poets

& love is an evil word. Turn it backwards/see, see what I mean? An evol word.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

My job as a poet, is not to succumb to despair but to find in words, an antidote for the emptiness of existence.

To write a poem you must have a streak of arrogance-- not in real life I hope. In real life try to be nice. It will save you a hell of a lot of trouble and give you more time to write.

As long as music survives, poetry will never die.

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.

Great writers experience their dreams. They put them on paper, where others can read about them.

When the others were picked up and walked home by friends or fathers or best friend__ sisters,I was the kid in a grey hoodie, walking with the poets, the singers, the thinkers, and I was not alone.

99% of natural poets discovered their talents through love letters.

A poet, any real poet, is simply an alchemist who transmutes his cynicism regarding human beings into an optimism regarding the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the flowers, to say nothing of the spring, love, and dogs.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.

#Writers, #artists , and #poets don't get the respect they deserve until they are either dead, or they cut off an ear Mozaiah T.

and everyone wants to read the poem we__e afraid to write.

It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.

It is very difficult to win. It's not in my script.

The pen, a double-edged mystery: cuts the writer, heals the reader.

How....will I ever truly depict you?You__e perfect, my writing isn__.

may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.