Poetry Quotes - Page 15

you’ll find the buildings taller, thatthe halls are full of ghostsbut everything still here iswhat you remember most
Savannah Brown
The people need poetry that will be their own secretTo keep them awake forever,And bathe them in the bright-haired wave of its breathing.
Osip Mandelstam
Look! Why want anything more marvellous than what is.
Diana Athill
The best gift you can give today is the gift of LOVE!
Colishia S. Benjamin
On Hallows Eve, we witches meetto broil and bubble tasty treatslike goblin thumbs with venom dip,crisp bat wings, and fried fingertips.We bake the loudest cackle crunch,and brew the thickest quagmire punch.Delicious are the rotting flieswhen sprinkled over spider pies.And, my oh my, the ogre brainsall scrambled up with wolf remains!But what I love the most, it’s true,are festered boils mixed in stew.They cook up oh so tenderly.It goes quite well with mugwort tea.So, don’t be shy; the cauldron’s hot.Jump in! We witches eat a lot!
Richelle E. Goodrich
Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain.
G.K. Chesterton
A snake bites your ankle.Recoiling, you scream.Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream......where a man bites your ankle.Expecting no guile, 'Again' softly falls from your lips with a smile.Yet the man and the snake are the same.Your perception is only to blame.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Sometimes poets expect me to think far deeper than I'm willing to dig.
Richelle E. Goodrich
I wished upon the moon one night, bewitched by how it shone so white. While staring up with some excite my eyes beheld a wondrous sight!  The moon so lustrous and white transformed into an armored knight who caused me just a moments fright when he jumped down from such a height.  No more a soft, celestial light, he was my lover, day and night.   This caused the world a serious plight.  How harsh a sting and deep the bite inflicted on the world, alright, to lose their blackest-hour light.  And so I've come to set things right, to offer up without a fight my lover wished for one clear night.  I hold him close.  He hugs me tight, then climbs again to heaven's height to glow a bluer shade of bright.  I stare at my beloved knight, not wanting to be impolite, and in my heart with all my might I wish a wish that isn't right.  Now and then the world still spites a shadowless and moonless night when we steal softly out of sight to hold each other 'til daylight and share in lovers true delight.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Oh, mightiest wind,wilt thou cease thy breathing inand hold thy exhales?
Richelle E. Goodrich
Twinkle tiny star.Oh, how great you truly are!God's sign from afar.
Richelle E. Goodrich
A whiff of fresh mintthat tastes like strawberry pie.Your kisses tempt me.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Because," said a boy."Because why?" asked a young girl."Because I love you.
Richelle E. Goodrich
The blue of daylightfades and chills as the sun sinksbeneath clouds of fire.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Compliments land assoft and gentle on my earsas a butterfly.
Richelle E. Goodrich
A finger beckons.My choice is to turn away.It is a mistake.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Wilted or in bloom,taking or lending daylight,the world transitions.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Teach me to sing and recite,To whistle and jingle and strum.Teach me to color and paint,To sculpt and weave and create.Teach me to sway and dance,To tap and leap and twirl.Teach me to laugh and giggle,To tickle and play and pretend.Teach me that life is beautiful.
Richelle E. Goodrich
I never knew what Mother knowed,Like how a thread and needle sewed,And how a kiss healed boo-boos fast.Why family knots were made to last.I never knew how Mother sawA caring man in angry pa,A smile beneath the teary gloom,A game inside a messy room.I never knowed what Mother knew,Like how to smile when days were blue,And how to laugh for laughter’s sake,While giving up her slice of cake.I never saw what Mother see’dLike honor pulling garden weeds,Or deep confessions in a look,And hope alive in storybooks.I never knew how Mother knowedTo hand out carrots when it snowed,And why hot cocoa liked the rain,While naptime kept a person sane.For mother knowed and see’d it all.A winner in a strike-out ball.A 'yes, please' in a shoulder shrug.A 'love you mostest' in a hug.Perhaps, someday, I’ll come to knowWhat Mother saw and knowed as so.Like how 'I’m right' can be all wrong,And why the night requires a song.But of the things I learned and knewI never doubted one thing true.My mother made it crystal clear,she knowed and loved me ever dear.
Richelle E. Goodrich
The wind is made of haunting souls that moan and groan in whistles and whispers. This ghostly choir chills the breeze and orchestrates a rise of goose bumps on my skin.
Richelle E. Goodrich
There is no poetry without want. Desperate want.
Richelle E. Goodrich
I cast my eyes out to the seaAnd gaze at all eternity.until forever turns to night.My eyes then lift to catch starlight.
