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I Was Too Tired To Think. I Merely Felt The Town As A Unique Unreality. What Was It? I Knew -- The Moon's Picture Of A Town. These Streets With Their Houses Did Not Exist, They Were But A Ludicrous Projection Of The Moon's Sumptuous Personality. This Was A City Of Pretend, Created By The Hypnotism Of Moonnight. -- Yet When I Examined The Moon She Too Seemed But A Painting Of A Moon And The Sky In Which She Lived A Fragile Echo Of Color. If I Blew Hard The Whole Shy Mechanism Would Collapse Gently With A Neat Soundless Crash. I Must Not, Or Lose All.

-E. E. Cummings

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I Was Too Tired

E. E. Cummings

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I Was Too Tired To Think. I Merely Felt The Town As A Unique Unreality. What Was It? I Knew -- The Moon's Picture Of A Town. These Streets With Their Houses Did Not Exist, They Were But A Ludicrous Projection Of The Moon's Sumptuous Personality. This Was A City Of Pretend, Created By The Hypnotism Of Moonnight. -- Yet When I Examined The Moon She Too Seemed But A Painting Of A Moon And The Sky In Which She Lived A Fragile Echo Of Color. If I Blew Hard The Whole Shy Mechanism Would Collapse Gently With A Neat Soundless Crash. I Must Not, Or Lose All.

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When God Decided To Invent Everything He Took One Reath Bigger Than A Circustent And Everything Began

As Small As A World As Large As Alone.

Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear. . .

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

In Time Of Daffodils(who Know The Goal Of Living Is To Grow) Forgetting Why,remember How In Time Of Lilacs Who Proclaim The Aim Of Waking Is To Dream, Remember So(forgetting Seem) In Time Of Roses(who Amaze Our Now And Here With Paradise) Forgetting If,remember Yes In Time Of All Sweet Things Beyond Whatever Mind May Comprehend, Remember Seek(forgetting Find) And In A Mystery To Be (when Time From Time Shall Set Us Free) Forgetting Me,remember Me

I Have Found What You Are Like The Rain (who Feathers Frightened Fields With The Superior Dust-of-sleep. Wields Easily The Pale Club Of The Wind And Swirled Justly Souls Of Flower Strike The Air In Utterable Coolness Deeds Of Gren Thrilling Light With Thinned Newfragile Yellows Lurch And.press --in The Woods Which Stutter And Sing And The Coolness Of Your Smile Is Stirringofbirds Between My Arms;but I Should Rather Than Anything Have(almost When Hugeness Will Shut Quietly)almost, Your Kiss

I Shall Imagine Life Is Not Worth Dying,if (and When)roses Complain Their Beauties Are In Vain But Though Mankind Persuades Itself That Every Weed's A Rose,roses(you Feel Certain)will Only Smile

Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

All In Green Went My Love Riding

God's Terrible Face Brighter Than A Spoon Collects The Image Of One Fatal Word;so That My Life(which Liked The Sun And The Moon)resembles Something That Has Not Occurred:i Am A Birdcage Without Any Bird A Collar Looking For A Dog A Kisswithout Lips;a Prayer Lacking Any Kneesbut Something Beats Within My Shirt To Provehe Is Undead Who Living Noone Is.i Have Never Loved You Dear As Now I Love.

I Will Take The Sun In My Mouth And Leap Into The Ripe Air Alive With Closed Eyes To Dash Against Darkness

Miracles Are To Come. With You I Leave A Remembrance Of Miracles: They Are By Somebody Who Can Love And Who Shall Be Continually Reborn, A Human Being.

All By All And Deep By Deep And More By More They Dream Their Sleep Noone And Anyone Earth By April Wish By Spirit And If By Yes

If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is Somebody To Whom Things Made Matter Very Little - Somebody Who Is Obsessed By Making.

It May Take Two People To Make A Really Beautiful Mistake.

