Poems Quotes - Page 6

oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)

Raindrops fall from clouds of gray.The fragile flowers grow.Teardrops seem all I can say.They speak of endless woe.Your fingers wipe my grief away.A seed of love you sow.A hardened heart reverts to clay.You mold my love just so.

Richelle E. Goodrich

i want the moon tattooed on my wristsmy grandmother keeps asking me to pray, i don’t have the heart to tell her that mypoems are the only God i have left in memy mother keeps leaving without saying goodbyei wish she’d let me cut my hair in the 7th grade,maybe i’d know how to deal with loss by nowi told myself i’d stop kissing boys who didn’t know my namei said, i’d stop picking at my bones like broken decorations,i’d quit with the smoking and the drunken poems, and when i said things like “my bones are heavy” i would only mean itas a good thingheavy bones can’t be broken,you can’t break heavy bones

irynka

When you left you left behind a fieldof silent flowers under a sky full of unstirred clouds...you left a million butterfliesmid-silky flutters You left like midnight rain against my dreaming ears Oh and how you left leaving my coffee scentless and my couch comfortless leaving upon my fingers the melting snow of you you left behind a calendar full of empty days and seasons full of aimless wanders leaving me alone with an armful of sunsets your reflection behind in every puddle your whispersupon every curtain your fragranceinside every petal you left your echoes in between the silence of my eyes Oh and how you leftleaving my sands footless and my shores songless leaving me with windows full of moistened moonlight nights and nightsof only a half-warmed soul and when you left... you left behind a lifetime of moments untouched the light of a million starsunshed and when you left you somehowleft my poem...unfinished. (Published in Taj Mahal Review Vol.11Number 1 June 2012)

Sanober Khan

You kissed me that morning as if you’d never done it before and never would again and now I write another letter that I will never dare to send, collecting memories of loss like chains tight around my chest,and if you see a fire from the shore tonightit’s my chains going up in flames.

Charlotte Eriksson

What I want to know is how you go on when you look aroundand don’t see anywhere you want to go without the only personyou can’t have.

Charlotte Eriksson

i smile. things taken for granted have a way of catching you offguard when you least expect it, and then you're taken by what the portuguese calls saudade, a sense of longing for something, someone not there anymore.

Yeow Kai Chai

Pages burnt, memories buried, I wakeor think I'm awake. Or dreaming still?

Yong Shu Hoong

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear –lose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

Will Advise

Since it has quietly began to snow,new distances have awakened within me.

Gerrit Achterberg

I love the way he says my name. With the elegance and utmost respect of a King, just before he bows to his Queen.

M.J. Abraham

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

Sanober Khan

I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.

Shannon L. Alder

It was more than a string of letters put togetherit was a thick cloak in the coldand a strong defense against an enemyIt was more than the naked heart on paperit was a way to undress sadness … and sinsand an olive branch for the desperateWriting was her prayer and the words were felt.

M.J. Abraham

Poems are word paintings. Poetry doesn’t belong to time. That’s why often you feel as if poems are speaking directly to you.

Salil Jha

A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.

Sanober Khan

in the endit is wordspoetry. sunsetssomeone’s deep blue silk voice.mountain scents.someone’s smile.eyes. that we haveno defenses against.

Sanober Khan

I am not sad anymore. I am not weak or tender or quiet like you remember because the second you said those words and closed that door, I sold my soul to the part of myself I had buried in order to love you, to let you touch every inch of my rotten body, for I wanted to be touchable and not so strange. Not so sad and tender, like I’ve always been, they say, so I changed. And then your glances and words throwing knives with no return about my change of habits and ways of living, being, and I nodded and smiled, dying silently a little bit inside.

Charlotte Eriksson

Gazing from the moon, we see one earth, without borders, Mother Earth, her embrace encircling one people, humankind.

Frederick Glaysher

In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.

Dejan Stojanovic

Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.

Dejan Stojanovic

And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.

Dejan Stojanovic

Mathematics doesn’t care about those beyond the numbers.

Dejan Stojanovic

Instead of imitating me, you simply loiter.

Dejan Stojanovic

One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.

Dejan Stojanovic

I travel, always arriving in the same place.

Dejan Stojanovic

My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.

Dejan Stojanovic

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

Dejan Stojanovic

What you gain here, you lose on the other side.

Dejan Stojanovic

Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.

Dejan Stojanovic

In greatness, life and death merge.

Dejan Stojanovic

From one bell all the bells toll.

Dejan Stojanovic

Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.

Dejan Stojanovic

They are both spectacular, Life and death.

Dejan Stojanovic

While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.

