Poems Quotes - Page 2

I do have a funny perception of mine I'd like to share. Being basically a lifetime poet. I've had many people say "I don't like poetry" But they'll listen to song after song that rhymes on the end in couplets Just a thought...

Stanley Victor Paskavich

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match,we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

Ana Claudia Antunes

She was resilientA brave soldier when life tested herIt didn't matter that she did strange thingslike stand tall under the rainletting the drops kiss her skinthinking the storm was romanticIt was hard to quiet hernot that you would want towhen she spoke, it was captivatingHer heart was like a candlewarm and delicatejust what you needed during darknessSometimes, she'd go off and explore the worldtest her limitslaugh too muchcry when humans were cruelIt wasn't hard to see why people envied herYou'd come to realize she was a lionand she could not be tamed.

M.J. Abraham

It's physics. Pure physics,I'm falling fast and faster still.So fall with me. Fall down with me.And stay.

Cecily von Ziegesar

A crimson fire that vanquishes the stars;A pungent odor from the dusty sage;A sudden stirring of the huddled herds;A breaking of the distant table-landsThrough purple mists ascending, and the flareOf water ditches silver in the light;A swift, bright lance hurled low across the world;A sudden sickness for the hills of home.

Willa Cather

Turn your attentions to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance.

Rainer Maria Rilke

When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead"When you see millions of the mouthless deadAcross your dreams in pale battalions go,Say not soft things as other men have said,That you'll remember. For you need not so.Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they knowIt is not curses heaped on each gashed head?Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.Say only this, "They are dead." Then add thereto,"Yet many a better one has died before."Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should youPerceive one face that you loved heretofore,It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.Great death has made all his for evermore.

Charles Hamilton Sorley

I didn’t leave early that morning. I waited for him to wake up and kiss me good morning. He said he was going to take a shower and I should come join him. I thought now was as good of a time as any and placed the ring on his corner table with my note. It read:My Love, I don’t know how you will accept my decision. I do love you with all my heart but you are not my first love. I am always going to be infatuated with my love for the sea. Accept my proposal after I have completed my education, claim my heart for thy own & obtain thy love in which it possesses.With all My Love, Zara-emerald eyes of the sea

Hazel Cartwright

The wall between writing and painting is just good grammar. Moderation in moderation. Fun is scary with a happy ending. Just love. If love doesn’t transform that which annoys you, it will be easier to tolerate.

Emily Thornton Calvo

The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic... convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.

R.M. Engelhardt (TALON)

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Jessica Kristie

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Jessica Kristie

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Jessica Kristie

Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.

Jessica Kristie

I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

Jessica Kristie

Fear is a hurdle that stops the expression

Andy Lindley

I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.

Jessica Kristie

I balance you on the end of my pen.Teetering between loveand letting go.

Jessica Kristie

Careful.The fall is quick,steep,and permanent.

Jessica Kristie

Love knows not from where you came, what religion you are, or even your name. Discover it and you will be whole, for when you do you have found your soul.

Charles F. Glassman

I need to work on me.The mewithout you.

Jessica Kristie

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

Jessica Kristie

I started to think about the abyss that separates the poet from the reader and the next thing I knew I was deeply depressed.

Roberto Bolaño

In Damascus:poems become diaphanousThey’re neither sensualnor intellectualthey are what echo saysto echo . . .

Mahmoud Darwish

LoreleiIt is no night to drown in:A full moon, river lapsingBlack beneath bland mirror-sheen,The blue water-mists droppingScrim after scrim like fishnetsThough fishermen are sleeping,The massive castle turretsDoubling themselves in a glassAll stillness. Yet these shapes floatUp toward me, troubling the faceOf quiet. From the nadirThey rise, their limbs ponderousWith richness, hair heavierThan sculptured marble. They singOf a world more full and clearThan can be. Sisters, your songBears a burden too weightyFor the whorled ear's listeningHere, in a well-steered country,Under a balanced ruler.Deranging by harmonyBeyond the mundane order,Your voices lay siege. You lodgeOn the pitched reefs of nightmare,Promising sure harborage;By day, descant from bordersOf hebetude, from the ledgeAlso of high windows. WorseEven than your maddeningSong, your silence. At the sourceOf your ice-hearted calling-Drunkenness of the great depths.O river, I see driftingDeep in your flux of silverThose great goddesses of peace.Stone, stone, ferry me down there.

