On Poetry Quotes
My fist is her flag still furled. Take the cannoli and leave the tuxedo - This is my jackleg opera to the world.
Poetry, to me, is a type of shamanistic chant capable of chasing away the darkness within us.
There always comes the day when children swallowthe key to the door of secrecy. They’ll not return it.
I strike the ground with the soles of my feet and life rises up my legs, spreads up my skeleton, takes possession of me, drives away distress and sweetens my memory. The world trembles.
life is first boredom, then fear.whether or not we use it, it goes, and leaves what something hidden from us chose, and age, and then the only end of age.
sometimes I hearscreaming like a childand wake upto find it’s me
Decide if a poem is a question or a declaration, a meditation or an outcry.
there are these places on your poem, / where I want to write bodies.
Our age has built itself vast reservoirs of power / formless as the straining energy that it wrests from the earth.
The untented Kosmos my abode, I pass, a wilful stranger:My mistress still the open roadAnd the bright eyes of danger.
I want to gossip about forever / against the part of your back that / is mine.
Please let me know if I am not hereLet me know if I fail to find you thereFor before the dawn I leave the night behind meAnd before my heart I let you leave me behind.
Our story has been told, our song has been sung.You're a road I’ve already traveled, and from it, I have moved on."Already Traveled
...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...
I offer you my soulWithin are my flawsMy grace, my kindnessMy love for you"The Offer
It must have been an endless breathing in: between the wish to know and the wish to praise there was no seam.
I want to show my sins withinTo help make me sinless, once again"What I Want
And when I feelthe masks beneathcrumble and fade withtime I build new onesto replace the old."Masks"- Sins Within
so quiet now my dearest knightyour armor shines white stillfor my lips shall not say the wordsthat make you flee with fear"White Knight
I can no longer trust in this loveIt has fallen like the saints aboveAll because of your sweet liesYou sang them like a lullaby"Phoenix
Failures of nerve and energy are not permitted. That's what it means to be an object.
I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song
...my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...
...freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...
... paint in blue and black...sometimes gray - the colors of night - occasionally I surprise you with a mustard yellow, but then, I am a poet ...
...careful the morning lest it wake from slumber the city half-encumbered by the morning mist ...
The days of the future stand in fornt of usLike a line of candles all alightGolden and warm and lively little candlesThe days that are past are left behind
...How terrible, those dreams before sleep were—the worse kind, mixing hope with despair...
...at morning, I'm unruffled - I'll sit with my tea and Muse Cat beside me and listen to the soft chime of the grandfather clock...
...if it weren't for you, mornings wouldn't be so comforting - slippers wouldn't scrape through the rooms of my heart...
Always dip your toe in the past before stepping into the future
you’ll find the buildings taller, thatthe halls are full of ghostsbut everything still here iswhat you remember most
The wind went mute and the trees in the forest stood still. It was time for the last tale.
I'd rather write poetry than watch TV it allows me to share the wide screen in me.
He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.
The glamorous life is a facade, a frauda farce of frivolous triteThe storybook is blank insideChivalry has died