I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask: "Mother, what was war?"
Morning is a new sheet of paper for you to write on.
When something is too beautiful or too terrible or even too funny for words, then it is time for poetry.
It's just an old alley cat that has followed us all the way home. It hasn't a star on its forehead, or a silky satiny coat. No proud tiger stripes, no dainty tread, no elegant velvet throat. It's a splotchy, blotchy city cat, not a pretty cat, a rough little bag of old bones. 'Beauty,' we shall call you. 'Beauty' come in.
...a good poem contains both meaning and music
whatever you do, find ways to read poerty. Eat it, drink it, enjoy it, and share it.
Scratch a Jew and you'll find a Wailing Wall.
Don't be polite. Bite in. Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that may run down your chin. It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are. You do not need a knife or fork or spoon. For there is no core or stem or rind or pit or seed or skin to throw away.