Sylvia Plath

Oh, there are no living poets, Miss Van Damn. We're not entirely sure there ever were. They've found some shreds of sonnets in England and, embedded in a chalk wall of a cave in France, some yet undetermined thing which might be the legendary inward eye. But all evidence, such as it is, suggests that, if there ever were poets, they were all burned into extinction during the interglacial period of despair.

Paddy Chayefsky

Remove the computer chipslodged in your brain before they convince youthat you’ve gone insane…Take a bite out of realityinstead of becominga reality byte.

Kitty Clairmont

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Paradise for you and meTrust, true love to guide us freeLoneliness shall not fill the dayI will forever be with youOur Love is beautiful like the sunshine lighting the wayYour gentle feelYour caring handsThere is no doubt in your soulNo eerie place in your heart to express this feelingOur compassion flows in the waves just to save and brighten my day My heart has no hoes Awaiting your paceto touch this placeOur love, withstanding all odds Diminishing hate, in our thoughts There is no place I rather be til eternity... Than in your soul, life and in your dreams... I am here to stay with you forever.

Henry Johnson Jr

A touch so tenderBliss of sweet words fills of desire Open Hearts of sweet surrender Nightly poison gas the fire. A quite place to romance Touches as we held hands. No loud words spoken, but whispers Just Heart, promises to be kept No tales being told tonight. No looking back no regrets. Longing for this momentSuch complacent little time. We vowed to another. Being lonely is the only hate within my heart. Tomorrow bringing sorrow. A smoke of Marlboro to release myself. A brief moment of blame with shame With memories reflecting back to those nights. A release from compassion's flames.

Henry Johnson Jr

One must speak in such a way that although someone else, or many others, or an infinite number of people have said it before, it seems as though you said it first.

Juan Ramón Jiménez

It was Halloween eve, And I was yearning alone waiting for my soul mate Ethan, He was expected by now for the celebrations in our bedroom, We planned for this, many months back, and now I was getting restless, My dick was erect and making a pole in my boxer - tough to handle 9 inches long of yearning all alone.

Delicious David

I write poems. I'm often laughed at for doing so. My friends and foes, who were born in 1980's or even later aren't savvy with this concept of the reading and writing poems. They're probably not at fault because while they were being brought up in their respective environs, they weren't really taught how to appreciate poetry. Sadly, those same indifferent souls are now raising their children in the same robotic way, keeping them away from an art form as pure as poetry. Anyway, on the path my life, my poems, written and unwritten, are spread throughout like breadcrumbs. Alas! I'm savoring these breadcrumbs alone because no one has chosen to walk by me, maybe because they're skeptic about the taste of these crumbs. They've hypothetically assumed that these crumbs, these poems are bitter. Sigh! They aren't courageous enough to gather the strength to actually taste them. Perhaps this way, the real sweetness of my crumbs, of my poems stays obscured to them. But I haven't let them crush this sweetness beneath their feet and that's why, I've chosen to walk alone instead. How can I not savor these crumbs if I already know that they're leading me to the apex of my life? How can I not write poems if a voice inside me is constantly pecking my hands to give it a form? This voice is my meditation. This voice is my shadow, a shadow which is stubborn enough to remain intact even when I'll be gone. This voice is my concrete, the concrete that I'm made up of. This voice is my power, the power that will shake your senses. This voice is my poetry.

Supriya Kaur Dhaliwal

In The Shadow Of The NightAll the clouds are gray, and the sky is dark as night. Soft words are spoken, and there's a twinkle, of a flicker of light.The presence of a Man walks by, and Mighty and Powerful is He.Kneeling down to pray, He says a prayer for me.The sky becomes brighter, and the leaves of the trees turn green.The flowers begin to bloom, and there's a warm gentle breeze.Thank you Lord for setting me free...

Jerrel C. Thomas

It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me.

