All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“we must bringour own lightto thedarkness.”

“there is some achingthat will only heal…in the mosque of sleep.”

“Some women marry houses.”

“Art is long, and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave.”

“You nightmare, gasped and jerk up all at once where I bolt too, hand flown to rest on his kidneys. Confused bedclothes, the sulphurous dark. Worse for you, the same war, another battle so undoing that in daylight you won’t admit it, nothing, nothing, avert and work. His purple-circled eyes could have been anywhere. She sets a pan, quietly, of biscuits. Bring me morning’s water bucket, then turn wordless out. Finished enough, now I will out too, Mr. Whitman in scandalous hand with a leaf to hold my place. Rivering. Greening. It all stops, water too silty and feet booted, she crooks in a moss-tree and is lost, forgets even to ask for moccasins. I have wrapped fear into linen and hoped it into lavender, saved for funerary. At noon he looks; returns, admits. Across the tablecloth can ask Where did you come from.”

“moonrisesettle back with muffins and teauntil the window empties”

“I put a chameleon on a red dildo… He blushed”

“It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.”

“PRETENDING TO DROWNThe only regret is that I waitedlonger than a breathto scatter the sun’s reflectionwith my body.New stars burst upon the waterwhen you pulled me in.On the shore, our clothesbegged us to be good boys again.Every stick our feet toucheda snapping turtle, every shadowa water moccasin.Excuses to swim closer to one another.I sank into the depths to see youas the lake saw you: cut in halfby the surface, taut legs kicking,the rest of you sky.Suddenly still, a clear viewof what you knew I wantedto see.When I resurfaced, slick grin,knowing glance; you pushed meback under.I pretended to drown,then swallowed you whole.”

“history is what it is. it knows what it did.”

“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.”

“ ‘Paradise Lost’ was printed in an edition of no more than 1,500 copies and transformed the English language. Took a while. Wordsworth had new ideas about nature: Thoreau read Wordsworth, Muir read Thoreau, Teddy Roosevelt read Muir, and we got a lot of national parks. Took a century. What poetry gives us is an archive, the fullest existent archive of what human beings have thought and felt by the kind of artists who loved language in a way that allowed them to labor over how you make a music of words to render experience exactly and fully.”

“Some plant lips on Mother Earth in a display of gratitude.Meanwhile, she is kissing the soles of your feet, recognizing the one to be worshiped is you.”

“Alwaysin the middle of our bloodiest battlesyou lay down your armslike flowering minesto conqueror me home.”

“I fall asleepCall it deep while all is well be-Cause my life seems like a freestyle mean-While asleep on the couch I dream it’s a written piece and nowThe symphony’s soundingShouting out to these feet whose leaps feel foul but quite loudBut howI’m allowed to live my dreamsMy Chimeran team brings the Siberian breedRiding reality free ’til these tires they freezeIn mires in dire need of wires, fire and heat butI love a dark, hard cold heart in the wintery breeze”