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The heart can think of no devotionGreater than being shore to the ocean-Holding the curve of one position,Counting an endless repetition.

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The mind-is not the heart.I may yet live, as I know others live,To wish in vain to let go with the mind-Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tell...more

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

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Fragmentary BlueWhy make so much of fragmentary blueIn here and there a bird, or butterfly,Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,When heaven presen...more

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I have been one acquainted with the night.I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.I have outwalked the furthest city light.I have looked down the...more

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More than once I should have lost my soul to radicalism if it had been the originality it was mistaken for by its young converts.

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When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloudAnd goes down burning into the gulf below,No voice in nature is heard to cry aloudAt what has happened. ...more

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Where had I heard this wind beforeChange like this to a deeper roar?What would it take my standing there for,Holding open a restive door,Looking down ...more

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The Road Not TakenTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far a...more

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Originality and initiative are what I ask for my country.

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We love the things we love for what they are.

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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

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Poetry is about the grief. Politics is about the grievance.

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A poem is never a put-up job, so to speak. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is never a thought ...more

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No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.