Ando como el que va por su destinooyendo un clima oscuro de relojes,de manos, de preguntas, de papeles,de ensangrentados cuervos y cordeles.

I’m not aspiring to be someone else – If I’m me for the rest of my life then so be it

Poems should be like pins which prick the skin of boredom and leave a glow equal in its pride to the gate of the sadist who stuck the pin and walked away

No poem ever bought a hamburger, or not too many.

The same that oft-times hath charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.

Tonight, I won’t dream, because nobodyhas held me and no hands have strayed and eventhough I’m drunk with love, my arms are empty.

Recently I’ve been dreamingof cursing old peoplewith little provocation,because their culturehas a long history of enslaving,raping, and segregating,and they have special lightswhich prevent us from dancing.

first of all nothing will happen and a little laternothing will happen again

never trust anyone who says they do not see color. this means to them,you are invisible.

How do I feel today? I feel as unfit as an unfiddle,And it is the result of a certain turbulence in the mind and an uncertain burbulence in the middle.What was it, anyway, that angry...

The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:The moon is within me, and so is the sun.The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot...

Hearts rebuilt from hope resurrect dreams killed by hate.

A silent velvet footstep filled me, unwelcome yet so needed. You finally found my hidden shore with grains of time and ocean of the most secret secrets, violet and red; left a trail of deep...

I am born with WINGS, that is my DESTINY’..says the butterfly..’Just let me come into my own’…

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the...

I write to taste life twice; to savour the flavour of sweet times gone by, or spit out the bitterness before it multiplies.

True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despairRise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of...

The clouds above us join and separate,The breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns.Life is like that, so why not relax?Who can stop us from celebrating?

All paths lead to death, our premature sacrifice for future spawn(from Elixir)

Lines for WinterTell yourself as it gets cold and gray falls from the air that you will go on walking, hearing the same tune no matter where you find yourself— inside the dome of dark...

I too was pinched off from a piece of clay, I too modeled by omnipotence and flankedby things too wonderful for me

I know now that the poem in my head, the one that pushed me to the page, begged me – or dared me to be born is almost never the poem that comes out. I...

I do not write poetry; I take words and dip them in feelings.

One day when I ventured into the garden to regard its bloom,My eyes beheld on a bower a withered rose.When I inquired what had caused the blight,”My lips for a moment opened in a smile...

Que les poètes morts laissent la place aux autres. Et nous pourrions tout de même voir que c’est notre vénération devant ce qui a été déjà fait, si beau et si valable que ce soit,...

The JourneyOne day you finally knewwhat you had to do, and began,though the voices around youkept shoutingtheir bad advice –though the whole housebegan to trembleand you felt the old tugat your ankles.”Mend my life!”each voice...

My vegetable love will growVaster than empires, and more slow.

Tom Dancer’s gift of a whitebark pine coneYou never knowWhat opportunityIs going to travel to you,Or through you.Once a friend gave meA small pine cone-One of a fewHe found in the scatOf a grizzlyIn Utah...

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.

A garden should make you feel you’ve entered privileged space — a place not just set apart but reverberant — and it seems to me that, to achieve this, the gardener must put some kind...

one must verge on the unknown, write toward the truth hitherto unrecognizable of one’s own sincerity, including the avoidable beauty of doom, shame, and embarrassment, that very area of personal self-recognition,(detailed individual is universal remember)...

I think that the habit of gloomy poetry is very funny. It’s like a special competition in losing.

Il était tard; ainsi qu’une médaille neuveLa pleine lune s’étalait,Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuveSur Paris dormant ruisselait.

Choice, and all its attendant energy, is a characteristic of youth. It is before one chooses that one feels desire and longing without fulfillment, which gives an edge to any artistic endeavor. Galway Kinnell recently...

Our Beasts and our Thieves and our ChattelsHave weight for good or for ill;But the Poor are only His image,His presence, His word, His will; -And so Lazarus lies at our doorstepAnd Dives neglects him...

Poetry is the art of using language to transcend language.

Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the...

Life is beautiful. Death is astonishing.And love is the just breaths taken in between

Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.

She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think...

holding a tiny dixie cup in my hand makes me feel like a giant human being that can crush things

Yo, múltiple, como en contradicción

when you’re younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you’re oldit’s justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

Our love was bornoutside the walls,in the wind,in the night,in the earth,and that’s why the clay and the flower,the mud and the rootsknow your name.

Most people ignore most poetry because poetry ignores most people.

Brimming. That’s what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.

When I talk of taking a trip I mean forever.

I never wanted to be saved, just loved in ways that would make the Gods jealous.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always To be blest. The soul, uneasy, and confin’d from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.