Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps.
Poetry is a plan for a slit in the face of a bronze fountain goat and the path of fresh drinking water.
The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.
A man may be born, but in order to be born he must first die, and in order to die he must first awake.
Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
I can remember only a few of the strange and curious words now dead but living and spoken by the English people a thousand years ago.
Where was I going? I puzzled and wondered about it til I actually enjoyed the puzzlement and wondering.
There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.
I am! I have come through! I belong!
I fell in love, not deep, but I fell several times and then fell out.
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
What of the Wright boys in Dayton? Just around the corner they had a shop and did a bicycle business-and they wanted to fly for the sake of flying. They were Man the Seeker, Man on a Quest. Money was their last thought, their final absent-minded idea. They threw out a lot of old mistaken measurements and figured new ones that stood up when they took off and held the air and steered a course. They proved that "the faster you go the less power you need."
There have been as many varieties of socialists as there are wild birds that fly in the woods and sometimes go up and on through the clouds.
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.
Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
The more rhymethere isin poetry the more dangerof its tricking the writer into something other than the urge in the beginning.
The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.
If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.
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