Poetry Life Quotes

We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain

It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how.

What do you do when the alienating silence deafens your 'bootless cries'?

We will read books together inside the blanket and stay warm. And keep writing poetry in our respective journals. Time will fly but we will still remain inside the blanket forever.

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

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

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

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

A hallowed frequency withinThat, even in your darkest hour,You can always turn to.

There's two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying

Stanley Victor Paskavich

poems are small moments of enlightenment

Natalie Goldberg

I was born with my eyes turned inward.

David Joseph Cribbin

Poetry, playing with your words until you breathe life into them.

Morgan Dragonwillow

Don't be afraid of Pain. Pain only comes down to a certain point... beyond that, it can't reach you and the love you have inside.

God’s justice in the one, and his goodness in the other, is exercised for evermore, as the everlasting subjects of his reward and punishment.

Sir Walter Raleigh

Do tears not yet spilledwait in small lakes?Or are they invisible riversthat run toward sadness?

Don’t you dare say these times are hollowJust because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillow,Close your eyes and say goodbyeTo the world that you lived in today.Let your dreams carry you away;You lived a nightmare all through the day,It is time to dream, so don’t delay.You searched for a reason to live,Yes darling, you searched everywhere.You had to push, you had to strive,It is time now to get some air.You searched in all that is outside,It is time now to look inside,Cause that is where you’ll findA reason worth keeping in your mind.These dreams are not an escape, darling,You need time to see past the lies that blind you.It is time for you to start runningTo those things that are true.So, don’t you dare say these nights are hollow,Just because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillowAnd lose yourself in this lullaby.

The work of great poetry is to aid us to become free artists ourselves...The art of reading poetry is an authentic training in the augmentation of consciousness, perhaps the most authentic of healthy modes.

Yes, it is true that beauty is only skin deep, and internal loveliness resonates to the outside; but deep down inside every woman secretly longs to possess the allure of a royal queen.

On Paper*some call it poetrybut it is just painon paper_____________________rassool jibraeel snyman (c) 2015"The Poetic Assassin

rassool jibraeel snyman

nothing is lifelesswhen the moon writes its screedon the silvern sand silence-From the poem:"The Universe In Blossom

We had the experience but missed the meaning,an approach to the meaning restores the experience

Keep Moving...Move forwardLet go Give inDecideand just DoProgress every dayAnd make one step forward no matter what's in your wayKeep moving, till one day you wake up and you're there.

what if you get most of what the eye sees?what if love came in seeds?what if we plant them and they grow trees? what if they form hearts instead of leafs?what if hate was to freeze?what if there was no honeybees?what if your heart stops when you sneeze?what if the evil uses the word please?what if we get down on our knees?what if we pray to the creator of the earth, heavens ,and seas?what if the heartless bleeds?what if the poor needs?what if the wealthy and greedy feeds?what if the illiterate reads what if hearts had keys?what if we aim for our dreams?what if we do all good deeds?what if the only brew was teas?what if we all wore white tees?what if we could accomplish some of these? WHAT IF ?

Imperfection is my ticket, perfection is my pursuit

You exalt me Bati,This is the message to the society,Brightest day demands struggling, suffering and sacrifice,heroic labor would suffice.

Perfection"Every oak will lose a leaf to the wind.Every star-thistle has a thorn.Every flower has a blemish.Every wave washes back upon itself.Every ocean embraces a storm.Every raindrop falls with precision.Every slithering snail leaves its silver trail.Every butterfly flies until its wings are torn.Every tree-frog is obligated to sing.Every sound has an echo in the canyon.Every pine drops its needles to the forest floor.Creation's whispered breath at dusk comeswith a frost and leaves within dawn's faint mist,for all of existence remains perfect, adorned,with a dead sparrow on the ground.(Poem titled : 'Perfection' by R.H.Peat)

R.H. Peat

In this life at least,Our fate is rarely epic.Maybe just as well,Impervious heroes we are not…

I think poetry without metaphor is like husband and wife living in separate bedrooms.

Do not judge a woman on her knees_you never know how tall she is when she stands!

My words are my children. I am eternally grateful to the womb of my mind for conceiving them.

The beautiful you is not the color of your skinOr the texture of your hair.The beautiful you is not how tall or short you areThe beautiful you is not rather you’re skinny or overweight by society standardsThe beautiful you is not the degrees you have obtainOr the size of your bank accounts.The beautiful you, has nothing to do with where you’re from, or religious beliefsNor the car you drive or the house you live in.The beautiful you is not the price tag of what you wearThe beautiful you has nothing do with how eloquent you speakThe beautiful you is your kindness and compassion toward othersThe beautiful you is your tolerance and patienceThe beautiful you is your ability to love and forgiveThe beautiful you don’t rush to judge what you don’t understandThe beautiful you is always seeking to evolve into its higher selfThat is the beautiful you and that is what the world needsThe beautiful you is what defines our HumanityThe Beautiful you, Be that Always!