Most People Are Perfectly Afraid Of Silence

And It's You Are Whatever A Moon Has Always Meant And Whatever A Sun Will Always Sing Is You

Romantic Poetry

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds Who Are The Secrets Of Living Whatever They Sing Is Better Than To Know And If Men Should Not Hear Them Men Are Old May My Mind Stroll About Hungry And Fearless And Thirsty And Supple And Even If It's Sunday May I Be Wrong For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young And May Myself Do Nothing Usefully And Love Yourself So More Than Truly There's Never Been Quite Such A Fool Who Could Fail Pulling All The Sky Over Him With One Smile

Damn Everything But The Circus! ...damn Everything That Is Grim, Dull, Motionless, Unrisking, Inward Turning, Damn Everything That Won't Get Into The Circle, That Won't Enjoy. That Won't Throw It's Heart Into The Tension, Surprise, Fear And Delight Of The Circus, The Round World, The Full Existence.

My Sweet Old Etcetera Aunt Lucy During The Recent War Could And What Is More Did Tell You Just What Everybody Was Fighting For, My Sister Isabel Created Hundreds (and Hundreds) Of Socks Not To Mention Shirts Fleaproof Earwarmers Etcetera Wristers Etcetera, My Mother Hoped That I Would Die Etcetera Bravely Of Course My Father Used To Become Hoarse Talking About How It Was A Privilege And If Only He Could Meanwhile My Self Etcetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera)

America Makes Prodigious Mistakes, America Has Colossal Faults, But One Thing Cannot Be Denied: America Is Always On The Move. She May Be Going To Hell, Of Course, But At Least She Isn't Standing Still.

You Have Played, (i Think) And Broke The Toys You Were Fondest Of, And Are A Little Tired Now; Tired Of Things That Break, And— Just Tired. So Am I.

I'd Rather Have Two Good Friends, Than 500,000 Admirers.

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

All Nothing's Only Our Hugest Home; The Most Who Die, The More We Live

...and Down They Forgot As Up They Grew.

A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves Lay By The Roadside On His Back Dressed In Fifteenthrate Ideas Wearing A Round Jeer For A Hat

Hopes Dance Best On Bald Men's Hair

The Moon Rattles Like A Fragment Of Angry Candy

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source. It Dies Of Blindness And Errors And Betrayals. It Dies Of Illness And Wounds; It Dies Of Weariness, Of Witherings, Of Tarnishings. Anaïs Nin I Like Not Only To Be Loved, But Also To Be Told I Am Loved. George Eliot Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

Twice I Have Lived Forever In A Smile

My Advice To All Young People Who Wish To Become Poets Is: Do Something Easy, Like Learning How To Blow Up The World - Unless You're Not Only Willing, But Glad, To Feel And Work And Fight Till You Die.

Let It Go -- The Smashed Word Broken Open Vow Or The Oath Cracked Length Wise -- Let It Go It Was Sworn To Go Let Them Go -- The Truthful Liars And The False Fair Friends And The Boths And Neithers -- You Must Let Them Go They Were Born To Go Let All Go -- The Big Small Middling Tall Bigger Really The Biggest And All Things -- Let All Go Dear So Comes Love

Love Is Thicker Than Forget More Thinner Than Recall More Seldom Than A Wave Is Wet More Frequent Than To Fail It Is Most Mad And Moonly And Less It Shall Unbe Than All The Sea Which Only Is Deeper Than The Sea Love Is Less Always Than To Win Less Never Than Alive Less Bigger Than The Least Begin Less Littler Than Forgive It Is Most Sane And Sunly And More It Cannot Die Than All The Sky Which Only Is Higher Than The Sky

I Carry Your Heart With Me(i Carry It In My Heart)

And The Coolness Of Your Smile Is Stirringofbirds Between My Arms

-tomorrow Is Our Permanent Address And There They’ll Scarcely Find Us(if They Do, We’ll Move Away Still Further:into Now

Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

Since Feeling Is First Who Pays Any Attention To The Syntax Of Things Will Never Wholly Kiss You; Wholly To Be A Fool While Spring Is In The World My Blood Approves, And Kisses Are A Far Better Fate Than Wisdom Lady I Swear By All Flowers. Don't Cry --the Best Gesture Of My Brain Is Less Than Your Eyelids' Flutter Which Says We Are For Eachother: Then Laugh, Leaning Back In My Arms For Life's Not A Paragraph And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

Buffalo Bill's Defunct Who Used To Ride A Watersmooth-silver Stallion And Break Onetwothreefourfive Pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus He Was A Handsome Man And What I Want To Know Is How Do You Like Your Blueeyed Boy Mister Death

I Fear No Fate(for You Are My Fate,my Sweet)i Want No World(for Beautiful You Are My World,my True) And It's You Are Whatever A Moon Has Always Meant And Whatever A Sun Will Always Sing Is You Here Is The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

Only By You My Heart Always Moves.

Knowledge Is A Polite Word For Dead But Not Buried Imagination.

Someone Asked Me What Home Was And All I Could Think Of Were The Stars On The Tip Of Your Tongue, The Flowers Sprouting From Your Mouth, The Roots Entwined In The Gaps Between Your Fingers, The Ocean Echoing Inside Of Your Ribcage.

Our Can'ts Were Born To Happen Our Mosts Have Died In More

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body. It Is So Quite New A Thing. Muscles Better And Nerves More.

For Whatever We Lose (like A You Or A Me), It's Always Our Self We Find In The Sea.

My Mother Hoped That I Would Die Etcetera Bravely Of Course My Father Used To Become Hoarse Talking About How It Was A Privilege And If Only He Could

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

True Wars Are Never Won.

Writingis An Art; And Artistsare Human Beings. As A Human Being Stands, So A Human Being Is

Mr Youse Needn't Be So Spry Concernin Questions Arty Each Has His Tastes But As For I I Likes A Certain Party Gimme The He-man's Solid Bliss For Youse Ideas I'll Match Youse A Pretty Girl Who Naked Is Is Worth A Million Statues

Yes Is A World & In This World Of Yes Live (skilfully Curled) All Worlds

Love Being Such, Or Such, The Normal Corners Of Your Heart Will Never Guess How Much My Wonderful Jealousy Is Dark

Time Is A Tree (this Life One Leaf) But Love Is The Sky And I Am For You Just So Long And Long Enough

Once We Believe In Ourselves, We Can Risk Curiosity, Wonder, Spontaneous Delight, Or Any Experience That Reveals The Human Spirit.

-before Leaving My Room I Turn, And (stooping Through The Morning) Kiss This Pillow, Dear Where Our Heads Lived And Were.

A Salesman Is An It That Stinks To Please But Whether To Please Itself Or Someone Else Makes No More Difference Than If It Sells Hate Condoms Education Snakeoil Vac Uumcleaners Terror Strawberries Democ Ra(caveat Emptor)cy Superfluous Hair

Notice The Convulsed Orange Inch Of Moon Perching On This Silver Minute Of Evening

The First Step To Expanding Your Reality Is To Discard The Tendency To Exclude Things From Possibility.

All Ignorance Toboggans Into Know And Trudges Up To Ignorance Again.

Laughing Is Just Another Way Of Showing People Your Wise

Let Must Or If Be Damned With Whomever's Afraid Down With Ought With Because With Every Brain Which Thinks It Thinks, Nor Dares To Feel.

For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

Wholly To Be A Fool While Spring Is In The World My Blood Approves, And Kisses Are A Far Better Fate Than Wisdom Lady I Swear By All Flowers.

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.