Dejan Stojanovic

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

Dejan Stojanovic

Already the people murmur that I am your enemybecause they say that in verse I give the world your me.They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos.Who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voicebecause you are the dressing and the essence is me;and the most profound abyss is spread between us.You are the cold doll of social lies,and me, the virile starburst of the human truth.You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me;in all my poems I undress my heart.You are like your world, selfish; not mewho gambles everything betting on what I am.You are only the ponderous lady very lady;not me; I am life, strength, woman.You belong to your husband, your master; not me;I belong to nobody, or all, because to all, to allI give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought.You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me;the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me.You are a housewife, resigned, submissive,tied to the prejudices of men; not me;unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinantesnorting horizons of God's justice.You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you;your husband, your parents, your family,the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall,the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne,heaven and hell, and the social, "what will they say."Not in me, in me only my heart governs,only my thought; who governs in me is me.You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people.You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone,while me, my nothing I owe to nobody.You nailed to the static ancestral dividend,and me, a one in the numerical social divider,we are the duel to death who fatally approaches.When the multitudes run riotingleaving behind ashes of burned injustices,and with the torch of the seven virtues,the multitudes run after the seven sins, against you and against everything unjust and inhuman,I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.

Julia de Burgos Jack Agüero Translator

My beloved isn't dazzling light, Darkness is my beloved – The reason I'm so fond of her…

Subhajit Ganguly

Yet, the man never goes slow! Feted against all the odds.How? Nobody knows.Undeterred, unabated, yet uncharted he goes...

Subhajit Ganguly

Books have power to bring you glory or doom, it all depends on perception.

Nikita Dudani

everything that is scatteredcomes together in wordseverything that is lostcomes back in poetry.

Sanober Khan

This heart is a hurricane, turbulent with ache screaming winds of grief waiting to make the skyfall, to pluck the cloudsfrom their beds with itswhipping winds

Jack Southfield

A dessert to a deserter in the desert burst, "You trust your thirst. And you are too hot! You scream for ice cream. And believe it or not, I may not be your first. But I might be your lust! Give it a shot...

Ana Claudia Antunes

I hate reading poems—school made me hate them. I’d spend hours interpreting one, just to read the memorandum and realize I’d be fucked during exams. I remember making a little asterisk next to every question I struggled with, and at the end of the paper, I’d realize I was looking at the fucking Milky Way.

Danielle Esplin

Of everythingI have ever endured,YOUareMy Favourite Tragedy.

Meraaqi

We dreamt of a crappy apartment somewhereMaking love while we let the midnight airFlow through the open window, into our closed heartsLeft bitter from heartbreak and too much time apart

Jessica-Lynn Barbour

Even if a poem is beautiful and memorable, it’s not like an advertising jingle or propaganda, which attempt to convince and control. Poems seek to confuse, disabuse, enlarge understanding, and make people ask questions and think for themselves.

Rachel Zucker

Poems are surmountable. They have rhymes and rhythms to help you make meaning. They're short enough. . . to read and reread until you've made some sense of them. Short stories are a different ballgame. You read them and understand the words completely. You know what happens in each sentence. You follow the dialogue and action. at the end, you know exactly what's happened. And also you have no idea.

Laurie Frankel

A Poet never denies creativity entrance.

Micheline Jean Louis

...you fantasize about me reading my poems to you - it doesn't work that way - I write down everything later - living is not an after-thought...

John Geddes

Creating means living.

Dejan Stojanovic

Because I found the strength to do the things I believe in, and the will to stop doing the things I don't believe in.So I have discovered what it means, to be at peace.

pleasefindthis

It is so hard to stay afloat in a world that just wants to drown you.

Schuyler Peck

No matter how many romantic poems you recite, no matter how many glorious tales of love you read, how can you really understand the condition if you've never found yourself in it?

Sherry D Ficklin

The shadow of a character is defined by its maker...while a heroine is personified by its actions and relatability. So writers can create a world with a heroine that has impact and finish with everessence lights at the dims of its shadows

Raquelle Stepney

While he sweated out a story she bled put a poem. (Dark City Lights)

S. J. Rozan

My demons creep like a pedo in a park full of kids. Each one reminding me of the consequences, what I didn’t do, or did.

Ken Dereste Dorcely

The streets are silent / The playgrounds are still /The noise has moved elsewhere / Into our homes / Into our hearts / It’s been too long /Children are not where they belong /The streets, the playgrounds and the song /Have been waiting for too long…

Daya Kudari

The world is a wide place where we stumble like children learning to walk. The world is a bright mosaic where we learn like children to see, where our little blurry eyes strive greedily to take in as much light and love and colour and detail as they can.The world is a coaxing whisper when the wind lips the trees, when the sea licks the shore, when animals burrow into earth and people look up at the sympathetic stars. The world is an admonishing roar when gales chase rainclouds over the plains and whip up ocean waves, when people crowd into cities or intrude into dazzling jungles.What right have we to carry our desperate mouths up mountains or into deserts? Do we want to taste rock and sand or do we expect to make impossible poems from space and silence? The vastness at least reminds us how tiny we are, and how much we don't yet understand. We are mere babes in the universe, all brothers and sisters in the nursery together. We had better learn to play nicely before we're allowed out..... And we want to go out, don't we? ..... Into the distant humming welcoming darkness.

Jay Woodman

Great literature makes a great life.

Lailah Gifty Akita

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Poems Quotes - Page 6

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