් හිමියෙක්මිකිසි විටෙක ඔබට තුළට එනු පිණිසඇරයුම් නොකරනඔබට පිට ව යන්නටබල නොකරන

The world is a fairy tale; we are its guardians.

The first year was like icing. Then the cake started to show through …

He offered his love … she could not bother,She gives her love to the other! The other!

There is risk and truth to yourselves and the world before you.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.

My Love Is Like To Ice, And I To FireMy love is like to ice, and I to fire;How comes it then that this her cold so greatIs not dissolv’d through my so hot desire,But...

I like the posture, but not the yoga. I like the inebriated morning, but not the opium. I like the flower but not the garden, the moment but not the dream. Quiet, my love. Be...

Degraded bird, I give you back your eyes forever, ascend now whither you are tossed;Forsake this wrist, forsake this rhyme;Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost,But climb.

In my errant life I roamedTo learn the secrets of women and men,Of gods and dreams.I’ve known all the countries of our world,I’ve lived a thousand lives:Many lives I lived in love, Other lives I...

The world doesn’t revolve around you!”The earth was fragile and mostly water,just the way the orange was mostly water if you peeled it,just the way I was mostly water if you peeled me.Looking back on...

Choose the life you want to live,But be sure not be a clone.It’s way too hard to follow others,When the instincts aren’t your own.You have don’t have to face life with a fight,No need to...

Moth: I gave you my life. Flame: I allowed you to kiss me.

But when you kiss me there’s a spark, and I can’t remember I’m only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.

I am a student of life, and don’t want to miss any experience. There’s poetry in this sort of thing, you know–or perhaps you don’t know, but it’s all the same.

Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.

Truths are written, never said… Lines are drawn, but then they fade.

How surely gravity’s law,strong as an ocean current,takes hold of the smallest thingand pulls it toward the heart of the world.Each thing—each stone, blossom, child—is held in place.Only we, in our arrogance,push out beyond what...

I am a complicated person with a simple life.

The glory of Christianity is to conquer by forgiveness.

I love my love with a b because she is peculiar.

We live longerbut less preciselyand in shorter sentences.

Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It’s the crack cocaine of the...

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,Stuffed with the stuff that...

Plût au ciel que le lecteur, enhardi et devenu momentanément féroce comme ce qu’il lit, trouve, sans se désorienter, son chemin abrupt et sauvage, à travers les marécages désolés de ces pages sombres et pleines...

Nobody wanted your dance,Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your flounderingDrowning life and your effort to save yourself,Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,Looking for something to give.

Over the water of time I call to youIn a language I do not know.

Falling in desire with truth and hope is enhancing our soul with a precious love…

So very lovely His blood on her swollen lips His first vampireSo very lovely He would have to remember Each salacious cutHe took her slowly Bled her of secrets and screams He smiled contemplating That...

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on the lonely shore,There is society, where none intrudes,By the deep sea, and music in its roar:I love not man the less, but Nature...

But writing poems and letters doesn’t seem to do much good.

Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet… And she’s going to write about how she’s a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor...

Each person you meetis an aspect of yourself,clamoring for love.

Your war drum ain’t / louder than this breath.

My heart’s scripture tastes foreign in the mouths of cowards and on the tongues of those who have never breathed inthe moon and breathed out the world.

It is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem,—a thought so passionate and alive that like the spirit of a plant or an animal it has an architecture of its own, and...

I’ve learned to lickmy own foul woundsand prize the taste of ache.