there’s no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.

The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are beesthat burned with sweetness or maddenedthe sting: the struggle continues,the journeys go and come between honey and pain.No, the net of years doesn’t unweave: there is no...

They were too much to carryso i left them behindfor a new life, in a new placebut no one forgot who i wasi didn’tand neither did the people who watchthey watched for yearsthey watch now

Hay una estrella mas abiertaque la palabra ‘amapola’?Is there a star more wide openthan the word ‘poppy”?

I choose to love this time for oncewith all my intelligence-from “Splittings

The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.

Time is in essence separation; separation produces pain; pain poesis; and poesis is what constitutes the unending stream of human life in this world.

No non-poetic account of reality can be complete.

There was also something about the smell of bookshops that was strangely comforting to her. She wondered if it was the scent of ink and paper, or the perfume of binding, string, and glue. Maybe...

If only you would realize some day, how much have you hurt me,If only your heart ever, craves for me or my presence…If only you feel that love again someday for me,If only you are...

If you come as softlyAs wind within the treesYou may hear what I hearSee what sorrow sees.If you come as lightlyAs threading dewI will take you gladlyNor ask more of you.You may sit beside meSilent...

All the same, we ought to point out that if the kinds of poetry and representation which are designed merely to give pleasure can come up with a rational argument for their inclusion in a...

IthakaAs you set out for Ithakahope the voyage is a long one,full of adventure, full of discovery.Laistrygonians and Cyclops,angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:you’ll never find things like that on your wayas long as you...

…the wind has a purpose – to rattle the window panes, disturb the cat and make me miss you …

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

…my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight – we go camping at night – it’s my lucid dream of being with you…

Even ivory towers need central heating.

So what if the airin Paris smells of romance?My shirt smells of you.

History will be erased in the universal purgatory.

Bring death to those of Evenfall.

Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.

At two o’clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.And the trees in the Shadow rustle and the...

There is a pledge of the big and of the small in the infinite.

You are only as free as you think you are and freedom will always be as real as you believe it to be.

Those who hate rain hate life.

My friend, you thought you lost Him;that all your life you’ve been separated from Him.Filled with wonder, you’ve always looked outside for Him,and haven’t searched within your own house.

Be aware of the high notes, of the blissful faces and their soft messages, and listen for the silent message of a highly decorated gift.

Madness and chaos are self-destructing but over thinking is the suicide.

They grew; they did not talk about growing.

Spend the glittering moonlight therePursuing down the soundless deepLimbs that gleam and shadowy hair,Or floating lazy, half-asleep.Dive and double and follow after,Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call,With lips that fade, and human laughterAnd faces...

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

It is clear enough that not every something can be elevated to the rank of a thing – otherwise everything and everyone would be speaking once more, and the chatter would spread from humans to...

Do not look too far for you will see nothing.

A teacher will be frustrated if she is only motivated to teach what she has learned. Yet, if she is motivated because of the students, then she will learn from them how to teach.

Unborn eternity does not die; existence is dying and falls asleep in the eternity beyond existence.

Strephon kissed me in the spring,Robin in the fall,But Colin only looked at me,And never kissed at all.Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,Robin’s lost in play,But the kiss in Colin’s eyesHaunts me night and day.

Has father from HeavenSent the Angel to me?

Why Roses Crave Thorns”Petals detach from a wilting bud—a single stem plucked before fully blossomed. They descend in hesitant swirls, too soft and limp to shatter like teardrops. One by one they light to blanket...

may came home with a smooth round stoneas small as a world and as large as alone.

All the rest is silenceOn the other side of the wall;And the silence ripeness,And the ripeness all.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,I have forgotten, and what arms have lainUnder my head till morning, but the rainIs full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sighUpon the glass and...

I fancied my luck to be witnessing yet another full moon. True, I’d seen hundreds of full moons in my life, but they were not limitless. When one starts thinking of the full moon as...

Poetry, above all, is a series of intense moments – its power is not in narrative. I’m not dealing with facts, I’m dealing with emotion.

Wild creatures’ eyes, the colonel said,Are innocent and fathomlessAnd when I look at them I seeThat they are not aware of meAnd oh I find and oh I blessA comfort in this emptinessThey only see...

…much of poetry in the making is the fiddle with a few items. You lay a word against another and wait. You try another word. And another. Yet another. You wait. You begin again. Listening....

Knowing me better than I think anyone shouldExcept, perhapsNo, probablyNo, definitelyDefinitely except you

How they had dreamed together, he and she… how they had planned, and laughed, and loved. They had lived for a while in the very heart of poetry.

If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no...

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

You darkness, that I come from,I love you more than all the firesthat fence in the world,for the fire makesa circle of light for everyone,and then no one outside learns of you.But the darkness pulls...