Poets From The United States

"In men whom men condemn as ill I find so much of goodness still. In men whom men pronounce divine I find so much of sin and blot I hesitate to draw a line Between the two, where God has not."

"Man's books are but man's alphabet, Beyond and on his lessons lie — The lessons of the violet, The large gold letters of the sky; The love of beauty, blossomed soil, The large content, the tranquil toil:The toil that nature ever taught, The patient toil, the constant stir, The toil of seas where shores are wrought, The toil of Christ, the carpenter; The toil of God incessantly By palm-set land or frozen sea."

""All honor to him who shall win the prize," The world has cried for a thousand years; But to him who tries, and who fails and dies, I give great honor and glory and tears.Give glory and honor and pitiful tears To all who fail in their deeds sublime; Their ghosts are many in the van of years, They were born with Time in advance of Time."

"He rode as rides the hurricane; He seem'd to swallow up the plain; He rode as never man did ride, He rode, for ghosts rode at his side, And on his right a grizzled grim — No, no, this tale is not of him."

"For the Right, through thickest night, Till the man-brute Wrong be driven From high places; till the Right Shall lift like some grand beacon light. For the Right! Love, Right and duty; Lift the world up, though you fall Heaped with dead before the wall; God can find a soul of beauty Where it falls, as gems of worth Are found by miners dark in earth."

"These be but men. We may forget The wild sea-king, the tawny brave, The frowning wold, the woody shore, The tall-built, sunburnt men of Mars. . .But what and who was she, the fair? The fairest face that ever yet Look'd in a wave as in a glass; That look'd as look the still, far stars, So woman-like, into the wave To contemplate their beauty there, Yet look as looking anywhere?"

"Oh, great is the hero who wins a name, But greater many and many a time Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame, And lets God finish the thought sublime.And great is the man with a sword undrawn, And good is the man who refrains from wine; But the man who fails and yet still fights on, Lo, he is the twin-born brother of mine."

"Who now shall accuse and arraign us? What man shall condemn and disown? Since Christ has said only the stainless Shall cast at his fellows a stone."

"O woman, born first to believe us; Yea, also born first to forget; Born first to betray and deceive us, Yet first to repent and regret!O first then in all that is human, Lo! first where the Nazarene trod, O woman! O beautiful woman! Be then first in the kingdom of God!"

"Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove, Come, hearken and hear him say, THERE ARE MANY TO-MORROWS, MY LOVE, MY LOVE, — THERE IS ONLY ONE TO-DAY."

"Bring me men to match my mountains, Bring me men to match my plains, Men with empires in their purpose, And new eras in their brains."

"We felt the universe wuz safe, an' God wuz on his throne."

"Strew gladness on the paths of men— You will not pass this way again."

"The sweet mellifluous milking of the cow."

"A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead; They followed still his crooked way And lost a hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent To well-established precedent."

"He had a startling genius, but somehow it did n't emerge; Always on the evolution of things that would n't evolve; Always verging toward some climax, but he never reached the verge; Always nearing the solution of some theme he could not solve."

"There are purple grapes in the Land of Git-Thare."

"I say the very things that make the greatest Stir An' the most interestin' things, are things that did n't occur."

"His eyes All radiant with glad surprise, Looked forward through the Centuries And saw the seeds which sages cast In the world’s soil in cycles past Spring up and blossom at the last; Saw how the souls of men had grown, And where the scythes of Truth had mown Clear space for Liberty’s white throne; Saw how, by sorrow tried and proved, The blackening stains had been removed Forever from the land he loved; Saw Treason crushed and Freedom crowned, And clamorous Faction, gagged and bound, Gasping its life out on the ground."

"We were never tragedies, we were emergencies. You call 911. Tell 'em I'm having a fantastic time."

"Forgiveness is for anyone who needs safe passage through my mind."

"It was not my intention to make such a production of the emptiness between us, playing tuba on the tombstone of a soprano to try to keep some dead singer's perspective alive. It's just that I could have swore you had sung me a love song back there; and that you meant it."

"Theses moments – as in a quote I read about life somewhere – are not a puzzle to be solved, but a moment to be lived. Just savor them when they happen. Call them coincidence. Call the synchronicity. Call them anything you want but, at the very least, savor them."

"There are moments of clarity daily. They open me up with a breath and keep me calm. They feed me the answers. And they hold me lovingly. They are gospelstiches. My childish ass has got to let them heal. This feud I’m having with myself isn’t even original. But it is thick and rooted. Here’s to today, slowing down, suspending judgment, and breast strokes through chaos."

