A little learning is a dangerous thing.Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring;There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,and drinking largely sobers us again.

The River Mogami has drownedFar and deepBeneath its surging wavesThe flaming sun of summer

I speak of new cities and new peopleI tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down,a sun dropped in the west.I tell you there is nothing...

Poetry, plays, novels, music, they are the cry of the human spirit trying to understand itself and make sense of our world.

Poetry seems especially like nothing else so much as itself. Poetry is not like, it is the very lining of the inner life.

No wires tender even as nervescan transmit the impact ofour seasons, our catastropheswhile we are closed inside them

Poems are lenses, mirrors, and X-ray machines.

I find my data first in myself, not first in the poets. For if I did not find it in myself, I would not be able to find it in the poets.

He knows he will be born again, And start fresh anew.

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.

Omnipotence and omniscience are the end of power and knowledge.

A man walks into a bar and says: Take my wife–please. So you do. You take her out into the rain and you fall in love with her and she leaves you and you’re desolate.You’re...

I recreate myself; that is my only power.

Touch my song with your lips, make it immortal,be my beloved, make my love immortal.No restriction of age, not the bond of lives,when someone love should see only the soul,by carving new trend, make the...

Vandals listen only when others are stronger.If vandals are equal or strongerTheir word is the last word.

I am five, I will never understandwhy we are stranded in our selvesbut in this moment I knowmy own storyis understanding our singlenessthat I am destined to move my body and timeinto the body-timethe storyof...

Amor, ch’al cor gentile ratto s’apprendeprese costui de la bella personache mi fu tolta; e ‘l modo ancor m’offende.Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,Che, come vedi, ancor non...

If I lived a million lives, I would’ve felt a million feelings and I still would’ve fallen a million times for you.

To not say all that can be said is the secret of discipline and economy.

Life’s waters flow from darkness, Search the darkness, don’t run from it.

Without pleasure there is no sight or measure.

Shall I tell you our secret? We are charming thieves who steal hearts and never fail because we are the friends of the One.Blessed is the poem that comes through me but not of me...

Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?

I stumble and fall.I weep and struggle to rise.My mom feels it all.

Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.

Theirs two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying

Truth is hard-hearted and unrelenting, too clear, precise; a lie is much more imaginative.

I fought for you, I fought for usI fought for the memories and the laughter that came upon us,Now here we are, we have become unknown people to each other,Worlds apart in an instant, for...

Perfect bliss, from just the thought of you next to me.

If I am more alive because love burns and chars me,as a fire, given wood or wind, feels new elation,it’s that he who lays me low is my salvation,and invigorates the more, the more he...

Every poem I write falls short in some important way. But I go on trying to write the one that won’t.

He wanted to be a poet,’ someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. ‘Said he’d only lacked the words to be one.

You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.

The extremity of her sensitivityimpressed a richly idle princely family,of her discomfort, bothered as she had to beby the absurd softness of the ample beddings,not to mention the pillow piles aggravatingher much lamented acrophobic dis-ease.[from...

Stranger, pause and look;From the dust of agesLift this little book,Turn the tattered pages,Read me, do not let me die!Search the fading letters findingSteadfast in the broken bindingAll that once was I!

My words are the garment of what I shall never be Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy.

The novel is a formidable mass, and it is so amorphous – no mountain in it to climb, no Parnassus or Helicon, not even a Pisgah. It is most distinctly one of the moister areas...

When the Earth was just a child,He searched for his mother Venus;And for his father Mars,But they were not home;They were gone elsewhere,Out there, in the great expanse; Beyond the breathing universe.

A Very Short Song Once, when I was young and true, Someone left me sad- Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a...

Learning to be a lady / is like learning / to live within a shell, / to be a crustacean encased / in a small white / uncomfortable world.

De taalvaardigheid van scholieren – ik lach erom. Die heeft nooit bestaan. Scholen zijn niet geschikt om kinderen te leren communiceren. De school is een kerker, een plaag, een rem, een strop, een moordenaarshol.

I do not know which to prefer,The beauty of inflectionsOr the beauty of innuendosThe blackbird whistlingOr just after.

I haven’t been very impressed lately.By people,or places,or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.

The Plot Against The GiantFirst GirlWhen this yokel comes maundering,Whetting his hacker,I shall run before him,Diffusing the civilest odorsOut of geraniums and unsmelled flowers.It will check him.Second GirlI shall run before him,Arching cloths besprinkled with...

Am I making something worth while?I’m not sure.I write and I sing and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts,but am I making...

Let bricks of truth fill the skies and send their walls of conformity crashing downAnd let the heavens echo with the blows of our liberation

Bisognerebbe saper attendere, raccogliere, per una vita intera e possibilmente lunga, senso e dolcezza, e poi, proprio alla fine, si potrebbero forse scrivere dieci righe valide. Perché i versi non sono, come crede la gente,...

If I knew what to doI’d do more than write a song for you

i was really into communal living and we were all /such free spirits, crossing the country we were /nomads and artists and no one ever stopped / to think about how the one working class...

Adrijene, nemoj da se duriš!Vrati se!U redu grešila samduge godine nisam se vracala kuci,ali sam ti uvek krilada je to zato što sam bila u zatvoru!Grešila sam priznajemcesto sam tukla psa,ali sam te volela!Adrijene, nemoj...