Rome was a poem pressed into service as a city.
Children are the poem made flesh.
Usually a life turned into a poem is misrepresented.
Sometimes poetry is inspired by the conversation entered into by reading other poems.
However, if a poem can be reduced to a prose sentence, there can't be much to it.
If you can't beat em: Poem.
I'm uncomfortable with the focus on the poet and not on the poem.
Bhagat Singh revered Lajpat Rai as a leader. But he would not spare even Lajpat Rai, when, during the last years of his life, Lajpat Rai turned to communal politics. He then launched a political-ideological campaign against him. Because Lajpat Rai wa...
If I knew I was going to die tomorrow, And Spring came the day after tomorrow, I would die peacefully, because it came the day after tomorrow. If that’s its time, when else should it come? I like it that everything is real and everything is right; ...
If I die very young, hear this: I was never anything but a kid playing. I was a heathen like the sun and the water, I had the universal religion only people don’t have. I was happy because I didn’t ask for anything at all, Or tried to find anythi...
Father, I do acknowledge and confess That I this honor, I this pomp have brought To Dagon, and advanc’d his praises high among the Heathen round; to God have brought Dishonor, obloquy, and op’d the mouths Of Idolists, and Atheists […]The anguis...
"Four be the things I am wiser to know: Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe. Four be the things I'd been better without: Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt. Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne. Three ...
Vase [Why weep Come back tomorrow There are also poisonous flowers and flowers always open in the evening she loves the cinema she has been in Russia Love married with disdain Pearl-studded watch a trip to Montrouge Maisons- Lafitte and everything fi...
We are no longer in an age of needing to be approved and edited by larger companies before we are allowed to share our creations. This is the era of Do-It-Yourself. Research, investigate and try. You owe it to yourself, to your art and to the Creator...
You're a poem?' I repeated. She chewed her lower lip. 'If you want. I am a poem, or I am a pattern, or a race of people whose whose world was swallowed by the sea.' 'Isn't it hard to be three things at the same time?' 'What's your name?' 'Enn.' 'So y...
Name me no names for my disease, With uninforming breath; I tell you I am none of these, But homesick unto death —Homesick for hills that I had known, For brooks that I had crossed, ...Before I met this flesh and bone And followed and was lost… ....
Thirsty for being, the poet ceaselessly reaches out to reality, seeking with the indefatigable harpoon of the poem a reality that is always better hidden, more re(g)al. The poem’s power is as an instrument of possession but at the same time, ineffa...
Through my history's despite and ruin, I have come to its remainder, and here have made the beginning of a farm intended to become my art of being here. By it I would instruct my wants: they should belong to each other and to this place. Until my son...
...And yet a knowledge is here that tenses the throat as for song: the inheritance of the ones, alive or once alive, who stand behind the ones I have imagined, who took into their minds the troubles of this place, blights of love and race, but saw a ...
This land, although not my native land, Will be remembered forever. And the sea's lightly iced, Unsalty water. The sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk, The air is heady, like wine, And the rosy body of the pines Is naked in the sunset hour. And t...
LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME I- Oh, uh, hello I did not expect an answer I did not expect an entrance I did not expect this room to be so unbe...
