Another storm raging outside
Marking a day without you here
An empty street dotted with shadowed lights
Draining water resembling a whispering river
Carrying away any trace of yesterday
I have this void building up inside
Ballooning into hurt and aimless fury
Tangling around my lungs and squeezing
Making every breath a struggle
Every thought a burst of coiled memory
I endured the nights in silence
Wide awake and agonizing over a past
That only seems familiar through dreaming eyes
Hugging the emptiness in fear of tipping over
And tumbling into a new kind of abyss
I know you never meant to leave, or come at all
I realize this life has worn you out
In all the ways I can never hope to mend
So I have crafted this tempest of blood and pain
To wash away all remnants of a life we'll never end
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Being lost, being crazy maybe, is not so bad, if you can be that way undisturbed.
A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose. ~Samuel McChord Crothers
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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda
Happiness is sharing a bowl of cherries and a book of poetry with a shade tree. He doesn't eat much and doesn't read much, but listens well and is a most gracious host. ~Astrid Alauda
Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind. ~Thomas Babington Macaulay
Most painters have painted themselves. So have most poets: not so palpably indeed, but more assiduously. Some have done nothing else. ~Augustus William Hare
Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is. ~James Branch Cabell
Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. ~Carl Sandburg
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry"
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry"
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. _Leonard Cohen
Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. ~Robert Frost
I would as soon write free verse as play tennis with the net down. ~Robert Frost
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Copyright 2009
One for poetry's sake.
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