I Thank You God For Most This Amazing Day:for The Leaping Greenly Spirits Of Trees And A Blue True Dream Of Sky; And For Everything Which Is Natural Which Is Infinite Which Is Yes (i Who Have Died Am Alive Again Today, And This Is The Sun's Birthday; This Is The Birth Day Of Life And Of Love And Wings: And Of The Gay Great Happening Illimitably Earth) How Should Tasting Touching Hearing Seeing Breathing Any--lifted From The No Of All Nothing--human Merely Being Doubt Unimaginable You? (now The Ears Of My Ears Awake And Now The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened)

And Still The Mad Magnificent Herald Spring Assembles Beauty From Forgetfulness With The Wild Trump Of April:witchery Of Sound And Odour Drives The Wingless Thing Man Forth In The Bright Air.

What If A Much Of A Which Of A Wind Gives The Truth To Summer's Lie; Bloodies With Dizzying Leaves The Sun And Yanks Immortal Stars Awry?

If 180 Million People Want To Be Undead, That’s Their Funeral, But I Happen To Like Being Alive.

The Hardest Challenge Is To Be Yourself In A World Where Everyone Is Trying To Make You Be Somebody Else.

(and From My Thighs Which Shrug And Pant A Murdering Rain Leapingly Reaches The Upward Singular Deepest Flower Which She Carries In A Gesture Of Her Hips)

Here Is The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows (here Is The Root Of The Root And The Bud Of The Bud And The Sky Of The Sky Of A Tree Called Life; Which Grows Higher Than The Soul Can Hope Or Mind Can Hide) And This Is The Wonder That's Keeping The Stars Apart I Carry Your Heart (i Carry It In My Heart)

An Intelligent Person Fights For Lost Causes, Realizing That Others Are Merely Effects

It's Spring When The World Is Puddle-wonderful

Sweet Springtime Is My Time Is Your Time Is Our Time For Springtime Is Love Time And Viva Sweet Love.

What Concerns Me Fundamentaly Is A Meteoric Burlesk Melodrama, Born Of The Immemorial Adage Love Will Find A Way.

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth How Often Have The Doting Fingers Of Prurient Philosophers Pinched And Poked Thee ,has The Naughty Thumb Of Science Prodded Thy Beauty .how Often Have Religions Taken Thee Upon Their Scraggy Knees Squeezing And Buffeting Thee That Thou Mightest Conceive Gods (but True To The Incomparable Couch Of Death Thy Rhythmic Lover Thou Answerest Them Only With Spring)

The Snow Doesn't Give A Soft White Damn Whom It Touches.

Always It’s Spring)and Everyone’s In Love And Flowers Pick Themselves.

A Poet Is Someone Who Is Abnormally Fond Of That Precision Which Creates Movement. Which Is To Say The Highest Form Of Concentration Possible: Fascination; To Report On The Electrifying Experience Of Being

So Far As I Am Concerned, Poetry And Every Other Art Was And Is And Forever Will Be Strictly And Distinctly A Question Of Individuality... If Poetry Is Your Goal, You've Got To Forget All About Punishments And All About Rewards And All About Self-styled Obligations And Duties And Responsibilities Etcetera Ad Infinitum And Remember One Thing Only: That It's You - Nobody Else - Who Determine Your Destiny And Decide Your Fate. Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else... There's The Artist's Responsibility; And The Most Awful Responsibility On Earth.

A Politician Is An Arse Upon Which Everyone Has Sat Except A Man.

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds, Who Are The Secrets Of Living. Whatever They Sing Is Better Than To Know. And If Men Should Not Hear Them - Then Men Are Old.

Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

Who Knows If The Moon's / A Balloon, Coming Out Of A Keen City / In The Sky - Filled With Pretty People?

We're Anything Brighter Than Even The Sun

I Thank You God For This Most Amazing Day, For The Leaping Greenly Spirits Of Trees, And For The Blue Dream Of Sky And For Everything Which Is Natural, Which Is Infinite, Which Is Yes.

You And I Are More Than You And I Because It's We.

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.

