Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
read more

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?

The essentials of poetry are rhythm, dance, and the human voice.

The essentials of poetry are rhythm, dance, and the human voice.

Of trees I (Krishna) am the fig.

Of trees I (Krishna) am the fig.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a read more

Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language.

For there is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a
biography, the life of a read more

For there is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a
biography, the life of a man; also, it may be said, there is no
life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its
sort, rhymed or unrhymed.

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with read more

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.
-President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest,
about the Revolutionary War).