If Erik existed and lived life in despair,We wish him to know we are here and we care.

words…To lure the tribal shoals to epigram / And order.

Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.

I will love you forever” swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. “I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday” – Is that still as easy?

How are you supposed to know what to read next? This is the question that keeps us up at night, so at Day One our mission is to feed an audience of literature-hungry, time-constrained readers...

In most poetic expressions of patriotism, it is impossible to distinguish what is one of the greatest human virtues from the worst human vice, collective egotism.

Thoughts thoughts. Are they not mine?I think, I write, I type.Thoughts. Are they wise?Let truth be told in words, compiled together, create a page, a book. Thoughts. Are they master piece?Is it a prize winner?…An...

It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly...

In the dark I rest,unready for the light which dawnsday after day,eager to be shared.Black silk, shelter me.I needmore of the night before I openeyes and heartto illumination. I must stillgrow in the dark like...

Receio que a poesia é pior que o sexo t ntrico: não mexe nem sai de cima.I’m afraid that poetry is worse than tantric sex: it does not not move or get off.

At Night on the High SeasAt night, when the sea cradles meAnd the pale star gleamLies down on its broad waves,Then I free myself whollyFrom all activity and all the loveAnd stand silent and breathe...

But, in the end, a kiss is just a kiss; I have no time for love, or seasoned lips.

I drank the dregs of the wine to what remained of my health.I gave the last of my fervor for what remained of my hope.I cannot say for sure that this country is cursed,Honey flows...

A pear should come to the table popped with juice,Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On termsLike these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

He left that morning, the last words still echoing in my head, and though he said he’d come back one day I know a broken promise from a right one for I have used them...

Interior of the hand. Sole that has come to walkonly on feelings. That faces upwardand in its mirrorreceives heavenly roads, which travelalong themselves.That has learned to walk upon waterwhen it scoops,that walks upon wells,transfiguring every...

When the others were picked up and walked home by friends or fathers or best friend’s sisters,I was the kid in a grey hoodie, walking with the poets, the singers, the thinkers, and I was...

The lamb misused breeds public strifeAnd yet forgives the butcher’s knife.

OvermodulationBy Charlotte M Liebel-FawlsYou’re a cavity in my oasis,You’re a porthole in my sea,You’re a stretch of the imagination every time you look at me.You’re an ocean in my wineglass,You’re a Steinway on the beach,You’re...

I have emotions that are like newspapers that read themselves.I go for days at a time trapped in the want ads.I feel as if I am an ad for the sale of a haunted house:18...

I want to be intoxicated by the darkened ether of midnight, running through my fingers as sparkling stardust. I crave the taste of the ocean’s salty tears, as her temperamental tides crash and break against...

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

If you are of the opinion that the contemplation of suicide is sufficient evidence of a poetic nature, do not forget that actions speak louder than words.

If you are a dreamer come inIf you are a dreamer a wisher a liarA hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyerIf youre a pretender com sit by my fireFor we have some flax golden tales to...

OnceThere was a quiet island,With a name.You must believe me When I say that sunlight, Impure but beautiful, Broke upon the bay, silveredThe unrepentant, burning moon.

Eyes closed on an open soul…the world starts from within its core towards its final frontier: the end surface.

Float beyond the world of trees. Out into the whispering breeze, past the rushes, past the weeds, past the marsh’s waving reeds.

unsignificantlyoff the coastthere wasa splash quite unnoticedthis was Icarus drowning

We are all the fools of time and terror: DaysSteal on us and steal from us; yet we live,Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

O love, how did you get here?–Nick and the Candlestick

I see the life with your sight,O” the love; you’re my light.

The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.

And round about there is a rabbleOf the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.They shall inherit the earth.

For all the ghosts and corpses that shall never know the breath of our childrenso longfor the sacrifice and endurance of our mothers and the sustained breath of our fatherswe live

One night they walked while the moon rose and poured a great burden of glory over the garden until it seemed fairyland with Amory and Eleanor, dim phantasmal shapes, expressing eternal beauty and curious elfin...

Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale ’til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free.

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,...

Everyone I have lost in the closing of a doorthe click of the lockis not forgotten, theydo not die but remainwithin the soft edgesof the earth, the ashof house fires and cancerin sin and forgivenesshuddled...

Here, Earth-born, over the lilt of the water,Lisping its music and bearing a burden of light,Bosoming day as a laughing and radiant daughter…Here we may whisper unheard, unafraid of the night.Walking alone…was it splendor, or...

Prose: words in their best order; poetry: the best words in the best order.

The ChairI’m writing to you, who made the archaic wooden chairlook like a throne while you sat on it.Amidst your absence, I choose to sit on the floor,which is dusty as a dry Kansas day.I...

Gains for all our lossesThere are gains for all our lossesThere are balms for all our painsBut when youth the dream departsIt takes some thing from our heartsAnd never comes againWe are stronger and are...

We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted

The moments of nature’s universal, triumphant silence had come, those minutes when the creative mind works harder, poetic thoughts seethe more ardently, the heart’s passion blazes more brightly and its longing aches more painfully, the...

Because philosophy arises from awe, a philosopher is bound in his way to be a lover of myths and poetic fables. Poets and philosophers are alike in being big with wonder.

& I love Wordplay

As we travel in time and on Equator, we will find our souls and then move in time towards time.

She flooded my thoughts. I drowned in peace.

Le vin est la gaieté, dit-on ; comment cet océan de vin qui submerge la commune de Bercy n’égaye-t-il pas un peu ces navrants paysages ? Tout Bacchus est là ; Bacchus, chanté avec tant...