All Which Isn't Singing Is Mere Talking... And All Talking's To Oneself Alone But The Very Song Of (as Mountains Feel And Lovers) Singing Is Silence.

N Othi N G Can S Urpas S The M Y Ster Y Of S Tillnes S

Hate Blows A Bubble Of Despair Into Hugeness World System Universe And Bang -fear Buries A Tomorrow Under Woe And Up Comes Yesterday Most Green And Young

A World Of Made Is Not A World Of Born

Who Knows If The Moon's A Balloon,coming Out Of A Keen City In The Sky--filled With Pretty People? ( And If You And I Should Get Into It,if They Should Take Me And Take You Into Their Balloon, Why Then We'd Go Up Higher With All The Pretty People Than Houses And Steeples And Clouds: Go Sailing Away And Away Sailing Into A Keen City Which Nobody's Ever Visited,where Always It's Spring)and Everyone's In Love And Flowers Pick Themselves

Because You Aren't Afraid To Kiss The Dirt (and Consequently Dare To Climb The Sky)

Love Is The Every Only God

The Courage To Receive Time's Mightiest Dream.

Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond Any Experience, Your Eyes Have Their Silence; In Your Most Frail Gesture Are Things Which Enclose Me, Or Which I Cannot Touch Because They Are Too Near

My Mind Is A Big Hunk Of Irrevocable Nothing Which Touch And Taste And Smell And Hearing And Sight Keep Hitting And Chipping With Sharp Fatal Tools In An Agony Of Sensual Chisels I Perform Squirms Of Chrome And Ex -ecute Strides Of Cobalt Nevertheless I Feel That I Cleverly Am Being Altered That I Slightly Am Becoming Something A Little Different, In Fact Myself Hereupon Helpless I Utter Lilac Shrieks And Scarlet Bellowings

Taste And Smell

Must's A Schoolroom In The Month Of May

Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand

Lessons Hide In His Wrinkles. Bells Ding In The Oldness Of Eyes. Did He By, Any Chance, Tell Children That There Are Such Monstrous Things As Peace And Goodwill...a Corrupter Of Youth No Doubt.

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

Time Cannot Children,poets,lovers Tell- Measure Imagine,mystery,a Kiss -not Though Mankind Would Rather Know Than Feel

...on Forever's Very Now We Stand.

Maybe God Is A Child ‘s Hand)very Carefully Bring -ing To You And To Me(and Quite With Out Crushing)the Papery Weightless Diminutive World With A Hole In It Out Of Which Demons With Wings Would Be Streaming If Something Had(maybe They Couldn’t Agree)not Happened(and Floating- Ly Int O

Every Artist's Strictly Illimitable Country Is Himself. An Artist Who Plays That Country False Has Committed Suicide; And Even A Good Lawyer Cannot Kill The Dead. But A Human Being Who's True To Himself - Whoever Himself May Be - Is Immortal; And All The Atomic Bombs Of All The Antiartists In Spacetime Will Never Civilize Immortality.

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

Nothing Makes Sense

...sunlight Is (life And Day Are)only Loaned:whereas Night Is Given(night And Death And The Rain Are Given;and Given Is How Beautifully Snow)

The Poems To Come Are For You And For Me And Are Not For Mostpeople... You And I Are Human Beings; Mostpeople Are Snobs.

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body. It Is So Quite New A Thing. Muscles Better And Nerves More. I Like Your Body. I Like What It Does, I Like Its Hows. I Like To Feel The Spine Of Your Body And Its Bones, And The Trembling -firm-smooth Ness And Which I Will Again And Again And Again Kiss, I Like Kissing This And That Of You, I Like, Slowly Stroking The, Shocking Fuzz Of Your Electric Fur, And What-is-it Comes Over Parting Flesh ... And Eyes Big Love-crumbs, And Possibly I Like The Thrill Of Under Me You So Quite New.

...remember One Thing Only: That It's You-nobody Else-who Determines Your Destiny And Decides Your Fate. Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else.

