Poem Quotes - Page 10

What do you think of when you think of mourning?' Jenny asks.The question snaps me back to attention. I answer without really thinking. "I guess 'Funeral Blues' by W.H. Auden. I think it was Auden. I suppose that's not very original.''I don't know it.''It's a poem.''I gathered.''I'm just clarifying. It's not a blues album.'Jenny ignores my swipe at her intelligence.'Does your response need to be original? Isn't that what poetry is for, for the poet to express something so personal that it ultimately is universal?'I shrug. Who is Jenny, even new Jenny, to say what poetry is for? Who am I for that matter?'Why do you thin of that poem in particular?'"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, / Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, / Silence the pianos and with muffled drum / Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.' I learned the poem in college and it stuck.

Steven Rowley

They say Night is all black in the faceAll that glitters only adds to the graceNo attempt to success ever succeedsWithout one slogging through the blackened days"- Poem "The Beauty of Night

Ankaj

STATISTICSPack of Lucky Strikes.A lottery ticket

ACT

Persephone had it right.If you must go, might as welltake all of spring with you—

Cathy Linh Che

And there you sit.My eyes burning a hole on the side of your face while the stars are being captured in your eyes from the prolonged, there's-plenty-of-time, full attention you're giving each one.And there you sit.And I'm wishing I could give you every ounce of what you give the stars.

Taylor Patton

In a real poem a sound does not swallow a letter, but a letter swallows a sound.

Dejan Stojanovic

Death lurks in the shadows, just out of view. Now and then I see his reaching hand, uncertain of the blurry image that passes before my eyes, but conscious of the crippling influence of his touch. Some say Death rears an ugly head, so hideous a view the beholder can scarcely gasp their last breath. Others call him beautiful, a sweet relief to look upon. But these are rumors babbled by the unknowing. For Death is like the gorgon, Medusa, who when perceived, turns the body to stone. Those who know Death take the knowledge of his shadowed face with them to wherever it is he leads our dearly departed by the hand. All who are left behind must wait their turn to glance into the eyes of the one who will close our mouths forever.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Rash is he who at unknown doors relies on his good luck.

Hávamál

What if dragons breathed bubbles and purred when they cuddled and giggled at chivalrous knights for their troubles?What if dragons felt soft, having scales made of cloth,and they moved rather slow like a brown-throated sloth?What if dragons were shyand did easily crywhen confronted by characters callous and sly?What if dragons did goodbut were misunderstoodso men mercilessly slew the beasts right where they stood?What if dragons aren’t missedbecause there is no listof extinct types of quarry that now don’t exist?

Richelle E. Goodrich

Sipping teawith gleebeneath a gooseberry tree.I wish Alice were here.Oh, my dear,do not fear,she will be.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Does poem also walk the valleys seeking tongues from dandelions?

Ymatruz

What is poetry? Only the poetry can answer this!

TRIPURARI

The one who can draw your widest smileis also the one who can throw youto the farthest exile

Sam Haidy

You don't have to be an angel.All you need is someone who can always see your best angle.

Sam Haidy

In poetry, the best way to say cuss words is to hide it behind metaphors.

Ymatruz

I say, flawless poems do not exist.

Ymatruz

I was born one thousand times and all the while it was you I met again to only meet again under the thousand stars that divide us and connect us.

Christina Strigas

you are as faras the moonand as closeas it feelswhen I look upon it.

Christina Strigas

Imitating others, I failed to find myself. I looked inside and discovered I only knew my name. When I stepped outside I found my real Self. ~Rumi

Maryam Mafi

Do you love me?" I ask.In your hesitation I found my answer.

Lang Leav

could not sleep last nightbed cover of unease distance kept me awake windy whispers in summer nightwas telling you were awake one corner to another rollinglike swimming in a competitionmy heart wanted to seeyou then n thenwe live ,we loveon same earth mostlyrare within a real another world don't allow usto sleep in side your ,or mine restful love©litymunshi

litymunshi

Your gravity, your grace have turned a tideIn me, no lunar power can reverse;But in your narcoleptic eyes I spiedA sightlessness tonight: or something worse,A disregard that made me feel unmanned.Meanwhile, insomniac, I catch my breathTo think I saw my future traced in sandOne afternoon "as still, as carved, as death,”And pray for an oblivion so deepIt ends in transformation. Only dawnCan save me, flood this haunted house of sleepWith light, and drown the thoughts that nightly warn:Another lifetime is the least you’ll need, to traceThe guarded secrets of her gravity, her grace.

Jonathan Coe

In all the flames of fire fume’s left the traceInto the bluest sea the sky is drownedThe miracles of life can you embraceFrom the poem 'Can You Embrace?

