Poem Quotes - Page 6

I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act.
We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin.”
-In the yellow time of pollen

I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.

What happens to a dream deferred?

And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire -
clearly I'm not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
-from The Buddha's Last Instruction

Once upon a time
I fell in love
Lost myself
And find another one.

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Impatience kills quickly.

A poem is a meteor.

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.

We made love outdoors - without a roof, I like most, without stove, my favorite place, assuming the weather be fair and balmy, and the earth beneath be clean. Our souls intertwined and dripping with dew, and our love for each other was seen. Our love for the world was new.

From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,
A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your room
And made its way to the arm of the chair where you, looking up
From your book, saw it the moment it landed. That's all
There was to it.

Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. But it could blow everybody's head off.

an English girl might well believe
that time is how you spend your love.

In summer the empire of insects spreads.

I say every dog looks like no other
but that isn't true. Not entirely.
Difference is slippery.

the poem doesn’t have stanzas, it has a body, the poem doesn’t have lines,/ it has blood, the poem is not written with letters, it’s written/ with grains of sand and kisses, petals and moments, shouts and/ uncertainties.

ONE WORD

One word
- one stone
in a cold river.
One more stone -
I'll need many stones
if I'm going to get over.

I'm heading for a clean-named place
like Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get there
without help and nosy proclivities.

A little
bunny or some kind of ferret was probably
there too, and bore witness as only rodents can.