John Green

And then, as I got older,I left the woods and lookedat fading stars, dying stars,eternal stars in their heavens,with lips that would kiss and wordsshaped through love songs,a life of journeys to some placefar from home, unfamiliar,(a wild weird western shore)until sunset across limestoneprompts us to make these,our plagiarised prayersto broken stone.

Miriam Joy

A novel is a hearty meal, but poems are the Belgian chocolates of the bookshelf. You can pick one and linger over it. Savour the aroma, the taste, the melting texture, the sweet craving it leaves behind! Or you can scoff down as many as you can eat. It’s up to you.

Vicky Arthurs

Love- if not reciprocated, comes with an expiry date, no matter how strongly we beg to differ.

Manish Pathania

A poem is an event, like a wedding or birth.

Marty Rubin

When Love Was NewWhen love was newand life was young,and once we walkedin gracious sun,I never dreamt of darker days,or feared that fate had cruel ways.When life was strongand love was free,and time was onceeternity -we never planned for more or less,nor stopped to think we should digress.When love was youngand life was new,and everythingwas once our due,I never doubted what I owned,nor knew the cost was merely loaned.Now love is triedand life is old,and still my feetdrag down the road -not knowing where it all has gone,nor how much more it still goes on.But life grows newand love gets old,and this tired heartstays off the cold -not caring it compares with fools,nor wise enough to fear the rules.-Drea Damara

Drea Damara

What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Oh, poems, no less! Poems, everybody!

Roger Waters

I am the poet, you are the poem; I hold the pen, you are the words, love is the ink, silence is the blank page.

Jenim Dibie

Reading a stranger's words and finding yourself in them.

Jenim Dibie

Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

Jessica Kristie

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

Jessica Kristie

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

Jessica Kristie

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

Jessica Kristie

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Jessica Kristie

Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

Jessica Kristie

Nails that claw by a beautiful mind.A pretty face can leave you blind - Poem 'Small Pain' from 'The B Word: The B in LBGTQ Poetry'.

S.C. Silver

O Sailor!It’s the way I want to beIt’s beyond the pale for meIt’s what being unknown is all aboutIt’s the path I choose to takeIt’s the destiny I makeIt’s my life now – the only way outOut of circulation in another dimensionI carry you right inside my heartAs we’re one, moulded togetherAlways and forever, never apartIt’s a world where I’m aloneIt’s a place where I can atoneIt’s a severing of all ties I knowI feel so free and yet I’m boundI’m invisible and yet aroundI know I’ve got to go with the flowMy life now is like a sailboat ride,Destiny is the wind – with you by my side,I’m the sailor, who sets the course,Empowered by an incredible force.

Tapan Ghosh

When once we are buried you think we are gone. But behold me immortal!

Jane Austen

She has a fiery soul that cannot be tamed.She has free spirit that cannot be maimed.She moves with the wind and flows with the river.She howls at the moon and smiles at the sun.Just when you think she is finished, she declares, “I’ve just begun.”Like wild flowers, she grows where she decides to push through fallow ground.Like wild fires, she spreads with speed that can’t be drowned.She has mystery in her blood, magic in her touch and regardless of her frameshe can be too much-wild woman.She is not predictable, controllable nor the people pleasing kind.That’s why she is called wild woman and can never be defined.

Mishi McCoy

my poems are only bits of scratchingon the floor of acage.

Charles Bukowski

No poet can stay alive solely in his/her poetry etched in papers, it is the reader audience in whom the poets breath forever.......

SWANSH

I read somewhere that dedications are like coded love letters, but I always seem to lay us out bare.Sorry for the poems.

Unknown

Thoughtful symmetry in a maze of tortuous confusion, Loving me is a battle, wrought with pain and illusion

Emery LeeAnn

The fatal problem with poetry: poems.

Ben Lerner

A wise old owl once told me,One time when he was out of his tree,That nothing in this world is for free.I agree!

P.D. Cain

Poetry is like an unexpected noise in the night: the creak of a door, a footstep on the porch, the soft scuffle of a moth against the screen, which rouses every sense to an instant alert. So comes poetry to the drowsy mind, which startles a moment, wonders, and returns to sleep.

Christopher Morley

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Poems Quotes - Page 2

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