I will not stop singingthe Muses who set me dancing.

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.

When you write about what you dream, you become a writer.When you dream about what you write, you become haunted by a curse.

The resurrection of the morning.The mystery of the night.The hummingbird’s wings.The excitement of thunder.The rainbow in the waterfall.Wild mustard, that rough blaze of the fields.

. . . Orpheus struck dumb with hindsight.

Belief In Self””If you quit while pursuing your dreams, you will never know how close you’ve come to success. It might have been hidden behind that next door you decided not to open, since the...

The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and handand asshole holy!Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere isholy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s anangel!

In the flush of love’s lightwe dare be braveAnd suddenly we seethat love costs all we areand will ever be.Yet it is only lovewhich sets us free.

With heart at rest I climbed the citadel’sSteep height, and saw the city as from a tower,Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells,Where evil comes up softly like a flower.Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my...

It is not what a poem says with its mouth, it’s what a poem does with its eyes.

We are metered only by our own machines,while the book is a clock that forgets her machanics.

There’s a story here.A catastrophic silence where our thoughts and feelings collide …Where your sweetness overrides my senses and our bodies move to the same tune.The same song.The same melody.The same stroke.The same rhythm.It’s our...

Listen within to find shining poetry and hear extraordinary music. You are a work of art.

Wherever the hope of glory lives, hopelessness passes away.

when I am feelinglowall i have to do iswatch my catsand mycouragereturns

One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

darkness falls upon Humanityand faces become terriblethingsthat wanted more than therewas.all our days are marked withunexpectedaffronts – somedisastrous, othersless sobut the process iswearing andcontinuous.attrition rules.most givewayleavingempty spaceswhere people shouldbe.and nowas we ready to self-destructthere is...

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.

I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.

So the freshness lives onin a lemon,in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,the proportions, arcane and acerb.

If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week.

Moonlight and high wind.Dark poplars toss, insinuate the sea.

To do something very common, in my own way.

No mark survives this place: you too will yieldto unmemory.

Music resembles poetry, in eachAre nameless graces which no methods teach,And which a master hand alone can reach.

At one time I was weary of verse writing, and wanted to give it up. At another time I was determined to be a poet until I could establish a proud name over others. The...

¡En esta vida no la supe amar!Dame otra vida para reparar,¡oh Dios! mis omisiones,para amarla con tantos corazonescomo tuve en mis cuerpos anteriores,para colmar de flores, de risas y de gloria sus instantes;para cuajar su...

The winds, the sea, and the moving tides are what they are. If there is wonder and beauty and majesty in them, science will discover these qualities… If there is poetry in my book about...

Nobody reads poetry, we are told at every inopportune moment. I read poetry. I am somebody. I am the people, too. It can be allowed that an industrious quantity of contemporary American poetry is consciously...

…you can be talented as a wolf is breathtakingly fierce…silver and gray, like smoke in the trees – but what do you do with terrible beauty?…

Ninja beats pirate. Pirate beats ghost.Ghost beats zombie. Zombie beats most.Werewolf beats vampire. Vamp beats Imp.Imp beats fiend. Fiend beats wimp.Wizard beats cyrborg. Cyborg surely beats troll.Troll beats goblin. Goblin eats a hermit’s soul.Hermit beats...

LedgeBirds that lovehigh treesand windsand ridingflailing brancheshate ledgesas griplessand narrow,so that a tailis not justno advantagebut ridiculous,mashed verticalagainst the wall.You will haveseen the waya bird who fallson skimpy placeslifts into the airagain in seconds –a...

Heavenly bodies are nests of invisible birds.

How would it alter Juliet’s love perception to learn the sea is but a rounded jug of water? Would her sensuous analogy turned simple simile unveil to her the limits of herself? Or would she...

You don’t know anything, but I know even less.

…yes, I am your priest, your magician, your lover – I make charms to incant your presence…

Some people complain there are too many people on earth, Some people complain about secret societies, Some people accuse others of not being able to wake up early. Almost all people complain about something.

I discovered modern poetry I think quite late, when I was 17, through an anthology, a Louis Untermeyer anthology. Of course, I was crazy about modern poetry as soon as I discovered it.

I lose faith in mathematics, logical and rigid. What with those that even zero doesn’t accept?

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.