Munia Khan

For the wanderer astray, the hermit seeking the lost booksTo him the bitter path of knowledge is truly germaneAnd to gaze at the grand canvas of depravity, the deified crooksAll the depth of duplicity of the celestial rulers most profane.

T. M. Lakomy

Even when the lights go out, even when someone says to me: "It's over---," even when from the stage a gray gust of emptiness drifts toward me,even when not one silent ancestor sits beside me anymore---not a woman, not even the boy with the brown squint-eye:I'll sit here anyway. One can always watch.

Rainer Maria Rilke

You werewater to medeep and bold and fathoming' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

Charlotte Mew

home is the structure/ you build when nowhere else will have you

Ann Tweedy

Cruel, Clever Cat.Sally, having swallowed cheese,Directs down holes the scented breeze,Enticing thus with baited breathNice mice to an untimely death.

Geoffrey Taylor

You weremoon's eye to mepull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

Charlotte Mew

Touch was absolutelyout of the question. I couldn’t stop sweating. My heart, a butterfly pinnedto a glacier. Empires fell inside my mouth. I touched myself like a pogrom& broke my sex into a history of inconsequential shames. I wept viciouslyinside of my own stomach & had it condemned. From an upside-down bellI drank silence, subsisted on the memory of someone else’s hands. Wolvessang & I did not answer. I forgot their names. Mornings were the worst, thenthere were days & evenings. Streetlights & darkened sycamore & suburbangrief so full it made me foolish. I shattered my fist on the Lord’s jaw. Sorrowsat, licking my wrists & my neck. I slept at its convenience. O, uncelebratedbody. My penis, a lighthouse on the bottom of the ocean, shining shadowsat the undersides of boats. Nobody drowned for so many years. Desperatefor the making of those candy-throated ghosts, I found the rooms betweenthe violence of comets. I threw myself into anything’s path. Even the skybent around me. How lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill. (So I Locked Myself Inside A Star for Twenty Years)

Jeremy Radin

Scene: Darkness. Suddenly, a single spotlight illuminates Apollo standing on the front porch of the Big House. The house is a bold red colour, a stark contrast to the short white chiton Apollo wears. He clears his throat and s

Rick Riordan

The Perfect Man.The perfect man is gentle,Never cruel or mean.He has an beautiful smile,And keeps his face so clean.The perfect man likes children,And will raise them by your side.He will be a good father,As well as an good husband to his bride.The perfect man loves cooking ,Cleaning and vacuuming too.He will do anything in his power,To convey his feelings of love on you.The perfect man is sweet ,Writing poetry from your name.He's an best freind to your mother,And kisses away your pain.He has never made you cry,Or hurt you in any way.Oh f*** this stupid poem,The perfect man is GAY!

Unkown Author

King John was not a good man,He had his little ways.And sometimes no one spoke to him,For days and days and days.

A.A. Milne

ILikeThe WayThat when youTiltPoemsOn their sideTheyLook likeMiniatureCities FromA long wayAway. SkyscrapersMade outOfWords.

Matt Haig

Sprawled out on the front lawn/ looking up at an ordinary sky/ it could fall on me and some how be/ the day I didn't die.

Bart Yates

Silly little monster” all would say.They’d scratch its head and turn awayuntil it snatched their tiny noses.They couldn’t even smell the roses!Ever after, every childdreaded monsters, fierce or mild.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Medicinal Spirit, Inside MirrorTherapy becomes a harmony, and that harmony is built on levels,No one knows how to upscale another, for it has to come from the inside grails,Striking inflicts at the mirror and hatred to the being of creator,Causes hate in mirror too and abused flesh to the author,Changes come from its prudence and rationalism liberation,Not its pardon,A mirror is but a substance of a conscious,But identity says "let me fly" when journeying from the subconscious to the conscious.

John Shelton Jones

A dragon grows in leaps and bounds,Like troubles mounting by the pound.Its stature heightens day to day,Imposing dread and deep dismay.A paralyzing roar it gainsWhile from its snout hot fire rains.It sees you shrink. Your fear it knows.And by the hour the nightmare grows.Unless you slay the dragon soon,Your troubles may become your doom.

Richelle E. Goodrich

There are no good tights, Rare they are, a rare sight. You roll and roll Inside a new hole, They´re only good for a fight.

Ana Claudia Antunes

Ashryver eyes.The fairest eyes, from legends oldof brightest, ringed with gold.

Sarah J Maas

WINTER'S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter’s ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver

Tamara Rendell

You tell me that yes, I can do it. I know. And I may do it, if I so choose.You tell me that no, I cannot. I say, Oh? I shall do it, since you refuse!

