Poem Quotes - Page 17

The Decision...I wiped my hands on my pinaforenow sullied and stainednot crisp or pressedas it had been before...

Muse

The River SwishDeftly maneuvered through the dark green abyss ~The wooden raft seemed in tune with this ~Canorous rush of theriver swish....

Muse

Calico KittyMy calico kittywas painted and primedshe could prowlthe night away ~without spending a dime...

Muse

White IrisThe iris danced acrossthe ancient Grecian skiesgliding with her embossedsatiny milken sides ...

Muse

Little Maiden Encounters FearDeepest regions walked she therelittle maiden sweet and fairventured far from the pathnever a whispernever a laugh...

Muse

Brahma and AiravataLong ago in lands of golden sandBrahma turned to Saraswatiand gently kissed her inked hand....

Muse

Sleeping AtlantisSilent cool watersdancing upon her skin ~silent cool waterushering dreams within...

Muse

How crazy it would be if the moon did spin and the earth stood still and the sun went dim!How absolutely ludicrous if snakes could walk and kids could fly and mimes did talk!How silly it would be if the nights were tan and the mornings green and the sun cyan!How totally ridiculous if horses chirped and spiders sang and ladies burped!How shocking it would be if the dragons ruled and the knights were daft but the fish were schooled!How utterly preposterous if rain were dry and snowflakes warm and real men cried!I love to just imagineall the lows as heights,and the salty, sweet,and our lefts as rights.Perhaps it is incredibleand off the hook,but it all makes sensein a storybook!

Richelle E. Goodrich

Morning and eveningMaids heard the goblins cry:'Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy

Christina Rossetti

Choose wisely From those who start A fire in your heart. Some may burn you to shreds,While you were looking for warmth.

Saiber

I ache not from need -but from my heart's gluttony of you.

Muse

To have been where you have beenAnd to still have joy,Dazzling in your heart,Now there’s a thing to make the whole world smile.

They don’t know I only speak in runaway train stationsand everybody is always a few minutes too late to the platform.No one has ever gotten the chance to get too closebecause it is never romantic to fuck the girl who makes love to her own sadness every single night.

A stream of primal voicesWhispering in the breeze of your heartTo urge you on.

I am in Love with you, it’s me who is in love with you not you,I am in love with you.Not in a way I wanted to but yeah the way I am fond toHey I am in love with you,not treating you like I wanted to but just being the one that thought of toyeah I am in love with you,Loving you was the secrete I wanted to keepand buried deep inside my emotional heap,Doing everything possible what I had toBut baby it hurts as it hurts you too,but yeah still I am in love with you,Pulled myself million times because I got the wrong vibes all the time,But the truth remains the samebaby hear me as I am in love with you,Waiting on you I could see people were laughing on meI knew all the while you weren't near me.But you should know that I am in love with youThere were some days I missed you a lot and scared to tell you how i feel cold and hotfor you as I am in love with you is the only dreamAnd then I am in love with youI remember I have cried to sleepand bagged myself to keep you awayfrom the highest steepthe voice that said from within me I am in love with youJust I LOVE YOU was the only words I wanna hear from youeven while knowing, you don’t mean toBecause simply I feel the way I wanted toLoving to say I am in love with you.wake up in the morning with only you in my mind till I sleep at deep way in the nightI know its all silly things for your kindbut its perfect to me as clearly - deeply in love with youWhen you being nice to me that scares me sometimesbut bottom in my heart it feels so nice because during that timeI am in love with you,Doesn't matter whatever I do with you even things i have never done beforeand i enjoyed them all because simply as I am in love with you.In the first waiting on you was the favorite thing in my dayweather it s a call or just a look from you from the farthest bayI asked myself why and the voice within me said that I am in love with you.

Dreaming of getting you I loosed everything Cheerfulness of smile And all the dreams of life

Get out of my head,You've overstayed your stay,This head no longer can spare more thoughts,Leave my aching heart alone,You weaved your web all over my heart,Captured what was never yours,The aching in my chest can't bare more,Get out of here,My soul is no longer a safe place.

Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of clasping your hands so tight,Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of the shipwreck that is in my heart would end

It's been awhile since I have heard from you,To me it felt like it was only yesterday that all we could do was talk to each otherTo me it felt like it was only yesterday that I'd fall asleep with you on my mind and be awakened with a smile from your morning messagesTo me it felt like it was only yesterday that you started to back away, when I was in a dark placeTo me it felt like it was only yesterday when you left my mind and heart in a million pieces

I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don’t answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I’m still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you’re far away and can’t sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can’t live without.I want to be someone you can’t live without.

