From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.

The chaos in me is the chaos in you. Like the love in you is the love in me. So maybe we’re both a little crazy. Enough to believe we’re found where dreams are born...

Why poetry, you ask? Because of life, I answer.

The TypeEveryone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else. -Richard SikenIf you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,you can let them look at you. But do not...

Great poets are great copy editors.

The greatest adventure is to have no fear for the blaze that lies ahead.

Without space, there is no time.

Twinkle tiny star.Oh, how great you truly are!God’s sign from afar.

Arrange your unutterable alphabet, my man, / and hold tight. / It’s all you’ve got, a naming of things, and not so beautiful.

I have a book of poetry I believe many should read but in each verse you’ll discover it wasn’t written for greed.

I watched the spinning stars, grateful, sad and proud, as only a man who has outlived his destiny and realizes he might yet forge himself another, can be.

Yet, beauty cannot be forgotten,Eternal Wisdom can never die …

Compliments land assoft and gentle on my earsas a butterfly.

Poetry is an intimate act. It’s about bringing forth something that’s inside you–whether it is a memory, a philosophical idea, a deep love for another person or for the world, or an apprehension of the...

if onlyour tongueswere made of glasshow muchmore carefulwe would bewhen wespeak

Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove

On Paper*some call it poetrybut it is just painon paper_____________________rassool jibraeel snyman (c) 2015″The Poetic Assassin

There is no memory of him here!” And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, ‘End of Summer.’ It began as a celebration of wild geese. Eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but...

But he who feels too much,He soars in angels’ tears of joy…

Little WordsWhen you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;And I can only stare, and shape my griefIn little words.I cannot conjure loveliness, to drownThe bitter woe...

if I finally do catch you and put my mouth to yours you will taste that summer.

Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they not only live, but reign, and redeem: and without their divine influence spread everywhere, you would be...

The aim of science is to make difficult things understandable in a simpler way; the aim of poetry is to state simple things in an incomprehensible way. The two are incompatible.

So for now,I will miss you like I’ll never see you again,And the next time I see you,I will kiss you like I’ll never kiss you again,And when I fall asleep beside you I will...

I placed a jar in Tennessee and round it was upon a hill.

The mass starts into a million suns;Earths round each sun with quick explosions burst,And second planets issue from the first.[The first concept of a ‘big bang’ theory of the universe.]

Our age has built itself vast reservoirs of power / formless as the straining energy that it wrests from the earth.

A steampunk nationBaby pollution rises up then the loving comes arraigning ’causeOur art’s official and only partially artificialAnd our heart’s in the middle of sharp hardened shards of metal butThere’s not where it settlesBecause it’s...

weak” or otherwise because I choose to persist in a study which I decided deliberately four or five years ago to make, next to my poetry, the most important pursuit of my life…If I had...

I wish to get you out of my veins, but you are my third skin; I can’t rub you off.

Love can be so hauntingly beautiful, waking up past selves that have been wandering aimlessly through the corridors of our soul, for far too long. When someone else can take us from the ghost-town of...

The Little Boy and the Old ManSaid the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”Said the old man, “I do that too.”The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”I do that too,” laughed the little...

A daily diet of God’s Word is guaranteed to bless.

O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

The world was fair, the mountains tallIn Elder Days before the fall…

Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.

I do believe in poetry. I believe that there are creatures endowed with the power to put things together and bring them back to life

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which movesTo that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave...

When people say, “I’ve told you fifty times,” / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, “I’ve written fifty rhymes,” / They make you dread that they ‘II recite them...

brave love, dreamnot of staunching such strict flame, but come,lean to my wound; burn on, burn on.

July 4th fireworks exhale over the Hudson sadly.It is beautiful that they have to disappear.It’s like the time you said I love you madly.That was an hour ago. It’s been a fervent year.

I quickly, swiftly, reach in, pluck out, and peer into the mirror. ‘I am still here.’ I am in the glass, in this moment. After this moment, I may not be here; I may be...

The purpose of poetry is to remind ushow difficult it is to remain just one person,for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at...

from Open HouseMy truths are all foreknown,This anguish self-revealed.I’m naked to the bone,With nakedness my shield.Myself is what I wear:I keep the spirit spare.

The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.

The foremost watchman on the peak announces his news. It is the truest word ever spoken, and the phrase will be th fittest, most musical, and the unerring voice of the world for that time.

It is humor’s job to laugh at the futility oft engendered by the improbable; but it is poetry’s job to dream of the potentiality of that which is not impossible.

I drift like a cloud,Across these venerable eastern lands,A journey of unfathomable distances,An endless scroll of experiences…Lady Zhejiang here we must part,For the next province awaits my embrace.Sad wanderer, once you conquer the East,Where do...