You Said Is There Anything Which Is Dead Or Alive More Beautiful Than My Body,to Have In Your Fingers (trembling Ever So Little)? Looking Into Your Eyes Nothing,i Said,except The Air Of Spring Smelling Of Never And Forever. ....and Through The Lattice Which Moved As If A Hand Is Touched By A Hand(which Moved As Though Fingers Touch A Girl's Breast, Lightly) Do You Believe In Always,the Wind Said To The Rain I Am Too Busy With My Flowers To Believe,the Rain Answered

The Cambridge Ladies Who Live In Furnished Souls Are Unbeautiful And Have Comfortable Minds.

You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

All In Green Went My Love Of Riding On A Great Horse Of Gold Into The Silver Dawn.

You Shall Above All Things Be Glad And Young For If You're Young,whatever Life You Wear It Will Become You;and If You Are Glad Whatever's Living Will Yourself Become.

Seeming's Enough For Slaves Of Space And Time - Ours Is The Now And Here Of Freedom. Come.

May Came Home With A Smooth Round Stone As Small As A World And As Large As Alone.

Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

They Believe In Christ And Longfellow, Both Dead

Time's A Strange Fellow; More He Gives Than Takes (and He Takes All).

In The Street Of The Sky Night Walks Scattering Poems

A Wind Has Blown The Rain Away And Blown The Sky Away And All The Leaves Away, And The Trees Stand. I Think, I Too, Have Known Autumn Too Long.

One's Not Half Two. It's Two Are Halves Of One.

There Are Certain Things In Which One Is Unable To Believe For The Simple Reason That He Never Ceases To Feel Them. Things Of This Sort - Things Which Are Always Inside Of Us And In Fact Are Us And Which Consequently Will Not Be Pushed Off Or Away Where We Can Begin Thinking About Them - Are No Longer Things; They, And The Us Which They Are, Equals A Verb; An Is.

Take The So-called Standard Of Living. What Do Most People Mean By "living"? They Don’t Mean Living. They Mean The Latest And Closest Plural Approximation To Singular Prenatal Passivity Which Science, In Its Finite But Unbounded Wisdom, Has Succeeded In Selling Their Wives.

One Pierced Moment Whiter Than The Rest -turning From The Tremendous Lie Of Sleep I Watch The Roses Of The Day Grow Deep.

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth How Often Has The Naughty Thumb Of Science Prodded Thy Beauty Thou Answereth Them Only With Spring.

Nothing Which We Are To Perceive In This World Equals The Power Of Your Intense Fragility:whose Texture Compels Me With The Colour Of Its Countries, Rendering Death And Forever With Each Breathing (i Do Not Know What It Is About You That Closes And Opens;only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses) Nobody,not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands -excerpt Of #35 From "100 Selected Poems

Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire, Live By Love Though The Stars Walk Backward.

Tumbling-hair Picker Of Buttercups Violets Dandelions And The Big Bullying Daisies Through The Field Wonderful With Eyes A Little Sorry Another Comes Also Picking Flowers

That Which We Die For Lives As Wholly As That Which We Live For Dies.

I'd Rather Learn From One Bird How To Sing Than To Teach Ten Thousand Stars How Not To Dance.

There's Time For Laughing And There's Time For Crying— For Hoping For Despair For Peace For Longing —a Time For Growing And A Time For Dying: A Night For Silence And A Day For Singing But More Than All(as All Your More Than Eyes Tell Me)there Is A Time For Timelessness

I Remember We All Cried Like The Missouri When My Uncle Sol's Coffin Lurched Because Somebody Pressed A Button (and Down Went My Uncle Sol And Started A Worm Farm)

At Least The Pilgrim Fathers Used To Shoot Indians: The Pilgrim Children Merely Punch Time Clocks.

To Destroy Is Always The First Step In Any Creation.

