for those memories are nowjust like these little kittensI hold in my handsthose can be kissedand treasuredbut not held too tightly.

Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of...

My love for Neo-Tokyo is a bulbous massof post-human organic circuitry.Cyperpunk is my mother tongue.My love is a man-machine interface gun.

Shared emotions experienced by two souls,empathy on unequivocal level which Davey believed would change entire species of mankind if only secret of empathy could be telepathically shared with humanity,one soul after another, until every soul...

Each and every words count.Each and every thoughts count.

You should always be trying to write a poem you are unable to write, a poem you lack the technique, the language, the courage to achieve. Otherwise you’re merely imitating yourself, going nowhere, because that’s...

For it has come about, by the wise economy of nature, that our modern spirit can almost dispense with language; the commonest expressions do, since no expressions do; hence the most ordinary conversation is often...

I learned a long, long time ago, that I could accomplish things in this place we call reality and yet still spend most of my time in the better reality of my mind.

When you’re a student of poetry, you’re lucky if you don’t realize how untalented you are until you get a little better. Otherwise, you would just stop.

…for poets, at least, experiencing something inexpressible does not mean silence. It’s precisely the inexpressible something that poetry is meant to help us see or feel. If it were merely expressible – if there were...

I am sad, like the hot dust on the streetsAnd the music of fresh fallen leavesCaught in a sliding summer breeze.

Maria, lonely prostitute on a street of pain,You, at least, hail me and speak to meWhile a thousand others ignore my face.You offer me an hour of love,And your fees are not as costly as...

A poet is a man who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times.

LIFE IS SUBVERSIVE

GATHERING LEAVESSpades take up leavesNo better than spoons,And bags full of leavesAre light as balloons.I make a great noiseOf rustling all dayLike rabbit and deerRunning away.But the mountains I raiseElude my embrace,Flowing over my armsAnd...

We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.

There Will Come Soft Rains There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;And frogs in the pool singing at night,And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;Robins will...

briedis liek man galvu uz plecaskatu maigu kā tāsies zinu tu esi noguris cilvēktu vairs mani nevajāsi

There is a wilderness we walk aloneHowever well-companioned

poems are small moments of enlightenment

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aidTheir mistress mounted through the empty skiesIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d;Holding their course to Paphos, where their queenMeans...

Who was this girl alone so late at nightin search of a faded cassette illusion to disembowel the clocks of time’s intrusion? Those eyes belonged to the most beautiful maniac I’ve ever met. Our love...

And when they dusted my mind for your fingerprints they found yours.

☺☺ When a man gets to 99, he starts to think, he may only have another 10 years of sexy lovemaking left… Still Smiling At 99. ☺☺

Mute in that golden silence hung with green,Come down from heaven and bring me in your eyesRemembrance of all beauty that has been,And stillness from the pools of Paradise.

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

The Way It IsThere’s a thread you follow. It goes amongthings that change. But it doesn’t change.People wonder about what you are pursuing.You have to explain about the thread.But it is hard for others to...

And in uttering thatExcellently executed truthYou become an artist too

Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be…

I hid my love when young till ICouldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;I hid my life to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light:I dare not gaze upon her faceBut left...

The Apache don’t have a word for love,” he said. “Know what they both say at the marriage? The squaw-taking ceremony?””Tell me.””Varlebena. It means forever. That’s all they say.

there are these places on your poem, / where I want to write bodies.

If food is poetry, is not poetry also food?

better the crime,the suicides of lovers, the incest committedby brother and sister like two mirrorsin love with their likeness, better to eatthe poisoned bread, adultery on a bedof ashes, ferocious love, the poisonousvines of delirium,...

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND YOUWhen I hold a rose,I see the soft, velvety petalsand smile, becausetucked betweenthose precious petalsis a special gift -the one of a fragrance,pure and sweet.When you hold a rose,you see...

If you have a strong stomachread on.

I used to think love was two people suckingon the same straw to see whose thirst was stronger,but then I whiffed the crushed walnuts of your nape,traced jackals in the snow-covered tombstones of your teeth.I...

In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spirituality is usurped by the divisive politics of religious organizations, and when broken hearts bleed pain in...

nothing is lifelesswhen the moon writes its screedon the silvern sand silence-From the poem:”The Universe In Blossom

ma chère penchons sur les filons géologiques (my dear let us lean on geographical veins)

ONE WORDOne word— one stonein a cold river.One more stone—I’ll need many stonesif I’m going to get over.

My mouth is a fire escape.The words coming outdon’t care that they are naked.There is something burning in there.

I am sore wounded but not slainI will lay me down and bleed a whileAnd then rise up to fight again

Break, break, break,On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me.O, well for the fisherman’s boy,That he shouts with his sister at play!O, well for...

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.

Her love of words is a private passion – one she would rather not share. In the house of her childhood though everything had to be shared. If she tried to hold anything back, they...

If I could sum up my poetry in a few well-chosen words, the result might be a poem. Several years ago, when I was asked to say something on this topic, I came up with...

RebukeObstinate regressionbringing untold pathsof deep dark forebodingdepression…

Mon Dieu, la vie est par trop moche.

I’d Drown For YouI opened my heart to youA complete immersionI offered my soul to youA heavenly diversion