Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Yellow Wildflowers Under A Grey Sky</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Yellow wildflowers under a grey sky, <br>visionary smog on the dirty windows, <br>a genie in a crack pipe that ungrants <br>whatever wishes you came with <br>thinking six rocks might be enough <br>to make a whole new planet<br>everybody gets to rule <br>for an hour and a half<br>like fresh strawberries <br>and a brand new start. Fat chance.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The spring dawn has run out of preludes <br>and it's using spider webs <br>and dreamcatchers for substitutes.<br>Could be a lifeboat, could be a shipwreck, <br>could be this cataract of ash <br>in my third eye, could be the distant cinder <br>of a depressed seagull on my bent event horizon.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">High calibre thoughts <br>as dizzy as bullets and marbles <br>in a game of Russian roulette<br>that's in it for the vertigo <br>and suggestive stage effects.<br> <br>Addicted to the mystery <br>I'm always more intrigued <br>by what I don't know <br>about what I mean <br>than I am by what I do.<br>It's good to see wisdom <br>still holding hands with ignorance <br>after all these partially eclipsed, <br>partially enlightened spaced-out light-years<br>that went by in the flash of firefly<br>through the temple of a prophetic skull<br>that thought it was playing with lightning <br>when, in fact, it was only <br>third man on the match.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How could I possibly regret <br>what I still don't understand about life, <br>or celebrate what I delude myself<br>into giving the benefit of the doubt <br>when I open my mouth like a dove cage <br>and all the words fly out, <br>every mourning dove and longing nightbird <br>with a message that might be true <br>from me to God knows who? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And I know I've been staring dragons <br>in the eye too long <br>waiting for the moon to blink first, <br>as if I had something to prove <br>about the indefensible dignity of a human <br>when one isn't there to defend itself. <br>The true human isn't truly human. <br>I think it was Hakuin who said that. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And besides, my humanity when I am one <br>talks with the tongue of a scuffed boot <br>that's been down one too many roads, <br>stepped once too often over the edge, <br>or on a landmine buried in snow, <br>crossed too many thresholds, <br>too many burning bridges<br>with the broken heart of a bell in my mouth<br>and my new freedom shrieking<br>like a banshee at the door <br>to care much about what thing <br>comes thus anymore. Could be a curse, <br>could be a blessing, could be par for the course, <br>or worse, the sonic boom of experience<br>breaking down the sound barrier<br>of another sacred syllable for the record books. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Days I feel like a white tiger on the moon <br>with the fang of my first crescent <br>broken off, doomed to starvation<br>like fire stalking meteors for their oxygen<br>as once I used to drink blood like the nectar<br>of freshly-killed ruby-throated humming birds<br>that tasted like small aperitifs <br>of delirious picture-music<br>at the trough of the hollyhocks to me at the time.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Yesterday if you were to ask me what self is <br>I'd have said the sum of all you tried to rise above <br>but didn't. Today it's not even worth <br>considering the question longer than it takes <br>to dismiss the ensuing silence <br>as just another kind of curious theory. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O to be as useful and down to earth <br>as a wheelbarrow in the world, <br>a vehicle for building materials one way<br>and a death cart for the dead and unwanted<br>getting the excess baggage out of the way <br>of the garden I've wanted to be from the very start<br>sitting with Hafiz and Shabastari <br>like fountainmouths in the shadowwater <br>of the black walnut trees gibbering<br>with irritated sparrows and circus squirrels, <br>shooting the lyrical breeze just for the hell of it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What could be sadder or lonelier than a muse <br>that no one's listening to, if it isn't a poet<br>who doesn't write back in tears to cool her eyes<br>with a song he made up on the sly <br>to slip under her door like a mailbox at midnight? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The wind rustles in the crowns of the trees <br>like the transient themes of pollen and dust, <br>and at night, gusts of stars, we all are. <br>And there are fires that give us sanctuary from the cold <br>we can sit around like planets for a whole lifetime <br>trying to squeeze a constellation out of smoke <br>and chimney sparks, and never manage <br>anything more than a firefly shy of a flashlight<br>trying to read a star chart in the dark <br>like a nightwatchman peering through windows<br>looking to see if anything's out of place, <br>untoward, missing, or lost in a space of its own <br>like a stay-at-home atmosphere trying to find a planet<br>that doesn't take it for granted like ozone on the moon. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477048" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Tomorrow, where will today be <br>when you look back on it like yesterday<br>if not at the same seance you summoned it to just now<br>to try on the death masks of the ancestral mediums, <br>eyebrow to eyebrow, on both sides of their eyes, <br>as if you were choosing the best language <br>to speak to yourself in when you're an alien among the stars<br>and everything is too immense, too radiantly hot and cold, <br>and time crowds eternity out of its imagination <br>and the void is so colour-blind it couldn't find its way home <br>if you were to line the streets with lighthouses, <br>and to be a human is to be exalted and humbled<br>in the same moment, like a moonrise without any frills<br>like vapour trails in a sunset, or ghosts <br>before the break of dawn anxious <br>to get back to their graves on time, and you can tell<br>by the way she carries her prophetic skull with dignity, <br>she's trying to do what we're all trying to do<br>each after our own fashion, given we're made of starmud. <br>Ingather and shine, ingather and shine, any way you have to.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a></strong></div>