Poetry Quotes - Page 117

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

We thought everything would be forgotten, but I still remember yourclaws running down my back.I wonder if you still think about us,the way I do.How our legs would crash into each other in the middle of the night, and how we endedup creating the moon in the confines of our beds.

Zaeema J. Hussain

...so i will greet youin a wayall loved thingsare meant to be greetedwith a tear in my heartand a poem in my eye.

Happy the man, and happy he alone,he who can call today his own:he who, secure within, can say,Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.Be fair or foul, or rain or shinethe joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

Horace

When I die, don't come, I wouldn't want a leafto turn away from the sun -- it loves it there.There's nothing so spiritual about being happybut you can't miss a day of it, because it doesn't last.

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace'One grand boulevard with treeswith one grand cafe in sunwith strong black coffee in very small cups.One not necessarily very beautifulman or woman who loves you.One fine day.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten - golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale - faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people - They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human - They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: - Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, - To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Edgar Allan Poe

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

After all these years, all I know is, I need not to do anything as a part of remorse.All I need is to write.Because,'Poetry forgives.

Nishikant

All she captures is a moment and what she calls it is a memory,Sometimes, it is assumptions that we use; all we need is a theory,Because you don’t know what is there in the future,And all you need is a vision to make a perfect picture.I feel that I have known you for a century,And whatever she calls is a memory.

Nishikant

Chimerical words, the words were written,Some are wasted; some are still on the page,Tattered words, the words were written,Some are young, some are aged,Gloomy words, the words were written,Some are unspoken, some are told,Words were hurt, though they can heal,Words are breathless, though can feel,Words won hearts, words shattered hearts,Words lost battles, words won wars,Wars within, words had scars.

Nishikant

His pen spoke more to her than he ever did”.In the war of words, some are unwritten and some are unspoken.

Nishikant

How might I get over this? How would I be able to overlook the way he used to be with me? How could I overlook that his fingers touched my indiscernible soul before it twisted my nipples? How might I overlook his essence that still is in my garments? Despite everything, I still hear you saying that you love me. Though I know you don't.

Nishikant

I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple -- or a green field -- a place to enter, and in which to feel. Only in a secondary way is it an intellectual thing -- an artifact, a moment of seemly and robust wordiness --wonderful as that part of it is. I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak --to be company. It was everything that was needed, when everything was needed.

You see it dying, you feel helpless while it fades,You tend to lose hope lest you forget, a ripple is all, and that's all it takes...#MyExperiencewith498A

What whispers from the center of the soul is an innocence—so loving, so pure, so divine—that the sage bows and the wise man weeps at the sound of its soft singing.

Heather K. O'Hara

What I know is nothing but that we are a spring path of autumn light carved into a river of ancient singing.

Heather K. O'Hara

Es sind tausend Tropfenin einer Weltnur für uns gemachtTausend Tropfenwenn der Himmel weintund man dennoch lacht

Spirit is a child, the tune of dancing feet its lullaby.

Shah Asad Rizvi

It is perhaps, its ability to penetrate the multidimensional layers of the human condition at all, that makes poetry and art so valuable in today's modern age.

Don’t be afraid of your struggles, they are making you dangerously strong and wise. They are preparing you for your superpowers. Let them happen, otherwise you’ll stay in the same damn place you’ve always been, and until you know there is so much more awesomeness in the world and within you, you’ll be content in your tiny cocoon, spinning the same circles day in and day out. Your struggles are transforming you.

Alma, para llegar al infinito,da un impulso más firme a tu vuelo;sufre más!... ¡sufre más!... Tiene tu gritoalas, para elevarte sobre el suelo...

PRACTICE MAKES THE HARD THINGS EASY

Qwana Reynolds-Frasier

In darkness, some flowers blossom!

Shirley Houston

Poetry Saved Me

Bev Flynn

You may be a poet and not even know it.

Listen within to find shining poetry and hear extraordinary music. You are a work of art.

Amy Leigh Mercree

The Poetry of LoveWe see the world with the eyes of a small child.We visualize the beauty of the world with an unique magic sense,and unfold our deeper feelings and expectations diffusing the seizing negative forces that stretch out their threatening tentacles.We give blow and shape in our dreams.We seek for Love through unfamiliar new people and new experiences. Love is a vivid spirit, a big breath that touches upon each piece of our existence, our each cell…Love affiliates a lot of forms, exists and fits everywhere.Each flight of a small bird, the flutter of an incredible beauty butterfly, the stones wetted by waters of Aquamarine River, the branches of the trees that dally with the blow of wind, all these is the Spirit of Love.When you love in a genuine way, love everything.You are not bothered by the babble of Nature and the strange reactions of people.You hear the sounds of everyday routine with bigger consequence. Overtakes the meanness consequently and with courage.You seek truth in small things.You live the each moment as if it's unique.Love for nature.Love for life.Love for people.

