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.

And blue-lung’d combers lumbered to the kill.

He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.

It’s funny, for all it took was a broken heart and that alone was enough, enough for her to do everything she ever dreamed of.

To go where no one else has ever gone before is the secret of heroism.

She wildly burned for the one she loved and he stood there watching, hoping he too would catch a blaze from the violence stirring in her heart.

Even great men bow before the Sun; it melts hubris into humility.

I kept loving and loving and loving. Every waking hour, I marveled on how these moments would make made me feel. I wanted to love the world and be the change it so deliciously craved.

I could feel the day offering itself to me,and I wanted nothing morethan to be in the moment-but which moment?Not that one, or that one, or that one,

So it’s off with the shellsuit and on with the Armanis,Bring out the champagne and the caviar sarnies

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call’d No-more, Too-late, Farewell

Poetry is more than a form of art. It’s a vibration and a pulsing heart. Whether it’s sour or whether it’s sweet. It can give you strength no one can defeat

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

My best testimonies are from the times I thought I couldn’t survive.

Absolute equals nothingness.

loneliness can fly a helicopter through a cut-out shapeof a helicopter the same size as the helicopterand that’s it’s only skilland it isn’t good enoughbut it’s still amazing.

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.