A poem is never finished, only abandoned.

A poem is never finished, only abandoned.

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.

The job of the poet is to render the world--to see it and report it without loss, without perversion. No read more

The job of the poet is to render the world--to see it and report it without loss, without perversion. No poet ever talks about feelings. Only sentimental people do.

There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.

There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.

The courage of the Poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

The courage of the Poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.

Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

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).