These wrinkles are nothingThese gray hairs are nothing,This stomach which sagswith old food, these bruisedand swollen ankles, my darkening brain,they are nothing.I am the same boymy mother used to kiss.

So here is my story, may it bringSome smiles and a tear or so,It happened once upon a time,Far away, and long ago,Outside the night wind keens and wails,Come listen to me, the Teller of...

Learning to See” I’m always teaching myself to see beauty in all aspects of reality, yearning to learn the beauty in others, from their vision of everyday life to their deepest secrets of their dreams....

The Unexpected GiftTorn asunder from her slumberin the hour of half past threeThe child knew the tyrannical regimeand followed instinctively.-(slice from Enigmatic Evolution)

Girl, I remember well,ye, who I flung from Hell,and not a day has passed, I haven’t missedthe loss of your soul that I mourned,I’ve been bereft and forlorn,for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve...

The experiences, the lessons, and the defeats,They were all necessary for me to be me,took me a while being blind before i could see,had to crawl on my knees before i stood on my feet,once...

I am a ghost,Living in ethereal thoughts.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers.Let me keep company always with those who say “Look!” and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.

…be awake to the Life that is loving you andsing your prayer, laugh your prayer, dance your prayer, runand weep and sweat your prayer,sleep your prayer, eat your prayer, paint, sculpt, hammer, and read your...

The things you let go will someday teach you how to fly.

In vogue and cosmopolitan they clutch their Pomeranians and walk among the millionaires or watch from swayback steamer chairs

It is time I came back to my real lifeAfter this voyage to an island with no name,Where I lay down at sunrise drunk with light.

Streets paved with opal sadness,Lead me counterclockwise, to pockets of joy,And jazz.

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

I walk alone, absorbed in my fantastic play, — Fencing with rhymes, which, parrying nimbly, back away; Tripping on words, as on rough paving in the street, Or bumping into verses I long had dreamed...

When Rachel Carson accepted the National Book Award, she said, ‘if there is poetry in my book about the sea it is not because I deliberately put it there but because no one could write...

ASK NOT IF POETRY IS DEAD, ASK HOW YOU CAN LIVE FOR POETRY.

the poem doesn’t have stanzas, it has a body, the poem doesn’t have lines,/ it has blood, the poem is not written with letters, it’s written/ with grains of sand and kisses, petals and moments,...

Mind led bodyto the edge of the precipice.They stared in desireat the naked abyss.If you love me, said mind,take that step into silence.If you love me, said body,turn and exist.

Times change, as do our wills, What we are – is ever changing; All the world is made of change, And forever attaining new qualities.

the world is better withoutthem.only the plants and the animals aretrue comrades.I drink to them and withthem.

I think poor poetry writing skills are excused when you’re simply trying to flush out emotions.

I sing the body electric”I know what hemeantI know what hewanted:to be completely alive every momentin spite of the inevitable.we can’t cheat death but we can make itwork so hardthat when it does takeusit will...

Y algo golpeaba en mi alma, fiebre o alas perdidas, y me fui haciendo solo, descifrando aquella quemadura y escribí la primera línea vaga, vaga, sin cuerpo, pura, tontería pura sabiduría del que no sabe...

If the colour of life turns grey turn the palette the other way

A mí me ha tocado no estar contigo; no tengo miradas para encontrarteni hay cosa en que pueda reconocerte.

And tell me everything, tell chain by chain, and link by link, and step by step; sharpen the knives you kept hidden away, thrust them into my breast, into my hands, like a torrent of...

No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees,sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air,dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding,our animal passion rooted in the city.

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

and sometimes I sitdown at my typewriterand I thinknot of someonecause there isn’t anyoneto thinkabout and i wonderis it worth it

A voice that had traversed the centuries, so heavy it broke what it touched, so heavy I feared it would ring in me with eternal resonance, a voice rusty with the sound of curses and...

A bush-warbler,Coming to the verandah-edge,Left its droppingsOn the rice-cakes.

Amé, fuí amado, el sol acarició mi faz.¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!I loved, I was loved, the sun stroked my face.Life, you owe me nothing! Life, we are at peace!

The strings in her mind grew flatter, calmer. The shapes in the hologrid had changed. She heard the man’s words, and yet she didn’t; the words were not what was really important. And wasn’t that...

To use the term ‘clerk’ as an insult is simply a banal vulgarity; Pessoa and Svevo, however would have welcomed it as a just attribute of the poet. The latter does not resemble Achilles or...

…dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins – now the crows own the field…

In their effort to divorce language and experience, deconstructionist critics remind me of middle-class parents who do not allow their children to play in the street.

The things you struggle with today are the things you choose to struggle with.Because you believe that what you want to accomplish, is worth struggling for.

Words rich in meaning can be cheap in sound effects.

She captured the spot of my world’s centre and sent me in elliptic rings about it, causing the ground beneath me to vanish and the breath of my lungs to disperse. I was a rock...

To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that...

You’re trying not to tell him you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words...

And yet this self, containsTides, continents and stars―a myriad selves,Is small and solitary as one grass-bladePassed over by the windAmongst a myriad grasses on the prairie.

How does the ordinary person come to the transcendent? For a start, I would say, study poetry. Learn how to read a poem. You need not have the experience to get the message, or at...

We don’t know anything about silent sages, buried knowledge, the eye of the mute poet, serene seers, yet how many talkative destroyers, prophets and ideologues, teachers and beautifiers there are on the other side.

Thus many a melody passed to and fro between the two nightingales, drunk with their passion. Those who heard them listened in delight, and so similar were the two voices that they sounded like a...

Nothing is part of everything.

She was broken, I think it’s because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.

To leave out beautiful sunsets is the secret of good taste.

Maybe love was meant to save us from ourselves.