The poet nothing affirmeth and therefore never lieth.

The importance of poetry is not measured, finally, by what the poet says but by how he says it.

How do poems grow? They grow out of your life.

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content.

I find a lot of poetry to be narcissistic.

We are supposed to write poetry to keep the gods alive.

Like most lit nerds, I'm a voracious reader. I never got enough poetry under my belt growing up but I do read it - some of my favorites, Gina Franco and Angela Shaw and Cornelius Eady and Kevin Young,...

I come from a short fiction background, and my mom is a poet, so I've always read poetry; I've always had a lot of different influences both linguistically and musically.

A good poem brims with reflected beauty and even a bracing, beautiful ugliness. At the center of our lives, in the midst of the busyness and the forgetting, is a story that makes sense when everything...

Though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find...

To all to each a fair goodnight And pleasing dreams and slumbers light.

Oft when the white still dawn lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart I have felt it like a glory in my heart.

We only pass everything by like a transposition of air.

O.K. I'm running out of appetite. Let this swirl - a bit like Crab Nebula - do for now.

She disappeared; her voice, her laughter and the warmth of her breath never seen by no one again.

Mine is the river where the love runs deep, that if you fall in, you'll be mine to keep.

We need your patience Your knowledge we need your caring heart

And strange-eyed constellations reign His stars eternally.

ERIC: What are you always writin' in that book anyway?...

There isn't enough paper in the world to write all the poems you inspire in me.

OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT'S CALLED "POETRY" - YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING'S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~

We are merely ghost flowers under the shade of the moon...

If you look a word up in the dictionary and twenty minutes later you're still wandering around in the dictionary, you probably have the most basic equipment you need to be a poet.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

Consulting maps can diminish the wanderlust that they awaken, as the act of looking at them can replace the act of travel. But looking at maps is much more than an act of aesthetic replacement. Anyone...

See this abdicated beast, once king of them all, nibble his claws: Not anger enough left - no, nor despair - To break his teeth on the bars.

My father usually agreed with her requests, because stamped in his two-footed stance and jaw was the word Provider, and he loved her the way a bird-watcher's heart leaps when he hears the call of the...

Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

I long to drift through turquoise skies; race the wind in rampant flight. Ruddy chains have framed my eyes, they seize my heart and stain the light.

My beloved jay, give me a name now. Call out the name you give me, looking into the deepest place in your heart. Every time you call my name, I'll fly to you and be your wings.