They blossomed, they did not talk about blossoming.

Advice to Young Poets Never pretend to be a unicorn by sticking a plunger on your head.

You know the parlor trick.wrap your arms around your own bodyand from the back it looks likesomeone is embracing youher hands grasping your shirther fingernails teasing your neckfrom the front it is another storyyou never...

What the poet has to say to the torso of the supposed Apollo, however, is more than a note on an excursion to the antiquities collection. The author’s point is not that the thing depicts...

In the lie of truth lies the truth.

මා සොවෙනි, උන්මාදයෙනිඔබ මා’සල නැති විටආලය කියන්නේ එයටදැයිමම නොදනිමි

Absolute is a game with only one player where Absolute forgets itself so it would have a reason to fulfill the motion while returning.

The sweetest melody that playsOn starry nights and wintry days,Most soothing to my listening earsAnd calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air―The song of sweet, still silence rare.

Monsieur, you must be mad!Box Five can never be hadFor money, love or the world …

We all must face death and walk with it. But we also must love and live in it.

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and...

And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.

I wouldn’t be surprised if poetry – poetry in the broadest sense, in the sense of a world filled with metaphor, rhyme, and recurring patterns, shapes, and designs – is how the world works. The...

English:Ô, take this eager dance you fool, don’t brandish your stick at me. I have several reasons to travel on, on to the endless sea: I have lost my love. I’ve drunk my purse. My...

What will you do now with the gift of your left life?

Marriage I thinkFor womenIs the best of opiates.It kills the thoughtsThat think about the thoughts,It is the best of opiates.So said Maria.But too long in solitude she’d dwelt,And too long her thoughts had feltTheir strength....

But for us the road unfurls itself, we don’t stop walking, we know there is far to go.

Hands burn for a stone, a bomb, to shiver down the glass. Nothing’s changed.

How Heavy the Days. . .How heavy the days are.There’s not a fire that can warm me,Not a sun to laugh with me,Everything bare,Everything cold and merciless,And even the beloved, clearStars look desolately down,Since I...

Night-time. Why is it, I wonder… Always, always it is at night whenThe fury of a hurricane makes itself felt. Perhaps it is because the spirit of the storm Delights in the darkness, for there...

The neurologist had dismissed her case after a single visit, handing out an easy nostrum by telling her father that if she continued to write poetry, she would be all right.

If we surrenderedto earth’s intelligencewe could rise up rooted, like trees.

Healthy ChoicesHold stillKeep quiet.Get a degree to learn how to talksaying nothing.Catch a good manby being demure.the one your mother chooses.Let him climb youwhenever his urge,amidst headachesand menstrual achesand screaming infants.And when he bidsquick, turn...

I want to unfold.I don’t want to be folded anywhere,because where I am folded,there I am a lie.

I enjoy melancholic music and art. They take me to places I don’t normally get to go.

But to go to school in a summer morn,O! It drives all joy away;Under a cruel eye outworn,The little ones spend the dayIn sighing and dismay.

If you can change the way you think in time you will notice a change in your heart and also a change in your life and the way you see things.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Me han dicho —a modo de crítica— que vivo en la luna. Les he dicho —a modo de crítica— que viven en la Tierra.

An oak tree and a rosebush grew,Young and green together,Talking the talk of growing things-Wind and water and weather.And while the rosebush sweetly bloomedThe oak tree grew so highThat now it spoke of newer things-Eagles,...

That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation; since our fortune’s course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all...

If you want the light, like you say you do, then why do you keep it strangled in thedark? If you preach love, like you strive to, why do you run away from practising?My love,the...

There are good reasons to learn how to read. Poetry isn’t one of them… Why can’t poets just say what they want to say and then shut up?

Valentine’s Day is the poet’s holiday.

Here is the world. Don’t be afraid for wonderful and terrible things will happen. Simply remember to breath.

Is it the sea you hear in me,Its dissatisfactions?Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?

That’s what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you’re not sure what the poet’s talking about. You may have an idea, but you can’t be sure. Not a hundred...

-here, now, always– T.S. Eliot

I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, “Mamma, can I open the light?” She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art. It was a...

The greatest Americans have not been born yet they are waiting patiently for the past to die.

I want to celebrate the sadness that makes you feel everything so deeply. I want to throw a party for the wounds that make you so unabashedly human.

Imagination is a very high sort of seeing, which does not come by study, but by the intellect being where and what it sees, by sharing the path, or circuits of things through forms, and...

I saw thee once – only once – 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...

A young gratuitous smile; trust and distrust;Promiscuities of bed and board and road; The one assured treasureA life, in recollection, truly possessed.

There is nothing in the world which an artist cannot recreate into something poetic, ennobling. And why do we read these things? They are not facts, they do not improve our business skills, our techniques...

To be loved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.

I wish I had eyes that changed colors from blue to gray, and then after I cried, to all the colors of the rainbow, because then I’d just sit in front of the mirror writing...

Dans la rue de rien personne

Waking At NightThe blue river is grey at morningand evening. There is twilightat dawn and dusk. I lie in the darkwondering if this quiet in me nowis a beginning or an end.

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!