Charlotte Eriksson

Loveis not leaning on each other, adjusting to fit a different size.Loveis simply two hands reached out in the darkness,saying; I’ll be your light, if you’ll be mine.

Charlotte Eriksson

Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.

Salil Jha

Take a shower. Wash away every trace of yesterday. Of smells. Of weary skin. Get dressed. Make coffee, windows open, the sun shining through. Hold the cup with two hands and notice that you feel the feeling of warmth.   You still feel warmth. Now sit down and get to work. Keep your mind sharp, head on, eyes on the page and if small thoughts of worries fight their ways into your consciousness: threw them off like fires in the night and keep your eyes on the track. Nothing but the task in front of you. Get off your chair in the middle of the day. Put on your shoes and take a long walk on open streets around people. Notice how they’re all walking, in a hurry, or slowly. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, hurried to get to wherever they’re going. And notice how you’re just one of them. Not more, not less. Find comfort in the way you’re just one in the crowd. Your worries: no more, no less.Go back home. Take the long way just to not pass the liquor store. Don’t buy the cigarettes. Go straight home. Take off your shoes. Wash your hands. Your face. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. It’s still beating. Still fighting. Now get back to work. Work with your mind sharp and eyes focused and if any thoughts of worries or hate or sadness creep their ways around, shake them off like a runner in the night for you own your mind, and you need to tame it. Focus. Keep it sharp on track, nothing but the task in front of you.Work until your eyes are tired and head is heavy, and keep working even after that. Then take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more.  You’re doing just fine. You’re doing fine.I’m doing just fine.

Charlotte Eriksson

You rewrote the art in my heart.

When your heart starts to feel full again. I love FREE refills, and if a restaurant tries to double charge me, I refuse to write a love poem on their Yelp page.-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

And then,There was a loveShining so bright,That even the darkest partOf our heartsFelt the warmth

choose your words well(be honest, be true)butabove all else,be kind

Storm WarningsThe glass has been falling all the afternoon, And knowing better than the instrument What winds are walking overhead, what zone Of grey unrest is moving across the land, I leave the book upon a pillowed chair And walk from window to closed window, watching Boughs strain against the skyAnd think again, as often when the air Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting, How with a single purpose time has traveled By secret currents of the undiscerned Into this polar realm. Weather abroad And weather in the heart alike come on Regardless of prediction.Between foreseeing and averting change Lies all the mastery of elements Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter. Time in the hand is not control of time, Nor shattered fragments of an instrument A proof against the wind; the wind will rise, We can only close the shutters.I draw the curtains as the sky goes black And set a match to candles sheathed in glass Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine Of weather through the unsealed aperture. This is our sole defense against the season; These are the things we have learned to do Who live in troubled regions.

You are the mark on my liquid heartwhere love begins with the beginning’s startYou are the desire of the ablaze fires the only truth from ten-thousand-liarsFrom the poem- A Letter to My Love

The moon seems unawareof night's dark hittingon the damp warm rain misguiding owl's spitting A thunder light of loveraising hearts beatingwhile weather learns morefrom rain lovers meeting

Believe me when I say: 'Out of all those around, she’s the best locksmith in town.' Her stethoscope ears know when the dials of your heart click into place.She’s been cutting keys for years.You don’t stand a chance with that flimsy case.Alas, no matter how you lock your heart— bolt, fixture, and key— she’s got nimble fingersthat pick locks for free.Padlocks and deadboltsare all in vain.Why do you even botherwith that chain?She’s way too smart. Along with ours, she’ll have your heart. And you will see that the best locksmith in town is she.

I know that touching you will be understanding my fingers for the first time.

Kels Adeline Sapp

BLESSINGS ARE IMMEASURABLEYou canLose a childOr a parent,The love of your life,A good job,A game,A deal,A bet,An idea,Your favorite thing,Money,Your best friend,A moment,An opportunity,A chance,Your keys,Your mind,Your health,Your identity,Your virginity,Your religion,Your shirt,Your license,ID or Passport,Phone or phone number,Hope,Faith,Luck,Your pride,Or your house,And feel likeYou've lost everything,And keep on losing.StopCounting lossesAnd start counting your blessings.Only then,Will you discover that lossesAre easier to point outAnd countThan blessings,And that blessingsOutnumber your lossesFor they are trulyImmeasurable.It is only normal thatPeople count losses withTheir minds,And ignoreTo count blessingsWith the graciousnessOf their hearts.