"If we were created in God's image, then when God was a child he smushed fire ants with his fingertips and avoided tough questions."

"He's got a lead brain. It's a battle magnet. He carries it around by the guilt straps...don't laugh, you didn't see the size of the blizzard that birthed him."

"Forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past."

"I keep forgetting to put focus on my to-do list. I keep forgetting to wander and have fun. I know I’m transparent but my insecurities are in all the right places, so go ahead, have a look."

"If we could all rephrase the question from "What was your most embarrassing moment?" to "What was your most embarrassing year?" Then I might be able to give you an honest answer."

"The truth is I am a perfect part of the exact point at which all individual human beings meet and the spectrum of voices weaving themselves in between and screaming 'every sick thought you've ever had and every twisted feeling you've ever felt are what make this painting complete.'"

"Dear Angry Older People, over 21-ish, anyone who considers themselves an adult, still bitter: Next time you're wondering what wrong with kids today, you might wanna check the examples you've been giving us to work with."

"But my father he didn’t read moon, he didn’t speak moon, and he didn’t write moon. So there was no letter found next to his body in the garage when he chose to leave this place on purpose without saying where he was goin’ or why. There are still days you can catch me tape-recording eternal silence and playing it backwards for an empty room just so I can listen to his dying wish. Shh."

"This poem may have meant nothing to you but I am confident that tonight my taking the time to actually write out my anger instead of acting on it has saved the life of at least eleven people in parking enforcement."

"If you think being dysfuncted and damaged, strapped to your baggage, dirty, ruined and hurt like critical, cynical, scathing, if you're lost or have come up missing, scarred and scared (or pretending you aren't), when you think that's all you've got, it's not. The sadness you wear around like a trophy is intriguing at most, but it's miserable, and about as original as a frat boy with a visor cap. So step up."

"All these kids you can't seem to make any sense of would stop holding you so far off the edge of your seats if you'd start holding yourselves to the promises you make. We know you're not perfect because we're not. And I know I ain't perfect. But I believe I was meant to be."

"Jordan tattoos the words "forgive me" in thick black letters down the inside of his arm so that when he looks at his wrist he will remember not to hate himself so much. What he keeps forgetting is that there is life after survival."

"A waste is a nine-year-old boy playing catch with the roof of his garage who already understands that his existence makes for the perfect insult- gay. "You're so gay" a.k.a. stupid a.k.a. dumb a.k.a. wrong. Do you have any idea how gross it feels to hide inside the pile of lies it takes to make you, Sweet Angel, comfortable?"

"Listen, if you're from Arizona I'm not making fun of your home. I'm making fun of you for gathering there and building a community in an oven. Smooth move."

"We are the fed up grass roots movement of goose flesh, hell bent on living this one life by the way we feel our spines, saying what we mean, refusing to allow the few to preach to the many when it is the many who need to be hearing eachother."

"On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby Brought fresh from the hyaline streams, She played on the banks of the Yuba Such songs as she heard in her dreams."

"As an egg, when broken, never Can be mended, but must ever Be the same crushed egg for ever— So shall this dark heart of mine!"

"As the diamond is the crystalline Revelator of the achromatic white light of Heaven, so is a perfect poem the crystalline revelation of the Divine Idea."

"Many mellow Cydonian suckets Sweet apples, anthosmial, divine, From the ruby-rimmed beryline buckets Star-gemmed, lily-shaped, hyaline; Like the sweet golden goblet found growing On the wild emerald cucumber-tree, Rich, brilliant, like chrysophrase glowing Was my beautiful Rosalie Lee."

"In the music of the morns Blown through the Conchimarian horns, Down the dark vistas of the reboantic Norns, To the Genius of Eternity Crying, “Come to me! Come to me!”"

"The hunter and the deer a shade."

"Then rushed to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear, but left the shield."

"I know a little man both ept and ert. An intro-? extro-? No, he's just a vert. Sheveled and couth and kempt, pecunious, ane, His image trudes upon the ceptive brain. When life turns sipid and the mind is traught, The spirit soars as I would sist it ought. Chalantly then, like any gainly goof, My digent self is sertive, choate, loof."

"Bubble, bubble, flows the stream Like an old tune through a dream."

"She throws a kiss, and bids me run In whispers sweet as roses’ breath; I know I can not win the race, And at the end, I know, is death."

"When Spring is old, and dewy winds Blow from the south, with odors sweet, I see my love, in shadowy groves, Speed down dark aisles on shining feet."