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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

-E. E. Cummings

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My Mind Is A

E. E. Cummings

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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

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Taste And Smell

More From E. E. Cummings

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

All In Green Went My Love Riding

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

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

You Shall Above All Things Be Glad And Young.

Worms Are The Words But Joy's The Voice

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

May I Be I Is The Only Prayer--not May I Be Great Or Good Or Beautiful Or Wise Or Strong.

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

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)

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

Nothing Makes Sense

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.

And Now You Are And I Am And We're A Mystery Which Will Never Happen Again.

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

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

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.

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

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

Most People Are Perfectly Afraid Of Silence

In The Street Of The Sky Night Walks Scattering Poems

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

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

Nobody Loses All The Time.

Like The Burlesque Comedian, I Am Abnormally Fond Of That Precision Which Creates Movement.

The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

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)

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

By The Way, A Gendarme Assured Me This Is Not A Prison.

And This Is The Wonder That's Keeping The Stars Apart I Carry Your Heart [ I Carry It In My Heart ]

One Day Anyone Died I Guess (and Noone Stooped To Kiss His Face) Busy Folk Buried Them Side By Side Little By Little And Was By Was

Your Homecoming Will Be My Homecoming

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

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

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.

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.

Twice I Have Lived Forever In A Smile

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.

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

Different Times

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

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)

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)

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

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

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

(existing's Tricky:but To Live's A Gift)

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond

Someones Married Their Everyones Laughed Their Cryings And Did Their Dance (sleep Wake Hope And Then) They Said Their Nevers They Slept Their Dream

Buffalo Bill's Defunct

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

The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

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

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.

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

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

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

Romantic Poetry

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.

Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

It Takes Three To Make A Child.

Always The Beautiful Answer Who Asks A More Beautiful Question.

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

When Skies Are Hanged And Oceans Drowned, The Single Secret Will Still Be Man

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

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

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

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

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.

Lovers Alone Wear Sunlight.

I Love You Much Most Beautiful Darling More Than Anyone On The Earth And I Like You Better Than Everything In The Sky.

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

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth

I Imagine That Yes Is The Only Living Thing.

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

Love Is A Deeper Season Than Reason; My Sweet One

To Destroy Is Always The First Step In Any Creation.

How Should Tasting Touching Hearing Seeing Breathing Any Lifted From The No Of All Nothing Human Merely Being Doubt Unimaginable You?

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

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 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

And The Coolness Of Your Smile Is Stirringofbirds Between My Arms

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

We're Anything Brighter Than Even The Sun

Art Is A Mystery. A Mystery Is Something Immeasurable.

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

The Mind Is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner. Mind Looked Long At The Sticky Moon Opening In Dusk Her New Wings Then Decently Hanged Himself,one Afternoon. The Last Thing He Saw Was You Naked Amid Unnaked Things.

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

The Other Guineahen Died Of A Broken Heart And We Came To New York. I Used To Sit At A Table,drawing Wings With A Pencil That Kept Breaking And I Kept Remembering How Your Mind Looked When It Slept For Several Years,to Wake Up Asking Why. So Then You Turned Into A Photograph Of Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Laugh At Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Cry

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)

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

Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

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

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

Whenever You Think Or You Believe Or You Know, You're A Lot Of Other People: But The Moment You Feel, You're Nobody-but-yourself.

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

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 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

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

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

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

Nothing Which We Are To Perceive In This World Equals The Power Of Your Intense Fragility

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

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

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

The Artist Is Not A Man Who Describes, But A Man Who Feels.

For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

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

Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand

...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)

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

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

...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.

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

...losing Through You What Seemed Myself, I Find Selves Unimaginably Mine; Beyond Sorrow's Own Joys And Hopings Very Fears Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: Yours Is The Darkness Of My Soul's Return... You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

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 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)

Tomorrow Is Our Permanent Address.

We Can Never Be Born Enough.

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'.

To Be Nobody-but-yourself - In A World Which Is Doing Its Best, Night And Day, To Make You Everybody Else - Means To Fight The Hardest Battle Which Any Human Being Can Fight; And Never Stop Fighting.

I Am Someone Who Proudly And Humbly Affirms That Love Is The Mystery-of-mysteries, And That Nothing Measurable Matters 'a Very Good God Damn'; That 'an Artist, A Man, A Failure' Is No Mere Whenfully Accreting Mechanism, But A Givingly Eternal Complexity-neither Some Soulless And Heartless Ultrapredatory Infra-animal Nor Any Understandingly Knowing And Believing And Thinking Automaton, But A Naturally And Miraculously Whole Human Being-a Feelingly Illimitable Individual; Whose Only Happiness Is To Transcend Himself, Whose Every Agony Is To Grow.

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

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

A Bouquet Of Clumsy Words: You Know That Place Between Sleep And Awake Where You're Still Dreaming But It's Slowly Slipping? I Wish We Could Feel Like That More Often. I Also Wish I Could Click My Fingers Three Times And Be Transported To Anywhere I Like. I Wish That People Didn't Always Say 'just Wondering' When You Both Know There Was A Real Reason Behind Them Asking. And I Wish I Could Get Lost In The Stars. Listen, There's A Hell Of A Good Universe Next Door, Let's Go.

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera.)

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.

Spring Slattern Of Seasons You Have Soggy Legs And A Muddy Petticoat Drowsy Is Your Hair Your Eyes Are Sticky With Dream And You Have A Sloppy Body From Being Brought To Bed Of Crocuses When You Sing In Your Whisky Voice The Grass Rises On The Head Of The Earth And All The Trees Are Put On Edge Spring Of The Excellent Jostle Of Thy Hips And The Superior

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

Who Pays Any Attention To The Syntax Of Things Will Never Wholly Kiss You

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

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

Seeker Of Truth Follow No Path All Paths Lead Where Truth Is Here.

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

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

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.

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

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

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.

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

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.

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.

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

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.

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

Must's A Schoolroom In The Month Of May

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

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

The Sensual Mysticism Of Entire Vertical Being.

Hopes Dance Best On Bald Men's Hair

Unlove's The Heavenless Hell And The Homeless Home.

Your Head Is A Living Forest Full Of Songbirds.

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.

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

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town (with Up So Floating Many Bells Down) Spring Summer Autumn Winter He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did.

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

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

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

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

True Wars Are Never Won.

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

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

Love Is The Every Only God

His Lips Drink Water But His Heart Drinks Wine

Well, Write Poetry, For God's Sake, It's The Only Thing That Matters.

Only By You My Heart Always Moves.

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.

Great Men Burn Bridges Before They Come To Them

Burning Bridges

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

Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

More Each Particular Person Is(my Love) Alive Than Every World Can Understand And Now You Are And I Am Now And We're A Mystery That Will Never Happen Again, A Miracle Which Has Never Happened Before And Shining This Our Now Must Come To Then

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.

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

It May Not Always Be So; And I Say That If Your Lips, Which I Have Loved, Should Touch Another's, And Your Dear Strong Fingers Clutch His Heart, As Mine In Time Not Far Away; If On Another's Face Your Sweet Hair Lay In Such A Silence As I Know,or Such Great Writhing Words As, Uttering Overmuch, Stand Helplessly Before The Spirit At Bay; If This Should Be, I Say If This Should Be- You Of My Heart, Send Me A Little Word; That I May Go Unto Him, And Take His Hands, Saying, Accept All Happiness From Me. Then Shall I Turn My Face,and Hear One Bird Sing Terribly Afar In The Lost Lands.

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

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.

May My Mind Stroll About Hungry And Fearless And Thirsty And Supple And Even If Its Sunday May I Be Wrong For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

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

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

The Hardest Fight A Man Has To Fight Is To Live In A World Where Every Single Day Someone Is Trying To Make You Someone You Do Not Want To Be--

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.

Since Feelings Come First, Who Cares About The Syntax Of Things?

Next To Of Course God America I / Love You Land Of The Pilgrims And So Forth Oh

We Do Not Believe In Ourselves Until Someone Reveals That Deep Inside Us Something Is Valuable, Worth Listening To, Worthy Of Our Trust, Sacred To Our Touch. 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.

Guilt Is The Cause Of More Marauders Than History's Most Obscene Disauders

A Connotation Of Infinity Sharpens The Temporal Splendor Of This Night When Souls Which Have Forgot Frivolity In Lowliness,noting The Fatal Flight Of Worlds Whereto This Earth’s A Hurled Dream Down Eager Avenues Of Lifelessness Consider For How Much Themselves Shall Gleam, In The Poised Radiance Of Perpetualness. When What’s In Velvet Beyond Doomed Thought Is Like A Woman Amorous To Be Known; And Man,whose Here Is Alway Worse Than Naught, Feels The Tremendous Yonder For His Own— On Such A Night The Sea Through Her Blind Miles Of Crumbling Silence Seriously Smiles

Do Not Hate Or Fear The Artist In Yourselves... Honor And Love Him...do Not Try To Possess Him. Trust Him As Nobly As You Trust Tomorrow. Only The Artist In Yourself Is More Truthful Than The Night.

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

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

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)

Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else.

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

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William Blackstone

Edward St Aubyn

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