Even famous poets such as Marianne Moore and William Carlos Williams were rarely asked to read their poems.
A book is a place where my reality, escapism, hope, despair, love and death lie.
I wrote her story because she wanted to live forever and I loved her far more with every word, too much! Even in death her life sought out beauty, for her moments were consumed with love and I could n...
Ill love you with every little bit of everything that has ever consumed me and I will forever love you and forever find you in every life time and so on. Until the stars die out and the universe leaps...
Poems are difficult to silence.
Yesterday I fell completely off the face of the earthContemplating life, light and love in the darkness of the voidStrangely it was in the dark that I found meaning for the light
I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.
Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.
Once in a while i am struckall over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.
think think think until you blink
I tasted danger on his lips and became an addict.A slave to adrenaline and irrational behaviour.We lived recklessly in a dramatic whirl;Clubbing and Cutting,Drinking and Driving,Fighting and Fucking,S...
i know it all ends the same, but i was interested in seeing how you would break my heart.
Sous les ifs noirs qui les abritent,Les hiboux se tiennent rangés,Ainsi que des dieux étrangers,Dardant leur oeil rouge. Ils méditent.Sans remuer ils se tiendrontJusqu'à l'heure mélancoliqueOù, poussa...
Even lungs that are gasping are lungs that are trying.
Where Do You Show Up to Share What You Have to Offer?When You Love What You Do-You Share It Daily
all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.
Twas noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro' the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,'Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I ga...
It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.
Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.
She wildly burned for the one she loved and he stood there watching, hoping he too would catch a blaze from the violence stirring in her heart.