We may kill each other someday.

…but it is good to be several floors up in the dead of night wondering whether you are any good or not and the only decision you can make is that you did it…

Love, the poet said, is woman’s whole existence.

On No Work of WordsOn no work of words now for three lean months in the bloodyBelly of the rich year and the big purse of my bodyI bitterly take to task my poverty and...

Please, sit in my sky and let me polish your shine.

Si la liberación no está dentro de mí, no está, para mi, en ninguna parte.

Poetry is a good medium for revolutionary hope.

Books on the bookshelvesAnd stacked on the floorBooks kept in basketsAnd propped by the doorBooks in neat pilesAnd in disarrayBooks tucked in closetsAnd books on displayBooks filling cranniesAnd books packed in nooksBooks massed in windowsAnd...

Choose wisely From those who start A fire in your heart. Some may burn you to shreds,While you were looking for warmth.

Express yourself, Express your life, Express the Moment, Live the life.

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Indigo sky, because the heart is also a sunset.

You think her innocent/ Your little lost girl/ Caped in Inquisition red/ Yet when she leads you hunting Hyde/ Mind don’t slay Jekyll in his stead

cherry reddenim tornholding closethe smell of warm

Oh I must pass nothing byWithout loving it much,The raindrop try with my lips,The grass with my touch;For how can I be sureI shall see againThe world on the first of MayShining after the rain?

some see things as they are: others as they are” (p.82) ~CXCI

Another breath, left to translate

The true poetic urge is the desire for absolute freedom.

There’s no money in poetry, but there’s no poetry in money, either

She was the kind of eleganceThat would never tarnish. A mixture of lace and mesh, Like a classic heirloom that begged to be worn.She was sharp intellect and quick wit.The type of woman that spoke...

Let me live my final days whole.Let my memory remain that I might know love’s face.Life don’t unwrap me to be fed to scavengers.I want to escape into light – not exist in darkness.

A piece of art, when completed, encapsulates its own reality. As its architect, the artist’s task is to craft it well enough that the reader believes in its existence and is willing to enter, explore,...

In pale moonlight / the wisteria’s scent / comes from far away.

The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move & breathe.

For a lot of people, poetry tends to be dull. It’s not read much. It takes a special kind of training and a lot of practice to read poetry with pleasure. It’s like learning to...

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a...

I did not foresee my words becoming such a reverie of mimic and refrain.

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful....

Deprivation is the mother of poetry.

As we change, our writing changes too. You cannot write the same poem twice. And that’s a good thing.

Very Like a WhaleOne thing that literature would be greatly the better forWould be a more restricted employment by authors of simile and metaphor.Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,Can’ts seem...

Like poetry, in times of intense emotion the image returns to me. Like poetry, it stroked my soul and, by turns, lulled and stoked my senses.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Un soir qu’ils étaient couchés l’un près de l’autre, comme elle lui demandait d’inventer un poème qui commencerait par je connais un beau pays, il s’exécuta sur-le-champ. Je connais un beau pays Il est de...

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a...

In the shade of words sits life itself.

How blest am I in this discovering thee!To enter in these bonds is to be free;Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be. Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,As souls unbodied,...

Though much is taken, much abides; and thoughWe are not now that strength which in old daysMoved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;One equal temper of heroic hearts,Made weak by time and...

Don’t you know no one can escapethe power of creatures reaching outwith breath alone?

I’ve ceased to smile long ago, The bitter winds now chill my lips, Another hope was just let go, Another song was added since. Against my will, I’ll cede this song To people’s laughter and...

I is for immortality, which for some poets is a necessary compensation. Presumably miserable in this life, they will be remembered when the rest of us are long forgotten. None of them asks about the...

I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself.

Solace of Silencesurreal synapsesof a melancholy dronea dream per chanceshe dared not be alone…

May, and after a rainy springWe walk streets gallant with rhododendrons.

Cada vez que te enamores no expliques a nadie nada, deja que el amor te invada sin entrar en pormenores

Everything is nothing.

Still, what I want in my lifeis to be willingto be dazzled—to cast aside the weight of factsand maybe evento float a littleabove this difficult world.

To wander solitary there:Two paradises ‘twere in oneTo live in paradise alone.

Do Stones Feel?Do stones feel?Do they love their life?Or does their patience drown out everything else?When I walk on the beach I gather a fewwhite ones, dark ones, the multiple colors.Don’t worry, I say, I’ll...

The bats inebriate the sky . . .