Katerina Kostaki

Moments caught in time. Simple memories spread out before me. Timeless reminders of how life goes on, even when it feels as if you cannot.

Jay Long

A poet is simply an artist whose medium is human emotions. A poet chisels away at our own sensibilities, shaping our vision while molding our hearts. A poet wraps words around our own feelings and presents them as fresh gifts to humanity.

Richelle E. Goodrich

With my ninth mind I resurrect my firstand dance slow to the music of my soul made new.

Aberjhani

Even when muddy your wings sparkle bright wonders that heal broken worlds.

Aberjhani

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion,let me relive my Love’s memory,to remember her body, so brave and so free,and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me,and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me,Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

‪A wise man once said, 'Life is like breathing. If you try to hold it, you'll lose it. But let it come & go & you'll always be connected to it.'‬

Curtis Tyrone Jones

Some teach youwhat can't be taught,by turning their backon you & helpingyou get internallycloser to everythingyou externallysought.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

You'll always be curious yet deliriously sinking into whatever your nightmare is until you let your wings know you're serious by leaping into your wildest dreams of self love.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

Each timewe bow to thefeet of anythingwe find riveting,the mind rises tobe surprised withnew crowningdiamonds ofcreativity.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

You alwaysdrop by, to en-lighten my mind,when my wings arefeeling heavy &i've forgottenhow tofly.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

Live in the shadow of the moon until you're bright enough to give birth to your own suns.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

Three things have a limited threshold:Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge –Are boundless.

I am that I ama Goddess, a Godentitled to the deepest and most beautiful sensationsoffered by Heaven and EarthIn love I trustIn Wisdom I am revealed

Ramon Ravenswood

Crossing the limit is not my styleMy footsteps meander less than a mileI travel the world perhaps in a minuteYet a dream, to me, is never infinite!

The world you are in –Is the true hell.The journey to Truth itselfIs what quickens the heart to become lighter.The lighter the heart, the purer it is.The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.And the heavier the heart,The more chained to this hellIt will remain.

I'm the girl that goes backwards, takes wrong turns, stumbles in the dark. I'm also the girl that finds gold where others feared to stray. Perhaps because I follow my heart instead of sage advice thrown my way. I don't want to become numb by always playing it safe. Many of our most cherished times happen when we shatter the damn box, step off the safety zone and listen to the sound of our soul.

Be with someone who willingly runs in the storm with you, not someone who cowers away because of turbulent winds.

If I read inspirational words, they better have some pain to back them up. My strength for moving forward has never been sparked by flowery prose calling me and Angel. Tell me how you swallowed Hell, and lived to tell the tale... the 'pain' and your transformation - will inspire me to soar. And I promise you, I will listen.

Alfa H

Promise me this. When you find yourself in need of inspiration, bypass the roses that will clamor aimlessly for attention. And focus on the souls who have actually 'lived' among the thorns.

Alfa H

You think it's time for a new beginning. You long to start from scratch, so you seek new things - trying like hell to reinvent yourself. Out with the old and in with the world's new. But you'll never create a version of yourself that is as magical and unique as the original. So... just be you.

Alfa H

Her eyes, full of ancient, sacred wisdom. Her bones, deposits of inherited bravery. She is a proud descendant of strong, courageous women who went to the stakes fighting for their truths.

I have more wisdom than any books ever written in history of times, any scripture ever written which you rhyme but this is not my purpose.

Entering a cell, penetrating deep as a flying saucer to find a new galaxy would be an honorable task for a new scientist interested more in the inner state of the soul than in outer space.

Dejan Stojanovic

After the final no there comes a yes / And on that yes the future world depends.

Wallace Stevens

If a serious statement is defined as one that may be made in terms of waking life, poetry will never rise to the level of seriousness. It lies beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and original level where the child, the animal, the savage, and the seer belong, in the region of dream, enchantment, ecstasy, laughter. To understand poetry we must be capable of donning the child's soul like a magic cloak and of forsaking man's wisdom for the child's.

You can'tstop dreamingjust becausethe night neverseems toend.

Curtis Tyrone Jones

MOMWholeheartedly,She loved me-And inspired me-With transcending devotion.It was a blessing-To have been her son,To have been loved-Without conditions.Her words of wisdom-Opened my eyes-To the world-And to myself.By seeing the best in me, She empowered me.By believing in me, She transformed me.She grew old-And floated away,But her love remains standing-Eternally by my side.

Going down in history is a dead end pursuit

Benny Bellamacina

The night is still waiting.

Dejan Stojanovic

Dream by making and make by dreaming.

Dejan Stojanovic

Previous 1 … 115 116 117 118 119 … 121 Next