The good poet sticks to his real loves, to see within the realm of possibility. He never tries to hold hands with God or the human race.
Karl ShapiroLaughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.
Karl ShapiroBut with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
Karl ShapiroPoetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique.
Karl Shapiro