Dive For Dreams Or A Slogan May Topple You (trees Are Their Roots And Wind Is Wind) Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire (and Live By Love Though The Stars Walk Backward) Honour The Past But Welcome The Future (and Dance Your Death Away At This Wedding) Never Mind A World With Its Villains Or Heroes (for God Likes Girls And Tomorrow And The Earth)

I Do Not Know What It Is About You That Closes And Opens;only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

If At The End Of Your First Ten Or Fifteen Years Of Fighting And Working And Feeling, You Find You've Written One Line Of One Poem, You'll Be Very Lucky Indeed.

Love Is A Deeper Season Than Reason; My Sweet One

Maggie And Milly And Molly And May Went Down To The Beach (to Play One Day) And Maggie Discovered A Shell That Sang So Sweetly She Couldn't Remember Her Troubles, And Milly Befriended A Stranded Star Whose Rays Five Languid Fingers Were And Molly Was Chased By A Horrible Thing Which Raced Sideways While Blowing Bubbles And May Come Home With A Smooth Rounded Stone As Small As A World And As Big As Alone. For Whatever We Loose (like A You Or A Me) It Is Always Ourselves We Find In The Sea.

So, When Kiss Spring Comes We'll Kiss Each Kiss Other On Kiss The Kiss Lips Because Tic Clocks Tock Don't Make A Toctic Difference To Kisskiss You And To Kiss Me.

An Artist, A Man, A Failure, Must Proceed.

When Man Determined To Destroy Himself He Picked The Was Of Shall And Finding Only Why Smashed It Into Because.

If You Like My Poems Let Them Walk In The Evening, A Little Behind You

The Symbol Of All Art Is The Prism. The Goal Is Unrealism. The Method Is Destructive. To Break Up The White Light Of Objective Realism, Into The Secret Glories Which It Contains.

O Gouvernment Francais, I Think It Was Not Very Clever Of You To Put This Terrible Doll In La Ferte; For When Governments Are Found Dead There Is Always A Little Doll On Top Of Them, Pulling And Tweaking With His Little Hands To Get Back At The Microscopic Knife Which Sticks Firmly In The Quiet Meat Of Their Hearts.

In Just - Spring When The World Is Mud- Luscious The Little Lame Balloonman Whistles Far And Wee

Unlove's The Heavenless Hell And The Homeless Home.

Art Is A Mystery. A Mystery Is Something Immeasurable.

No Evil Is So Worse Than Worst You Fall In Hate With Love.

The Whole Truth... Sings Only - And All Lovers Are The Song.

Great Men Burn Bridges Before They Come To Them

Burning Bridges

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond

That Strictly(and How)scienti Fic Land Of Supernod Where Freedom Is Compulsory And Only Man Is God.

What Time Is It? It Is By Every Star A Different Time, And Each Most Falsely True.

Different Times

Certainly The Most Obvious . . . Example Of The Strictly Infantile Essence Of America's All-conquering Mentality Greets Our Eyes Daily, Anywhere And Everywhere, In The Guise Of The Tabloid Newspaper. The Tabloid Newspaper Actually Means To The Typical American Of The Era What The Bible Is Popularly Supposed To Have Meant To The Typical Pilgrim Father: Viz. A Very Present Help In Times Of Trouble, Plus A Means Of Keeping Out Of Trouble Via Harmless, Since Vicarious, Indulgence In The Pomps And Vanities Of This Wicked World.

Humanity I Love You Because When You're Hard Up You Pawn Your Intelligence To Buy A Drink.

The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

Here's To Opening And Upward... And To Yourself And Up With You And Up With And Up With Laughing.

It Is With Roses And Locomotives (not To Mention Acrobats Spring Electricity Coney Island The 4th Of July The Eyes Of Mice And Niagara Falls) That My Poems Are Competing.

Women And Men(both Little And Small) Cared For Anyone Not At All They Sowed Their Isn’t They Reaped Their Same Sun Moon Stars Rain

There Is No Music Unless The Drum And The Drummer Are One.

