The middle of the road is where the white line is - and that's the worst place to drive.

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.

In spring more mortal singers than belongTo any one place cover us with song.Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.

It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage.