Memory is a sly devil that pretends to wear the cloak of truth, but deceives us both in our youth and our age.
~ Harley King
I feel the healinghands of Godtouch my heartand kiss my soul.
Sometimes thatwhich we fearstrengthens ourspirit and givesus a splashof hope.
Sometimes memory is the only gift we give ourselves and the only hope we have of finding our way home.
Hope is a gift. Use it wisely.
If I woke up one morning and realized that all I ever was going to be was a business man, I'd probably die. All my dreams would be shattered. Early in life I had many dreams. I dreamed of being a great basketball star. I dreamed of being a preacher. I dreamed of saving the world from war and racism. And I dreamed of being a great poet. Today, I dream only of writing.
We fear what we most desire.
May your dreams be larger than mountains and may you have the courage to scale their summits.
May your dreams be gifts from the gods and may you open them with excitement and pleasure.
One must give himself completely to his art and not hold back. Throw caution to the wind. Embrace the muse. Make love to your art.
How little we understandof the gifts we have been givenor the shape of the pathwe took to reach our salvation.
The pain we cause will haunt our memories and eat at our souls. I do not seek forgiveness, only the emptiness of death.
May your heart be lighter today.
I climb aboard my tricycle and pedal my heart to the stars.
Too often our visions of the futureare dull and impotentlike a hammer beating the water.
Sometimes we fight who we are, struggling against ourselves and our natures. But we must learn to accept who we are and appreciate who we become. We must love ourselves for what and who we are, and believe in our talents.
Writing poetry is about learning to pare down the poem to the most essential words. Every word used has to be crucial to the poem.
Sometimes we wait too long for the forgiveness of our fathers.
My dream stood in the way of appreciating what I did have.
Celebrate the gift of memory.
Tomorrow is a memory best forgotten.
Sometimes we live too much in the past,remembering what we wished had happened.
Memory shimmers as a crystal lakethat reflects all things invisible.
The more I try to be perfect, the more I fail.
Over time our tears will help heal the pain and soothe the hurt.
Reading haiku is as much an art as writing it. The reader needs to pause and listen to the silences, to feel the spaces between the words, and to journey into the depths of many multi-colored worlds.
Laughter is a gift for lovers.
May your journey through life be vibrant and full of colorful rainbows.
Many of the poets writing today are hung up on language and symbolism. If the poem does not have depth of meaning or fit a certain academic styles and standards, then it is not poetry. Poetry should relate to the man on the street who has to work for a living. Until poetry connects with the working man, it’s not going to sell; it’s not going to be of value.
All things old become new again. In my youth the athletes had crew cuts and the hippies had long hair. Now the athletes have long hair and the hippies are bald.
Life often is a bucket of water sitting on a farmer’s porch. Our choice is in the drinking.
Story is a butterfly whose wings transport us to another world where we receive gifts that change who we are and who we want to be.
Our stories are not new; yet, in the retelling we are reborn as heroes.
I have learned to have pride in what I do.
What I really want is to be recognized as a writer; that someday, my poetry — this is an interesting paradox — would be taught in English classes; for my name, along with my poetry, to exist 500 years from now.
Our flesh is a gift of laughter.
Hope is a rainbow of thought.
Service to others in their time of need is a privilege and an honor.
The path to success is not a straight line.
Too much has been given and too much has been lost.
