Please lift your snowy skies off my soul - Your diamond dreams slice through my veins
Cuando uno se enamora las cuadrillas del tiempo hacen escala en el olvido la desdicha se llena de milagros el miedo se convierte en osadía y la muerte no sale de su cueva enamorarse es un presagio gratis una ventana abierta al árbol nuevo una proez...
My earliest poems appear almost skeletal to me now - it seems I've learned to add meat, muscle and a nice suit of clothes.
Una mujer desnuda y en lo oscuro tiene una claridad que nos alumbra de modo que si ocurre un desconsuelo un apagón o una noche sin luna es conveniente y hasta imprescindible tener a mano una mujer desnuda. Una mujer desnuda y en lo oscuro genera un ...
During our first date, I wanted to hold your hand so bad I almost cut mine off and threw it at you to see if you would catch it
Poetry is the guardian of love - constructed from truth it is a bridge that can be crossed from either side and it is oblivious of age or gender
I versi partono da una testa e arrivano ad un’altra su una traiettoria invisibile e producono la vita impalpabile delle emozioni: graffi sull’anima prodotti da sogni lucidi che lanciano una solida gomena fra quello che siamo e quello che siamo st...
Cut off from the land that bore us, Betrayed by the land we find, Where the brightest have gone before us, And the dullest are most behind - Stand, stand to your glasses, steady! 'T is all we have left to prize: One cup to the dead already - Hurrah f...
Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me…I use entirely too much sugar and so far don’t find sucralose to be a good alternative. Also, writing is not a prac...
When people talk about poetry as a project, they suggest that the road through a poem is a single line. When really the road through a poem is a series of lines, like a constellation, all interconnected. Poems take place in the realm of chance, where...
Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the and of things inside it. Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling...
My heart in the East But the rest of me far in the West— How can I savor this life, even taste what I eat? How, in the bonds of the Moor, Zion chained to the Cross, Can I do what I’ve vowed to and must? Gladly I’d leave All the best of grand Sp...
To Your eyes a thousand years are like yesterday come and gone, no more than a watch in the night. You sweep men away like a dream, like grass which springs up in the morning. In the morning it springs up and flowers, by evening it withers and fades....
The life spills over, some days. She cannot be at rest, Wishes she could explode Like that red tree— The one that bursts into fire All this week. Senses her infinite smallness But can’t seize it, Recognizes the folly of desire, The folly of withd...
Recuerdo que algún día yo le hablé de mi río y una como tormenta se agitó en sus estrañas. No sé si fue mi pecho que tembló de recuerdo o si fueron mis ojos que asomaron nostalgias." "I remember a day when I spoke of my river and something li...
Contemporary poets got so obscure that poetry kind of fell out of favor,
We have no quarrel with the German nation, One would not quarrel with a flock of sheep. But, generation after generation, They throw up leaders who disturb our sleep.
Nobody reads poetry anymore So who the hell are you I see bent over this book?
you told me once about how they used to build whole city states out of poems how everything you see here is made out of the bones of dreams how having a stiff drink with lorca meant you had to write everything down right away lately the words just wo...
They went forth to battle, but they always fell; Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields; Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well, And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell. They knew not fear that to the foeman yields, They were not weak, ...
A true poet is one who can appreciate the disciplines and structures of any style of poetry. David J Delaney ©