Richelle E. Goodrich
If I were to sit on the ocean floor and look toward the sky,I might see a whale or electric eel or octopus pass by.And if I decided to jump straight up and reach with open arms,I might feel the pleasure of ocean flight propel me ’mid their swarms.But if I were seated upon the shore and looking toward the stars,I might see a comet or falling star near Mercury or Mars.Then if I decided to jump straight up and reach with open hands,I might feel despair when my feet refused to leave the shoreline sand.And so I return to the ocean depths where swimming creatures fly,For there I can soar with the whales and fish that daily touch the sky.
Richelle E. Goodrich
She was the reason I started to write but her beauty is kept me writing.
Brandon Villasenor
Love can be so hauntingly beautiful, waking up past selves that have been wandering aimlessly through the corridors of our soul, for far too long. When someone else can take us from the ghost-town of our inner-selves, to exciting new landscapes, it's worth the risk, just to feel reborn.
Jaeda DeWalt
Love can be such a mysterious muse and seductress... spinning her magical web of stardust and emotional euphoria. True love sang her siren song and we wrapped that song around us like the sweetest melody.
Jaeda DeWalt
Like a kite, carried by the wind, he followed her into the fluffy white clouds of her imagination. He didn't think her silly for living in the sky, but rather, he marveled at the wondrous life she had created on the outskirts of reality. He knew her love would elevate him to new emotional heights.
Jaeda DeWalt
Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense. That's what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has happened only once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it.
Nicholas Sparks
That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I learned that life is about sitting on benches next to ancient creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.
Nicholas Sparks
As long as I can hear the sweet melody of your words, I need not; The angel’s secret, to be whispered in my ears As long as I can lace your silky fingers round my own, I need not; Pretty diamonds, nor big cash nor gold As long as I can watch the handsome sunshine of your face, I need not; Open skies, nor snowfall, nor the rain As long as I can gaze into the emeralds of your eyes, I need not; New colors, new wings or paradise As long as I can feel the tender tickle of your breath, I need not; The drifting wind, nor its call, nor caress As long as I can feel your soft lips upon mine, I need not; Melted sugar, nor the most expensive of wines As long as I can feel your warm body close to me I need not; A blanket, nor a bonfire's luxury As long as I can see you every morning I wake, I need not; A mirror, nor a cloud, nor shade As long as I can keep you in every petal of memories I need not: Dreams, nor desires, nor fantasies And as long as I can hold you in every moment that I breathe, I need not; Oxygen, nor blood, nor heartbeats.
Sanober Khan
Stacks on deckPatrone on iceAnd we can pop bottles all nightAnd baby you could have whatever you likeLate night sex so wet so tightI'll gas up a jet for you tonightAnd baby you could go where ever you like
T.I.
Once taken by her, you glowedAnd you drank her poisons, content. Because all the stars seemed to grow,And fields had a different scent,Autumn fields.
Anna Akhmatova
I've played Romeo for Juliet(But in depth)It's vignettes of silhouettes(And then read)And watched Russian roulette, yeah red SovietYet doing it simultaneouslyWhile dropping down shed oubliettesTurned around and took truth to the head thatLove is the ugliest thing too beautiful for death
Criss Jami
Poetry is no rocket science, a good poet writes from his heart!
Saru Singhal
I miss her | & not the type of missing when you’re alone, not the type when you’re broken down half drunk, not even the type when you know she’s the one. I’m talking about the kind of missing that when you’re full of happiness…you wish they were there to enjoy it. I don’t care if we’re not together, I don’t care if I never see her again. All that I will every know is I’m here smiling & I know how much she’d like to see that.
Brandon Villasenor
Dance, Live, Sing, Cry, Love, Travel and Love again, until the day you have to stop
Vanessa Vanney Thompson
I love writing poetry because it's pretty. I love writing pretty.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Muse’s creations are predominately lyrical often resulting in poetic sonnets and fairytale like art.
Earl M. Coleman
You claim that the evidentiary miracle is present and available, namely, the Koran. You say: 'Whoever denies it, let him produce a similar one.' Indeed, we shall produce a thousand similar, from the works of rhetoricians, eloquent speakers and valiant poets, which are more appropriately phrased and state the issues more succinctly. They convey the meaning better and their rhymed prose is in better meter. … By God what you say astonishes us! You are talking about a work which recounts ancient myths, and which at the same time is full of contradictions and does not contain any useful information or explanation. Then you say: 'Produce something like it'‽
Muhammad ibn Zakariya al-Razi
my mother gave me islam.my father gave me the god of absence.and here i am.a religion made of myself.