Richelle E. Goodrich

Today you are young.your beauty attract every manBut the day when you will feel older yourself when you will feel magic of body vanishOn that day time will remind you,that man who fall in love with your soulbut you will not find him,because you killed him in AllThe day when you will feel wrinkles on your skinand will understand,no one want to touch it,not soft any moreOn that day time will remind that manwho die for aroma of your skin,for him its always remain best fragrance But you will not find him, because you killed him by your ignoranceThe day you will feel,you are now not able to feed sex hungerand you will understand men around you but not with youOn that day time will remind you that manwho never hungry for your body,who just feed love and emotions to your soul and to your heartBut you will not find him,because,you killed him by put your betrayed knife in his heartmaybe it will not happen,maybe your life will full of lovemaybe you will never remember past.maybe you will forget AllBut on the day when you will die,and your loving people will bury youinside your grave,when you will realize,all that who loves you,all that with you spend days & nightsall that for whom you cooked you serve,all that whose bed you warmall that who impress by your beauty,all that who claim to love youthey all buried you here alone and gonein that your loneliness,time will remind you,that manwho just dream to lay with you inside your grave,who dream to bury together in one graveBut you will not find himThat day will realize you,whom you killedThat day will realize you,you killed a manwho don't wanted to be just partner of you life but to partner of your deathwho don't wanted to be just partner of your bed but to partner of your graveThen you will realize you betrayed killed,partner of your gravePartner Of Your Grave,

Mohammed Zaki Ansari

A poem does not radiate from the name, but the name emanates from the poem.

Dejan Stojanovic

The name does not deserve the poem, but the poem deserves the name.

Dejan Stojanovic

Time moved for you not in quotidian beats, but in the slow rhythm the ages keep –

Aldous Huxley

Like one who, on a lonely road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. - Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner.

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Don't be polite.Bite in.Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that may run down your chin. It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are. You do not need a knife or fork or spoon.For there is no coreor stemor rindor pitor seedor skinto throw away.

Eve Merriam

His gaze, bluntedby the unnumbered processionof iron bars, uncountedas his softly padded steps.Smooth motion of blood and sinewturning in its own, small circleprescribed by bars and walls...and skin, confined.Suddenly, without warning,a flash of light and imagepierces the caged brain,and passing through its beating heartto stillness finds its way.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Release-For yearsthey told you tosit.Stay.Now they open the doorand tell you toget up.Leave.Where do you gowith no oneto show youthe way?

Keelie Breanna

I do not fear the nightWhen I know that todayI am bathed in a lightIt cannot be stolen away

Holly Ducarte

my mine ,I searching for you ..long time in the trip time walls,searching you in was me..I never felt lonely,this world always singeven at grave heart'sbeing numb to hearyour song is ..What the dealt of this life saidso breathe in wind singingsinking sailing in waves,and breathe out find me..in the rain and riversbut you and me are the ocean,you know ? in long time agothe time in this room make you forget..keep searching time with me and i.put the name your mine to heart of golduntil you coming home,behind the tumble light waiting.

Ridwan Nurwansyah

When I was young and miserable and prettyAnd poor, I'd wishWhat all girls wish: to have a husband,A house and children. Now that I'm old, my wishIs womanish:That the boy putting groceries in my carSee me.

Randall Jarrell

Hang tightHold on Look upStay strongHang on Hold tightLook strongStay up One day I might breakOne day I mightb r e a kfree

Tahereh Mafi

They find me odd, and whisper behind hands…And my brutal desires sink hooks into their lips…

Arthur Rimbaud

The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams it touches the body, in thought constructs a miracle, in imagination anguishes till born in human-- looks out of the heart burning with purity-- for the burden of life is love, but we carry the weight wearily, and so must rest in the arms of love at last, must rest in the arms of love. No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love-- be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love --cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy --must give for no return as thought is given in solitude in all the excellence of its excess. The warm bodies shine together in the darkness, the hand moves to the center of the flesh, the skin trembles in happiness and the soul comes joyful to the eye-- yes, yes, that's what I wanted, I always wanted, I always wanted, to return to the body where I was born.

Allen Ginsberg

Choice-Judgement.Black coffee acidon an empty stomach.Perception.Cool, clear water.

Keelie Breanna

The Pressure-Maybe one day,after centuries,we can become brilliant gemsin crystal cavesand we will be immortal after all.

Keelie Breanna

A poem that is itself a name does not yearn for the name of its creator, but shines from its name alone.

Dejan Stojanovic

No matter how right or how beautiful your path is, never try to impose your path on others! Remember that flowers by no means pull bees by force to their world! Your path is your poem; if people like your poem, they will fondly join you in your path!

Mehmet Murat ildan

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Poem Quotes - Page 10

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