On the last day of the worldI would want to plant a tree
If you're an artist, always keep at it, there will be someone out there who sees the universe and soul in what you've created. Maybe they can't afford it, but it calls them like the siren in a sea, an...
Before the first before and after the last after, there is night waiting.
Omnipotence and omniscience are the end of power and knowledge.
A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe helps to extend eve...
There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.
the next time you hear someone in a workshop remarking on how good a particular free-verse line or passage sounds, scan it. The odds are that it will fall into a regular metrical pattern.
The pen, a double-edged mystery: cuts the writer, heals the reader.
The Throes of Poetry - Hymns formed from groans of acquaintance, its rhythm weaving between tranquility, compassions, and peril - like bare feet stomping on broken glass - bleeds, recoils, then steps...
For what is a poem but a hazardous attempt at self-understanding: it is the deepest part of autobiography.
Artistes breathe and dream creativity!
you make autumn misttaste like champagne and turn winter raininto the elixir of life itself.
Then you are a poet?' she asked, fingering the flyer in her pocket.'No not at all,' he waved his hand. 'I am merely a character in a poem.
It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.
Madness is loving the unsolvable puzzle of your soul and replacing the lost pieces with my own.
Sail Forth- Steer for the deep waters only. Reckless O soul, exploring. I with thee and thou with me. For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared go. And we will risk the ship, ourselves, and all...
to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.
But give thanks, at least, that you still have Frost's poems; and when you feel the need of solitude, retreat to the companionship of moon, water, hills and trees. Retreat, he reminds us, should not b...
Words have never belonged to those who wrote them. Always to those who needed then.
poetrymelts my bones.enters my blood.and changesits composition.
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