Nayyirah Waheed
Writing consist of everything. whether your writing is of riddles, rimes, prose, trivial, general, of thought, or of feeling. indiscretions you've done or have fantasized about. love, deception, romance, fear, death, life, pain, & yes even happiness. writing is of a specific purpose & states a meaning within what is written.
Michael Stuckey
Nothing fills the world quite as poetry does. A poet need not dwell on the pagecount of his life.
D.A. Botta
My writing, it’s my way of making sense of everything. My way to feel whole. May I never be complete and may I never feel content – please, let me always have the need, always have the urge to write. 
Charlotte Eriksson
What I really want is to be recognized as a writer; that someday, my poetry — this is an interesting paradox — would be taught in English classes; for my name, along with my poetry, to exist 500 years from now.
Harley King
Everything is an echo of something I once read.Dream, hope, and celebrate life!Love always comes back in a song.One thing we all have in common is a love for food and drink.Memories never die, and dreams never end!What is time?
John Siwicki
The Lone Star of Africa Land of the free, on your beach and sacred forests loves flourished. You, Liberia, you my love to echo, the scream of freedom, holding tight and will never let go. O beautiful land, The Lone star for decades has survived wars and tribalism the elders who keep the ancestral treasures that resulted in Vandalism. When will morning break for great leaders to stand for what is right Mother Liberia?
Henry Johnson Jr
I never wanted to be saved, just loved in ways that would make the Gods jealous.
Nancy Arroyo Ruffin
why do people pour water on concrete expecting something to grow from it" AP
Alexis Pettway
Writing is a bitch. It's an itch that I love to scratch.
Ana Claudia Antunes
I am a lover of love and I am a lover of words, and the two together spin visions of airy castles, but also may pierce the heart of hope. And so I remind you that I am a fool, a poet, and what matters is reality, not lovely words. Words are full of promise, yet empty of matter.
Waylon H. Lewis
Yet should there hover in their restless headsOne thought, one grace, one wonder at the least,Which into words no virtue can digest.
Christopher Marlowe
A life lived outside of one's giftedness is a complete and utter travesty. It deprives the world of the beauty we each bring to our respective space(s). It leaves us all less fulfilled and enlightened.
Shirley Houston
Poetry is and should not be explained It’s not a theory not a formula or a set patternIt’s a labyrinth of reflection with no source of image
Yarro Rai
You came into my life like the rain to the parched desert!
Avijeet Das
Infectious smile has infected tears The laughter strikes with spears I am not dear and they are not sincere Feeling fear I must perform For when I stop the stage is gone
Louis Cecile
What is this thing? trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance.
Charlotte Eriksson
He was tiredof being calleda fag and teasedfor his sexualityby one of the guards,so he tried to hanghimself, twiceThe kid got a littlecloser the secondtime, but I won’t bearound to see athird
Phil Volatile
Poems should be like pins which prick the skin of boredom and leave a glow equal in its pride to the gate of the sadist who stuck the pin and walked away
Norman Mailer
Then Jip went up to the front of the ship and smelt the wind; and he started muttering to himself,"Tar; Spanish onions; kerosene oil; wet raincoats; crushed laurel-leaves; rubber burning; lace-curtains being washed--No, my mistake, lace-curtains hanging out to dry; and foxes--hundreds of 'em--cubs; and--""Can you really smell all those different things in this one wind?" asked the Doctor."Why, of course!" said Jip. "And those are only a few of the easy smells--the strong ones. Any mongrel could smell those with a cold in the head. Wait now, and I'll tell you some of the harder scents that are coming on this wind--a few of the dainty ones."Then the dog shut his eyes tight, poked his nose straight up in the air and sniffed hard with his mouth half-open.For a long time he said nothing. He kept as still as a stone. He hardly seemed to be breathing at all. When at last he began to speak, it sounded almost as though he were singing, sadly, in a dream."Bricks," he whispered, very low--"old yellow bricks, crumbling with age in a garden-wall; the sweet breath of young cows standing in a mountain-stream; the lead roof of a dove-cote--or perhaps agranary--with the mid-day sun on it; black kid gloves lying in a bureau-drawer of walnut-wood; a dusty road with a horses' drinking-trough beneath the sycamores; little mushrooms burstingthrough the rotting leaves; and--and--and--""Any parsnips?" asked Gub-Gub."No," said Jip. "You always think of things to eat. No parsnips whatever.
Hugh Lofting
Give me a life time by the fire, with a book in my hand, nothing more and I will tell you a great story.
Evelyn L. Colon

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