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.

Daisy, simple and discreet flower,That earned the heart of this poet.

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...

I love it when there's nothing left to see but tiny spots of what's still light. Stories piercing the night.

For Mercy has a human heart; Pity, a human face; And Love, the human form divine: And Peace the human dress. Songs of Innocence. Cruelty has a human heart And jealousy a human face, Terror the human...

Caress me sister wind and stop this hate.

Once upon a time, when the evil spirit of darkness reigned over the Land of Azerbaijan, hiding the sun inside his underground caves, When the orphan sky peered at the Caucasus Mountains from the black...

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.

There once were four sisters Who were exceptionally ordinary, But desired more than a maiden should desire Ravaged by their shameful wants Their loving hearts never bloomed Instead four wicked...

Bronze - limbed and well - knit, like a statue wrought by a Grecian, he stood on the sand with his back to the moon, and out of the foam came white arms that beckoned to him, and out of the waves rose...

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?

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

The winds shook off in unison and yipped beneath the gleaming stars. She gave him her lips. They kissed. And she was in love with the thunder.

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.

O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presagers of my speaking breast; who plead for love, and look for recompense, more than that tongue that more hath more express'd. O, learn to read what...

All words are possible, then, all names. They rain down, all these words, they disintegrate into a powdery avalanche. Belched from the volcano's mouth, they spurt into the sky, then fall again. In the...

That tingle in the brain is called a word. It bats itself against its fleshy bounds.

As a poet there is something about joy I find hard to express, whereas every other emotion is rather simple. For instance, you never feel so bad that you can't describe how bad you feel, but joy on...

There lived a poet in the lands of gold, Wrote along poems unaffected by warmth or cold, His words spoke truth and pen's stroke was bold, His only motive: lives to mould

First love is like hearing your favorite music, regardless of how much you repeat it, every time you will enjoy all the pain.

There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all parts, that is, the poet.

Down the hill I went, and then, I forgot the ways of men, For night - scents, heady and damp and cool Wakened ecstasy

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.