Love Is The Whole And More Than All.

The Sensual Mysticism Of Entire Vertical Being.

If There Are Any Heavens My Mother Will(all By Herself)have One. It Will Not Be A Pansy Heaven Or A Fragile Heaven Of Lilies-of-the-valley But It Will Be A Heaven Of Blackred Roses My Father Will Be(deep Like A Rose Tall Like A Rose) Standing Near My Swaying Over Her (silent) With Eyes Which Are Really Petals And See Nothing With The Face Of A Poet Really Which Is A Flower And Not A Face With Hands Which Whisper This Is My Beloved My (suddenly In Sunlight He Will Bow, And The Whole Garden Will Bow)

Life's Not A Paragraph And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis

Listen; There's A Hell Of A Good Universe Next Door: Let's Go.

Buffalo Bill's Defunct

It's No Use Trying To Pretend That Mostpeople And Ourselves Are Alike. Mostpeople Have Less In Common With Ourselves Than Thesquarerootofminusone. You And I Are Human Beings; Mostpeople Are Snobs.

Your Homecoming Will Be My Homecoming

Humanity I Love You Because You Are Perpetually Putting The Secret Of Life In Your Pants And Forgetting It's There And Sitting Down On It And Because You Are Forever Making Poems In The Lap Of Death Humanity I Hate You

The Only Man, Woman, Or Child Who Wrote A Simple Declarative Sentence With Seven Grammatical Errors "is Dead."

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds Who Are The Secrets Of Living

The Three Saddest Things Are The Ill Wanting To Be Well, The Poor Wanting To Be Rich, And The Constant Traveler Saying 'anywhere But Here'.

Private Property Began The Instant Somebody Had A Mind Of His Own.

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

Because It's Spring Things Dare To Do People (& Not The Other Way Round)because It 's A Pril Lives Lead Their Own Persons(in Stead Of Everybodyelse's)but What's Wholly Marvellous My Darling Is That You & I Are More Than You & I(be Ca Us E It's We)

Really Unreal World, Will You Perhaps Do The Breathing For Me While I Am Away?

Now The Ears Of My Ears Awake And Now The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

Lovers Alone Wear Sunlight.

Worms Are The Words But Joy's The Voice

Whatever's Merely Willful, And Not Miraculous (be Never It So Skilful) Must Wither Fail And Cease - But Better Than To Grow Beauty Knows No.

Who Can Tell Truth From Falsehood Any More? I Say It, And You Feel It In Your Hearts: No Man Or Woman On This Big Small Earth. How Should Our Sages Miss The Mark Of Life, And Our Most Skillful Players Lose The Game? Your Hearts Will Tell You, As My Heart Has Told Me: Because All Know, And No One Understands.

The Theory Of The Free Press Is Not That The Truth Will Be Presented Completely Or Perfectly In Any One Instance, But That The Truth Will Emerge From Free Discussion

Your Slightest Look Easily Will Unclose Me, Though I Have Closed Myself As Fingers, You Open Petal By Petal Myself A Spring Opens Her First Rose.

Xvii Lady, I Will Touch You With My Mind. Touch You And Touch And Touch Until You Give Me Suddenly A Smile,shyly Obscene (lady I Will Touch You With My Mind.)touch You,that Is All, Lightly And You Utterly Will Become With Infinite Care The Poem Which I Do Not Write.

Things Which In My Mind Blossom Will Stumble Beneath A Clumsiest Disguise Appear Capable Of Fragility And Indecision

I Imagine That Yes Is The Only Living Thing.

Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: - You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

Love Is A Place & Through This Place Of Love Move (with Brightness Of Peace) All Places Yes Is A World & In This World Of Yes Live (skillfully Curled) All Worlds

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

It Takes Courage To Grow Up And Become Who You Really Are.

Suppose Life Is An Old Man Carrying Flowers On His Head.

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