The secret of poetry is never explained – is always new. We have not got farther than mere wonder at the delicacy of the touch, & the eternity it inherits. In every house a child...

EldoradoGaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old— This knight so bold— And o’er his heart a shadow— Fell...

Poetry = Anger x Imagination

I am not a mechanism, an assembly of various sections.and it is not because the mechanism is working wrongly, that I am ill.I am ill because of wounds to the soul, to the deep emotional...

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.

I am the red wheelbarrow of communism. William Carlos Williams wrote a poem about me.

Perfection”Every oak will lose a leaf to the wind.Every star-thistle has a thorn.Every flower has a blemish.Every wave washes back upon itself.Every ocean embraces a storm.Every raindrop falls with precision.Every slithering snail leaves its silver...

Failing and FlyingEveryone forgets that Icarus also flew.It’s the same when love comes to an end,or the marriage fails and people saythey knew it was a mistake, that everybodysaid it would never work. That she...

I arise from dreams of thee,And a spirit in my feetHas led me- who knows how?To thy chamber-window, Sweet!

I had thought so onceThat it was I who saw in your eyesThe raindrops pinging on the windows;Hearing only with earsThe stars and the rain;Now that I truly open my eyes and earsI realize that...

A life without books is a thirsty life, and one without poetry is…like a life without pictures.

More or Less Love Poems #11:No babeWe’d neverSwing together butthe syncopationwould be something wild

I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones.

If you are a twin, you watch yourself live two lives–yours and hers. It’s constant comparison. I am never as good as the bad I wanted her to be. I was the only soldier I...

Travolti dal torrente dell’incertezza, i nostri sogni hanno teso le bracciaPer afferrare la terra.In mattoni e pietra si irrigidisconoi loro sogni e così sono state costruitele città dell’uomo.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,And Yesterday, or Centuries before?The Feet, mechanical, go round – Of Ground,...

your handtouching mine.this is howgalaxiescollide.

Books, books, books!I had found the secret of a garret roomPiled high with cases in my father’s name;Piled high, packed large,–where, creeping in and outAmong the giant fossils of my past,Like some small nimble mouse...

leave me a smilejust warm enough…to spend a milliongolden afternoons in.

Most people in this country are looking for literature that is useful. They feel that just exploring their feelings is good enough – they should be reading about leveraged buy-outs or how to get thin....

I want to read every book that’s writtenhear every song that was sungI want to gaze at every cloudand hold the zing of each fruit on my tongue.

You cannot devote your life to an abstraction. Indeed, life shatters all abstractions in one way or another, including words such as “faith” or “belief”. If God is not in the very fabric of existence...

When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude

Poetry is nobody’s business except the poet’s, and everybody else can fuck off.

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A frail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The...

THOUGH you are in your shining days,Voices among the crowdAnd new friends busy with your praise,Be not unkind or proud,But think about old friends the most:Time’s bitter flood will rise,Your beauty perish and be lostFor...

I think that at the bottom of all art lies the impulse to preserve.

The Day is DoneThe day is done, and the darknessFalls from the wings of Night,As a feather is wafted downwardFrom an eagle in his flight.I see the lights of the villageGleam through the rain and...

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

O youcan’t tell someone just how lonely he is

you areas fleetingly beautifulas a mother’s tearsand a father’s pranksa brother’s bachelorhoodand a best friend’s bad mooda bride’s glittering jittersand a handsome stranger’s smile.

My art is that of the 35mm kind; my poetry is of the lead and ink kind; my happiness is of the product of both; and my legacy is of the story of my soul,...

Her happiness floated like waves of ocean along the coast of her life. She found lyrics of her life in his arms but she never sung her song.

I MADE THE MOON SHINE.

O dear Himalaya…why are you so amazing, can I kiss your peak or can I just let your silence speak…O dear Himalaya…

And marbled clouds go scudding byThe many-steepled London sky.

…the collective wisdom of humanity [is] enshrined in its poetry.

You can learn more by going to the opera than you ever can by reading Emerson. Like that there are two sexes.

the glory of the protagonist is always paid for by a lot of secondary characters

Poetry is just so emo.” he said. “Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul.

Mislaid flame of tender emotionsRekindled.Together we live to the point of tears,I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Little world, full of little peopleshouting for recognition, screaming for love, Rolling world, teeming with millions,carousel of the hungry,Is there food enough? Wheat and corn will not do.The fat are the hungriest of all, the...

Life in love with youIs a poerty of the heartIs a song of divinity, andA cosmic dance.

In fact, poetry has always been like archives that peoples have continually used to serve their feelings, thoughts, national identities and cultures, and it has served as a factor uniting different historical periods. Those who...

Two such as you with such a master speedCannot be parted nor be swept awayFrom one another once you are agreedThat life is only life forevermoreTogether wing to wing and oar to oar

We real cool. WeLeft school. WeLurk late. WeStrike straight. WeSing sin. WeThin gin. WeJazz June. WeDie soon.

Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,Snow-hushed and heartless.

HOUSE Grow high. The devil can’t find you. Grow deep. Buddha can’t find you. Build a house and live there. Gourd creepers will climb over it, their flowers dazzling at midnight.

That’s enough feeling for a while nowHands shaking, sweat dripping from his browHe eyed the narrow closet doorThe monster in it asking him to feel moreTill he learned to not hearTo stay away and not...

Emotion is the poetry of life.