..snow gently settles like dust in a shaft – for one moment there is no one else – only the wind like the hiss of an ice skate …

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Poetry [is] more necessary than ever as a fire to light our tongues.

Creating means living.

Death swallows death.

Little deer, I’ve stuffed all the world’s diseases inside you. / Your veins are thorns // and the good cells are lost in the deep dark woods / of your organs.

When within yourself you find the road, the right road will open.

Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself.

To say more while saying less is the secret of being simple.

There came one and knocked at the door of the Beloved.And a voice answered and said, ‘Who is there?’The lover replied, ‘It is I.”Go hence,’ returned the voice;’there is no room within for thee and...

There are boneswaiting for names in the graveyards.Even the sun above us is dying, onelanded repetition of light at a time.

She got inside me with her story. I could feel her flowing in me and far, faraway I related in parallel. Her smile was a reflection of my own brokenness. It defined buried feelings that...

No one here likes a wet dog.

A poet is simply an artist whose medium is human emotions. A poet chisels away at our own sensibilities, shaping our vision while molding our hearts. A poet wraps words around our own feelings and...

Christ did not ask or want to be what he was not.

If I wouldn’t of spent so much time shooting spit wads at my English teacher I’d know how to punctuate good thing I normally write poetry.

Jorge siempre viviría a la sombra de su privilegio, entre algodones y fracasos. Penélope, la preciosa Penélope, era mujer y por tanto tesoro, no tesorero. Julián, que tenía alma de poeta, y por tanto de...

When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude

එල්ලා හැලෙන දිගු ගවුම්ඇඳ ගත් විලෝ ගස්ආලිංගන රැඟුම් පාහලන දහදිය පත්රැගෙන යයි කරුණා ලත්නුඹ වගේ ගංගාවක්

You can make a difference in another person’s life and not realize it, just by giving them One Moment of your time, One Memory to recall, One Motion that tells them they are not alone!...

THOUGH you are in your shining days,Voices among the crowdAnd new friends busy with your praise,Be not unkind or proud,But think about old friends the most:Time’s bitter flood will rise,Your beauty perish and be lostFor...

as kids we counted on our fingers, as we grew up we started counting more on people, now what do you think was more disappointing?

A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer… He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.

Poetry, she thought, wasn’t written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love(all the merry little birds areflying in the floating in thevery spirits singing inare winging in the blossoming)lovers go and...

The element of craftsmanship in poetry is obscured by the fact that all men are taught to speak and most to read and write, while very few men are taught to draw or paint or...

Still must the poet as of old,In barren attic bleak and cold,Starve, freeze, and fashion verses toSuch things as flowers and song and you;Still as of old his being giveIn Beauty’s name, while she may...

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my lifefor our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul.

We didn’t start the fireIt was always burningSince the world’s been turningWe didn’t start the fireNo we didn’t light itBut we tried to fight it

On sunny days of summer, I am indeed the butterfly;And like the ancient drummer,I rhythm straight towards the sky…

Poetry, Shakespeare and opera, are like mumps and should be caught when young. In the unhappy event that there is a postponement to mature years, the results may be devastating.

Bugle”Black beetles know where the most recent bonesbake in the heat, tendons and meat long gone, bleached white, and if you give them cheap wine –drizzle a few red drops on a flat stone–they will...

my bones are heavy” i would only mean itas a good thingheavy bones can’t be broken,you can’t break heavy bones

Under the rough and ridiculous circumstances of life in the Rocky Mountains there was something exciting and vital, full of rude poetry: the heartbeat of the West as it fought its way upward toward civilization.

My mother’s deathchanged the alchemy of food.Holidays run together nowlike ungrooved rivers. I forgetwhat they are for. I buy bakery goods.They look deadunder the blue lights.I don’t do anything the way she taught mebut I...

The fructe of all the servise that I serveDispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I ;But tho he have no powre to make me swarve,Yet by the fire for colde I fele I dye...

The stars are brilliant at this time of night and I wander these streets like a ritual I don’t dare to break for darling, the times are quite glorious.I left him by the water’s edge,still...

A vast field opened like a blossoming tulip, flowers blooming in the rippling airs of spring. High and frothy trees hugged air and sun as they gallantly cast a shade over the earth. On the...

I will find comfort in the rhythm of the sea.

Auguries of innocence”It is right it should be so;Man was made for joy and woe;And when this we rightly know,Thro’ the world we safely go.Joy and woe are woven fine,A clothing for the soul divine.Under...

Like most arts, the link between the mind and the pen can chain you like an enslaved workaholic. Even on an intended vacation you suddenly have this killer urge to record whatever the vacation may...

so quiet now my dearest knightyour armor shines white stillfor my lips shall not say the wordsthat make you flee with fear”White Knight

I once saw many flowers blooming Upon my way, in indolence I scorned to pick them in my going And passed in proud indifference.Now, when my grave is dug, they taunt me; Now, when I’m...

I believe in the flesh and the appetites; Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I...

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn....

She had blue skin. And so did he. He kept it hid, And so did she. They searched for blue Their whole life through, Then passed right by – And never knew.

Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gateAnd though I oft have passed them by A day will come at last when IShall take the hidden paths that run...

This is Just to Say I have eatenthe plumsthat were inthe iceboxand whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfastForgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold

Stop blaming people for not helping you. No matter how your teacher teaches you to recite a poem, you can’t wear her smiling face to the platform. You’ve got to put that smile on your...

God moves in mysterious waysHis wonders to performs