. . in the harshest days of leaf-bare clanmate turns upon clanmate danger lurks behind familiar faces and one more warrior may be lost forever
There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
Poems aren't postcards to send home.
It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.
If I could blame it on all the mothers and fathers of the world, they of the lessons, the pellets of power, they of the love surrounding you like batter. . . Blame it on God perhaps? He of the first opening that pushed us all into our first mistakes? No, I'll blame it on Man For Man is God and man is eating the earth up like a candy bar and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean for it is known he will gulp it all down. The stars (possibly) are safe. At least for the moment. The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
I would like a simple life yet all night I am laying poems away in a long box.
A woman who loves a woman is forever young.
The richest person in the world is not the one who has the most but the one who needs the least
To work effectively you need uninterrupted blocks of time in which you can complete meaningful work. . . I've found that a minimum of 90 minutes is ideal for a single block.
A child is a person who is going to carry on what you have started. . . He will assume control of your cities, states and nations. He is going to move in and take over your churches, schools, universities, and corporations. . . The fate of humanity is in his hands.
One is always seeking the touchstone that will dissolve one's deficiencies as a person and as a craftsman. And one is always bumping up against the fact that there is none except hard work, concentration, and continued application.