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"Lastly, his tomb shall list and founder in the troughs of grass. And none shall speak his name."
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"A poet often lives in an enchanted land where he sees things not with his eyes but with his feelings."
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Personal Development

"I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests."
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"Sometimes poets expect me to think far deeper than I'm willing to dig."
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"He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically."Green grass breaks through snow. Artemis pleads for my help. He grinned at us, waiting for applause. "That last line was four syllables. Artemis said. Apollo frowned. "Was it? "No, no, that's six syllable, hhhm. He started muttering to himself. That's five syllables! He bowed, looking very pleased with himself."
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"Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal which the reader recognizes as his own."
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"Don't you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?"
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"Writing poems is simply an excuse to remember You."
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"It is the best of all trades, to make songs, and the second best to sing them."
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"Only a seer or a lover would know that I'm making a jewelry of words for you -drawn from your essence -to flash and burn with your fire -so you can bedazzle with your own light ..."
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"It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road."
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"The good poet sticks to his real loves, those within the realm of possibility. He never tries to hold hands with God or the human race."
God


"Laughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die."
Heart


"To make the child in your own image is a capital crime, for your image is not worth repeating. The child knows this and you know it. Consequently you hate each other."
Crime


"The body, what is it, Father, but a sign To love the force that grows us, to give back What in Thy palm is senselessness and mud?"
Love


"Already old, the question Who shall die? Becomes unspoken Who is innocent?"
Old


"Lastly, his tomb shall list and founder in the troughs of grass. And none shall speak his name."
Poetry


"But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep."
Love


"My soul is now her day, my day her night, So I lie down, and so I rise."
Lie


"The doctor punched my vein, the captain called me Cain, upon my belly sat the sow of fear."
Fear


"Poetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique."
Experience
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