Violinists wear the imprint on their necks with prideFor they are the players of harmony.Pilgrims, too, wear the imprint on their foreheads with prideFor they are the conductors of unity.And Lovers? Why, they are made humble by the imprint on their heartsFor they are merely the instruments of rhapsody.

Sealing your lips makes your eyes talk Truth creeps beneath your lame feet’s walk Knees stiffen when blood vessels stalk A pounding heart’s lies hard as rock

Autumn is hereand I am in love.My heart has taken residence in my mind.I pick the crisp ochre leaves and put them in my pocket.I am in love.

To live with you is to live.To live without you is to die.

The sky can never be frozen because its vastness has chosenall warmth of our lives as we look abovewith unbreakable hearts armoured in love

Such a nasty bruise,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. I am stunned he can see it. Delicate to the touch and tender on every side, the bruise is deeper than days. My hand automatically moves to my chest.Science taught me with valid assurance that my heart was fixed in my rib cage, but life has since shown me otherwise. My heart in fact dangles from a tangle of strings. The ends are grasped tight by numerous people who yank and release, having caused many painful bruises over time. I cry because they are invisible to most.“Such a nasty bruise,” he repeats, tugging on my poor heart. His kind eyes fall away from mine as I feel a squeeze on my arm. He twists it enough to show me a small, round patch of purple surrounded by a sickly yellowish corona. “Oh. My elbow.” I let the air exhale from my lungs. Another bruise forms where my heart has hit the floor. It is jerked up again. “Can I do anything for you?” I see in his eyes the mirror image of a finger—his finger—wrapped in one of the dangling strings. He tugs and I feel it.“No,” I reply to his question. But it is a lie. There is something he could do, along with all who grasp a portion of the web entangling my heart. I wish they would mercifully let go.

Richelle E. Goodrich

I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn’t get me anywhere. It was work and it was money and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away.

Charlotte Eriksson

I want to build / and raise anew / Theseus' Temple and the Stadiums / and where Pericles livedBut there's no money, too much spent today / I had a guest over and we sat together.

Friedrich Hölderlin

I did it the hard way ( a poem)_________________________Many of the big dreams I dreamt,I dreamt, when I met a failed attempt.Life taught me to believe thatGreat ideas can start from a wretched hut.Many of the strongest steps I took,I took, when I was given the fiercest look.My passion pokes me to understandThat people’s mockeries, I can withstand.Many of the fastest speeds I gained,I gained when I was bitterly stained.I first thought the only way was to quitAs I tried again, I no longer have guilt.Many of the bravest decisions I made,I made, when my life was about to fade.I was frustrated and ripe to sink.But then I strive to release the ink.Many of the longest journeys I started,I started, having no resource; money partedI relied on God my creator all dawn longAnd at dusk He gave me a new song.Many of the hardest questions I tackled,I tackled, when I was heckled.They were very troublesome to settleBut I make it happen little by littleYet, it was not I, but the Lord JesusThe saviour who gives me success.In Him, through Him and by HimI have the liberty to do everything with vim.I don’t want to enjoy this liberty alone.You too must step out of your comfort zone.It’s not easy, but you can do it anyway.Jesus is the life, the truth and the way.___________________________Israelmore Ayivor

Israelmore Ayivor

I did it the hard way (a poem)___________________Many of the big dreams I dreamt,I dreamt, when I met a failed attempt.Life taught me to believe thatGreat ideas can start from a wretched hut.Many of the strongest steps I took,I took, when I was given the fiercest look.My passion pokes me to understandThat people’s mockeries, I can withstand.Many of the fastest speeds I gained,I gained when I was bitterly stained.I first thought the only way was to quitAs I tried again, I no longer have guilt.Many of the bravest decisions I made,I made, when my life was about to fade.I was frustrated and ripe to sink.But then I strive to release the ink.Many of the longest journeys I started,I started, having no resource; money partedI relied on God my creator all dawn longAnd at dusk He gave me a new song.Many of the hardest questions I tackled,I tackled, when I was heckled.They were very troublesome to settleBut I make it happen little by littleYet, it was not I, but the Lord JesusThe saviour who gives me success.In Him, through Him and by HimI have the liberty to do everything with vim.I don’t want to enjoy this liberty alone.You too must step out of your comfort zone.It’s not easy, but you can do it anyway.Jesus is the life, the truth and the way.