Micheline Jean Louis

Lark’s SongThat child who from Diana’s thought is bornA huntress swift, who doth the world adornWith strength and passion worthy of the GreenMay wax, and one day rise to be a queen.That child who in the eye of Phoebus growsOf visage fair, that none would dare opposeMay in her hand hold light and glory too,And to the Light hold sternly staunch and true.That child who with the face of Venus smiles,Will bear a heart of mischief and of wiles,And may in time love’s faithful bonds fulfilWhile bending lesser hearts unto her will.That child who with Athena’s grace doth moveMay to all eyes her worldly wisdom proveAnd make right wise and fulsome use thereofTo measure all who seek to win her love.That child who with grim Circe’s tongue foretells Enmeshing faithful hearts within her spellsBy dint of sly mendacity and guile,All innocence and virtue may defile.That child who by her cunning doth conniveMay by fair Tyche’s fortune wax and thriveAnd come in time to sit upon a throne;Or fail and fall, forsaken and alone.That child may choose to hark to glory’s callAnd shine in splendour, loved by one and all;Or cleave to darkness, hated and reviled:Chance crafts the fate of every fate-touched child.

D. Alexander Neill

KUNDALINI DANCEDark and cold and wet were Her handsI felt Her chilly breath inside my throatHer claws deep inside trying to find traces ofFear within meI stayed still Accepting Opening ReceivingWithin a moment She was insideTwo fingers below My belly buttonIn there She found no traces of shiversno traces of resistance, no traces of weaknessjust clear pure Passage-WayThen She grew into Her most powerful SelfShe stood undisturbed, unmoved, unchangedTotally free and She screamedAAAAAUUUUUUMMMFrom the centre of the earth, Through the tunnels of the caves, To the surface of the volcanoesAAAAUUUUUUMMMMTo open: Mountain tops untouched by clouds and rainCherry fields in their full blossomA dog running after a train filled with the excitementA witch laughing at passers-by mirroring their paranoiaDeath looking us in the eyes searching for the chosen Few Capable to see the Key behind Her magic veil

Nataša Nuit Pantović

Yes! all is past—swift time has fled away,Yet its swell pauses on my sickening mind;How long will horror nerve this frame of clay?I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul behind.Oh! powerful Fate, revoke thy deadly spell,And yet that may not ever, ever be,Heaven will not smile upon the work of Hell;Ah! no, for Heaven cannot smile on me;Fate, envious Fate, has sealed my wayward destiny.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Written soul is called poetry

The heavens declare the glory of God.The heavens declare the majesty King.The heavens declare the marvellous Lord.The heavens declare the mighty Saviour.

Lailah Gifty Akita

When I feel too much and the universe aches inside of me.

Christina Strigas

I see the beauty in you, and the darkness. Both are brilliant.

Christina Strigas

I do not trust the truth. It shifts into reality.

Christina Strigas

I could make love with you until the moon decides to never glow again.

After a TimeAfter a time, all losses are the same.One more thing lost is one thing less to lose;And we go stripped at last the way we came.Though we shall probe, time and again, our shame,Who lack the wit to keep or to refuse,After a time, all losses are the same.No wit, no luck can beat a losing game;Good fortune is a reassuring ruse:And we go stripped at last the way we came.Rage as we will for what we think to claim,Nothing so much as this bare thought subdues:After a time, all losses are the same.The sense of treachery--the want, the blame--Goes in the end, whether or not we choose,And we go stripped at last the way we came.So we, who would go raging, will go tameWhen what we have we can no longer use:After a time, all losses are the same;And we go stripped at last the way we came.

Catherine Davis

Contemporary poets got so obscure that poetry kind of fell out of favor,

In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spirituality is usurped by the divisive politics of religious organizations, and when broken hearts bleed pain in darkness without the relief of compassion, the voice of an exceptional poet producing exceptional work is not something the world can afford to dismiss.

Aberjhani

I will never take what is never given, but I will receive to what is given.

What am I to do?What is my destiny?I have no idea, not a clueFeeling lost and empty.What is my dream?What is my future?I beg thee to listen to me,I beg thee to answer.

Atarah L. Poling

I love being able to see an un-written future.

This is where I belong, burning in these flames. For everything I have done wrong, I know I am to blame.

Atarah L. Poling

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