poetry is an elusive thing that can neither be hidden nor locked away.

A poem is a meteor.

And Love is like the lightning in its might,
Winging where least bethought its fiery flight,
Melting the blade, despite the scabbard's guard.

Poetry is a life-cherishing force.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Quite often I have used my poetry as a sword, and I have brandished it against my internal and external demons.

Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.

Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.

Poetry is a means of storing power: notably the magical power of love.

Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance.

Poetry is a search for the inexplicable.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.