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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

-E. E. Cummings

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One Day Anyone Died

E. E. Cummings

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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

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For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

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

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

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

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

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 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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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)

Hopes Dance Best On Bald Men's Hair

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.

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)

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

O To Be In Finland/ Now That Russia's Here)

The Intellectuals' Chief Cause Of Anguish Are One Another's Works. Jacques Barzun, 1959 All Ignorance Toboggans Into Know And Trudges Up To Ignorance Again.

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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

Different Times

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

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

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

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth

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

Equality Is What Does Not Exist Among Mortals.

...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)

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

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.

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

Must's A Schoolroom In The Month Of May

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.

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

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

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'.

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

What If A Dawn Of A Doom Of A Dream Bites This Universe In Two, Peels Forever Out Of His Grave, And Sprinkles Nowhere With Me And You?

Love Is The Whole And More Than All.

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

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.

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

Since The Thing Perhaps Is To Eat Flowers And Not To Be Afraid

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

Tomorrow Is Our Permanent Address.

Twice I Have Lived Forever In A Smile

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

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

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

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

I'm Living So Far Beyond My Income That We May Almost Be Said To Be Living Apart.

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.

I Imagine That Yes Is The Only Living Thing.

Your Head Is A Living Forest Full Of Songbirds.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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?

The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

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.

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.

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

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

Take The Matter Of Being Born. What Does Being Born Mean To Most People?

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

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

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.

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)

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

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.

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

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.

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

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'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

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

We Can Never Be Born Enough.

The Courage To Receive Time's Mightiest Dream.

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)

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)

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

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

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

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

To Destroy Is Always The First Step In Any Creation.

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond

Unlove's The Heavenless Hell And The Homeless Home.

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

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

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

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.

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

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

Nothing Makes Sense

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.

Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand

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.

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

Love Is The Every Only God

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

So Far As I Am Concerned, Poetry And Every Other Art Was, Is, And Forever Will Be Strictly And Distinctly A Question Of Individuality.

As Small As A World As Large As Alone.

Lovers Alone Wear Sunlight.

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

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

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

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

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

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

May I Be I Is The Only Prayer--not May I Be Great Or Good Or Beautiful Or Wise Or Strong Today... May I Be Me....five Foot Eleven, Brown Hair/eyed, Smart, Serious, Happy, Frustrated, Impatient, Joyful, Running, Sleeping, Smiling, Eating, Trying, Believing, Listening, Being & Becoming.

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

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

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)

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

His Lips Drink Water But His Heart Drinks Wine

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

The Artist Is No Other Than He Who Unlearns What He Has Learned, In Order To Know Himself.

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.

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

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

Only By You My Heart Always Moves.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

...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.

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

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

Laughing Is Just Another Way Of Showing People Your Wise

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

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

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

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.

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

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.

They Believe In Christ And Longfellow, Both Dead

Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

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.

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)

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

...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.

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

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.

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

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

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.

It Takes Three To Make A Child.

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

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.

(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)

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

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

Love Is A Deeper Season Than Reason; My Sweet One

Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

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.

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

Your Homecoming Will Be My Homecoming

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

Art Is A Mystery. A Mystery Is Something Immeasurable.

A World Of Made Is Not A World Of Born

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

Most People Are Perfectly Afraid Of Silence

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

Nobody Loses All The Time.

We're Anything Brighter Than Even The Sun

For Surely As Each November Has Its April, Mysteries Only Are Significant; And One Mystery-of-mysteries Creates Them All: Nothing False And Possible Is Love (who's Imagined,therefore Limitless) Love's To Giving As To Keeping's Give; As Yes Is To If,love Is To Yes

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.

The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

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

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

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Roger Bannister

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