Israelmore Ayivor

Sharply the menacing wind sweeps overThe bending poplars, newly bare,And the dark ribbons of the chimneysVeer downward; flicked by whips of air.Torn posters flutter; coldly soundThe boom of trams and the rattle of hooves,And the clerks who hurry to the stationLook, shuddering, over the eastern rooves,Thinking, each one, "Here comes the winter!"Please God I keep my job this year!"And bleakly, as the cold strikes throughTheir entrails like an icy spear,They think of rent, rates, season tickets,Insurance, coal, the skivvy's wages,Boots, school-bills and the next installmentUpon the two twin beds from Drage's.For if in careless summer daysIn groves of Ashtaroth we whored,Repentant now, when winds blow cold,We kneel before our rightful lord;The lord of all, the money-god,Who rules us blood and hand and brain,Who gives the roof that stops the wind,And, giving, takes away again;Who spies with jealous, watchful care,Our thoughts, our dreams, our secret ways,Who picks our words and cuts our clothes,And maps the pattern of our days;Who chills our anger, curbs our hope.And buys our lives and pays with toys,Who claims as tribute broken faith,Accepted insults, muted joys;Who binds with chains the poet's wit,The navvy's strength, the soldier's pride,And lays the sleek, estranging shieldBetween the lover and his bride.

tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play— I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.

I sit on a rock and watch children playingin the park belowThey don't see meOr know my thoughtsOr that you haven't calledBut I forgive them their indifference todayAbove me a crow cawsPerhaps he smells the crumbs on my dressOr my angerBut he flits away over the treesProbably has a homeProbably has a wifeProbably knew to callThe children leaveThe coffee in my can turns coldThe wind nips at meSome street lights flicker onBut I won't moveNot yetI will wait for the night to chase meBack where I came fromUp the empty streetTo a quiet house

Adelheid Manefeldt

I couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because I didn’t even know I needed you. You must have been sent to me.

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn’t you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.

Like a pair of old slippers,I feel comfort andwarmth as I slip into you.No, that is too crude.Like the match to the wick,I ignite when we touch.My counterpart andlife's purpose.Yes, as though I've known you my whole life.Every scar, every failurehas become an affirmationof what should be:You.Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.

I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here’s another one for you.But really, for me.These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me.I place this candle here and another thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me.Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us?Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect?I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

Whenever you keep score in love, you lose.

All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,And for thy maintenance; commits his bodyTo painful labor, both by sea and land;To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,Whilst thou li’st warm at home, secure and safe;And craves no other tribute at thy handsBut love, fair looks, and true obedience-Too little payment for so great a debt.Such duty as the subject owes the prince,Even such a woman oweth to her husband;And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,And no obedient to his honest will,What is she but a foul contending rebel,And graceless traitor to her loving lord?I asham’d that women are so simple‘To offer war where they should kneel for peace,Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,Should well agree with our external parts?

William Shakespeare

Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes,” I say,“I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks.“Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?”“Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.

Charles Bukowski

MOTHER IS WATERI wish I couldShower your head with flowersAnd anoint your feet with my tears,For I know I have caused youSo much heartache, frustration and despair –Throughout my youthful years.I wish I could give youThe remainder of my lifeTo add to yours,Or simply eraseThe lines on your face,And mend all that has been torn.For next to God,You are the fireThat has given lightTo the flame in each of my eyes.You are the fountainThat nourished my growth,And from your chalice –Gave me life.Without the wetness of your love,The fragrance of your water,Or the trickling sounds ofYour voice,I shall always feelthirsty.

She wore her scarsas her best attire.A stunning dressmade of hellfire.

You see herand ascend into love. You become enchanted, a found madman. In your love,you lose yourself and become her. You were once without her, now with her. You still feel her and descend into love. You become enraptured, a lost madman. In your love,you lost yourself and her. You were once with her, nowwithout her.

You didn’t understand the poem, but that was because it wasn’t for you. It was for me to understand the pain you put me through.

Dominic Riccitello

I do not just want you at your best.I almost do not carewhere your Happiness lives,but please,let me visit your pain?Take me to the placewhere your sadness goes,and show me the tragedythat no one knows.

Meraaqi

I’ve reached the vanishing point without you.Here my heartache begins with your paintrying to find an unborn startin this fatal disappearanceFrom the poem ‘Me with the Vanishing Point

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