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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.

-E. E. Cummings

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The Symbol Of All

E. E. Cummings

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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.

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More From E. E. Cummings

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

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.

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

Tomorrow Is Our Permanent Address.

They Believe In Christ And Longfellow, Both Dead

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

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.

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.

Worms Are The Words But Joy's The Voice

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.

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

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

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

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.

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

Nothing Makes Sense

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

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.

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

We're Anything Brighter Than Even The Sun

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

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

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

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

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.

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 World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

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

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

Always The Beautiful Answer Who Asks A More Beautiful Question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such Was A Poet And Shall Be And Is -who'll Solve The Depths Of Horror To Defend A Sunbeam's Architecture With His Life: And Carve Immortal Jungles Of Despair To Hold A Mountain's Heartbeat In His Hand.

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

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

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

The Courage To Receive Time's Mightiest Dream.

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

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

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

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.

It's Spring When The World Is Puddle-wonderful

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

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

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.

In The Street Of The Sky Night Walks Scattering Poems

Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

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

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

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--

And The Coolness Of Your Smile Is Stirringofbirds Between My Arms

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

A Pretty Girl Who Is Naked / Is Worth A Million Statues

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera 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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

It Takes Three To Make A Child.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love Is The Whole And More Than All.

As Small As A World As Large As Alone.

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

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

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

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.

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

Love Is A Deeper Season Than Reason; My Sweet One

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

Only By You My Heart Always Moves.

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

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.

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)

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

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

Love Is The Every Only God

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)

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

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.

Peering From Some High Window; At The Gold Of November Sunset (and Feeling That If Day Has To Become Night This Is A Beautiful Way).

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.

You Shall Above All Things Be Glad And Young.

Must's A Schoolroom In The Month Of May

...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.

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

For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

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?

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.

Laughing Is Just Another Way Of Showing People Your Wise

The Sensual Mysticism Of Entire Vertical Being.

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.

A World Of Made Is Not A World Of Born

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

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

The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

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

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

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

Romantic Poetry

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

To Destroy Is Always The First Step In Any Creation.

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 Can Never Be Born Enough.

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)

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

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)

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

Hopes Dance Best On Bald Men's Hair

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

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.

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.

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

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

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

Nobody Loses All The Time.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

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

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

Art Is A Mystery. A Mystery Is Something Immeasurable.

Twice I Have Lived Forever In A Smile

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)

...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)

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.

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

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

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.

I Imagine That Yes Is The Only Living Thing.

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

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

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

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

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.

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.

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

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

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.

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

Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

His Lips Drink Water But His Heart Drinks Wine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

The Moon Rattles Like A Fragment Of Angry Candy

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

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

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

Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

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William Nicholson

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