You know, my dear, it’s only doing you harm to write vers libre. After you have been writing strict, rhyming verse for about 10 years it will be time to venture on the free sort....

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

For we know that our old self was crucified with him so the the body of sin might be brought to nothing, that we should no longer be enslaved to sin.

All those who perish in the wrath of God Here meet together out of every land;And ready are they to pass o’er the river, Because celestial Justice spurs them on, So that their fear is...

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...

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me;Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths allBolted against me.Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers,Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,I’m called, if vanquished,...

I completely forgot; Santa said something more.He said that a book gives your very thoughts wings,That carry you off to see wonderful things,That lift you aloft, throughout time, throughout spaceTo every era and every place!

Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.

I couldn’t believe verse was supposed to be hard. It was a snap for me. I loved Shakespeare.

I’ve written probably over 200 songs that have a verse and a chorus and that’s it.

No one here gets out alive.

I now wish that I had spent somewhat more of my life with verse. This is not because I fear having missed out on truths that are incapable of statement in prose. There are no...

…what good would it do toshutter your windows, neverdream of rainbows or find hopein promises? Why choose to walk awayrather than hold your groundand fight for love?

I saw sunrises fade and burn among fleets of sparks. The moon blossomedlike a lily carved of bone…The Death of the Astronaut, page 390.

That such a slave as this should wear a sword,Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwainWhich are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every passionThat in the...

Am I more afraidOf taking a chance andlearning I’m somebodyI don’t know, or of risking new territory,only to find I’m the sameold me? There is comfortin the tried and true.Breaking groundmight uncover a sinkhole,one impossible...

Be careful, darling. Your footsteps land heavy here. Your racket will wake the dragons.

I cannot live to hear the news from England.But I do prophesy th’ election lightsOn Fortinbras; he has my dying voice.So tell him, with th’ occurents, more and less,Which have solicited – the rest is...

I live not in myself, but I becomePortion of that around me: and to meHigh mountains are a feeling, but the humof human cities torture.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I’m 56 and I often want to write like a child.

…they speak great swelling words of emptiness…

Cannot it actually be that in a wildly literal sense, unacceptable to one’s reason, he meant disappearing in his art, dissolving in his verse, thus leaving of himself, of his nebulous person, nothing but verse?

I think there’s one thing which distinguishes our art – we don’t consider. We don’t think. We write a little verse because it comes to us.

I do have a funny perception of mine I’d like to share. Being basically a lifetime poet. I’ve had many people say “I don’t like poetry” But they’ll listen to song after song that rhymes...

once ruffle-skirted vanity table where I primped at thirteen, opening drawers to a private chaos of eyeshadows lavender teal sky-blue, swarms of hair pins pony tail fasteners, stashes of powders, colonies of tiny lipsticks (p.39)

I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

To share is precious, pure and fair.Don’t play with something you should cherish for life. Don’t you wanna care, ain’t it lonely out there?

Why Roses Crave Thorns”Petals detach from a wilting bud—a single stem plucked before fully blossomed. They descend in hesitant swirls, too soft and limp to shatter like teardrops. One by one they light to blanket...

Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.

Their free verse was no form at all, yet it made history.

In the boundaryless forests, there’re dancers of nude.Yet in the confines of pasture, there’s promise of food.On which is your side?Ô, but tarry and bide,ere you decide,in both do confide.

This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live 20...

My father would tell me if I wasn’t writing in meter verse, it wasn’t poetry.

Did I live the spring I’d sought?It’s true in joy, I walked along,took part in dance, and sang the song.and never tried to bind an hourto my borrowed garden bower;nor did I once entreata day...