Poetry Quotes - Page 16

I know you . . .That you hold insideVast possibilities and dreamsAnd limitless love.

Ilchi Lee

Love is a strange creature that no man can understand

In the midst of the ubiquitous dealings with prostituted signs, the thing-poem was capable of opening up the prospect of returning to credible experiences of meaning. It did this by tying language to the gold standard of what things themselves communicate. Where randomness is disabled, authority should shine forth.

Peter Sloterdijk

I can give not what men call love;But wilt thou accept notThe worship the heart lifts aboveAnd the heavens reject not:The desire of the moth for the star,Of the night for the morrow,The devotion to something afarFrom the sphere of our sorrow?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

More than once I should have lost my soul to radicalism if it had been the originality it was mistaken for by its young converts.

I had forgotten such innocence exists,/forgotten how it feels/ to live with neither calendars nor clocks

P.K. Page

when we were eleven, say, we really weren't interested in each other's poems at all. . . . But we didn't know a thing about poetry. We didn't care about it.

He started writing poetry again, but it didn't come as easily. It was hard now to get past the self-consciousness - the silliness, really - of being such a well-established adult applying himself, seriously, to such a youthful joy.

Youth endures all things, kings and poetry and love. Everything but time.

But here we call it Spring, when a young man’s fancy turns,fitfully, lightly, to idling in the sun,to touching in the dark. And the old man's?To worms in their garden box; stepping asidea moment in a poem that will remember,fitfully, who made it and the discordand stammer, and change of heart and catch of breathit sprang from. A bending downlightly to touch the earth.

Logic has rid us of the absurdity of our clothes. That’s progress, no irony, only now we are cold. Hale and ill trade bodies with unusual willingness, while in midair souls tangle. The young start out disgusted and Poetry is left to the memo-writers.

Odysseus Elytis

The noontide of my life is starting,Which I must needs accept, I know;But oh, my light youth, if we're parting,I want you as a friend to go!My thanks to you for the enjoyments,The sadness and the pleasant torments,The hubbub, storms, festivity,For all that you have given me;My thanks to you. I have delightedIn you when times were turbulent,When times were calm... to full extent;Enough now! With a soul clear-sightedI set out on another questAnd from my old life take a rest.Let me glance back. Farewell, you arboursWhere, in the backwoods, I recallDays filled with indolence and ardoursAnd dreaming of a pensive soul.And you, my youthful inspiration,Keep stirring my imagination,My heart's inertia vivify,More often to my corner fly.Let not a poet's soul be frozen,Made rough and hard, reduced to boneAnd finally be turned to stoneIn that benumbing world he goes in,In that intoxicating sloughWhere, friends, we bathe together now.

Alexander Pushkin

Youth is as easily wasted as a fine wine consumed by a drunken man. There is no poetry in aging, and Javert lived out the process in its most hideous iteration.

The HurricaneThe tree lay downon the garage roof and stretched, You have your heaven, it said, go to it.

William Carlos Williams

Earth is crammed with heaven, and every bush is aflame with the glory of God. But only those who see take of their shoes; the rest just pick the berries.

Elizabeth Browning

I miss you, I miss you at night, I can’t sleep without you anymore, I’m scared. Meet me in heaven.

Today the journey is ended,I have worked out the mandates of fate;Naked, alone, undefended,I knock at the Uttermost Gate.Behind is life and its longing,Its trial, its trouble, its sorrow;Beyond is the Infinite MorningOf a day without a tomorrow.Go back to dust and decay,Body, grown weary and old;You are worthless to me from today—No longer my soul can you hold.I lay you down gladly foreverFor a life that is better than this;I go where partings ne'er severYou into oblivion's abyss.Lo, the gate swings wide at my knocking,Across endless reaches I seeLost friends with laughter come flockingTo give a glad welcome to me.Farewell, the maze has been threaded,This is the ending of strife;Say not that death should be dreaded—'Tis but the beginning of life.

Wenonah Stevens Abbott

Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemptionFor the sins committed before revelation.

I contemplate the impossible and achieve madness. This is my blessing. This is my curse. My heaven, my hell.

Tonight, I decided to take a stroll down to my local liquor store. Maybe I’ll find a refreshment to wash down this full moon. I hate showing up & the clerk fucking knows my name, perhaps because I’m a regular. Anyways got my shit, left…barely covering the tax. Took the long way home; to get away from that haunting typewriter. Sat down at some park bench, as I started to open my poison; A memory rushed into me. A empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s under the Christmas tree. I thought my dad would want another drink, so started to pour my bottle into the dirt & cried.

Brandon Villasenor

Shall I tell you our secret? We are charming thieves who steal hearts and never fail because we are the friends of the One.Blessed is the poem that comes through me but not of me because the sound of my own music will drown the song of Love.

Jalaluddin Rumi

Maybe I live in the gates that lead to outbound international flights. Maybe that is home.And do I feel more comfortable at the departures or at the arrivals?

You Know love when you see it, hear it, and feel it." ~ Amunhotep El Bey

Amunhotep El Bey

The days of the future stand in fornt of usLike a line of candles all alightGolden and warm and lively little candlesThe days that are past are left behind

Constantinos P. Cavafis

...How terrible, those dreams before sleep were—the worse kind, mixing hope with despair...

...at morning, I'm unruffled - I'll sit with my tea and Muse Cat beside me and listen to the soft chime of the grandfather clock...

...if it weren't for you, mornings wouldn't be so comforting - slippers wouldn't scrape through the rooms of my heart...

Always dip your toe in the past before stepping into the future

Benny Bellamacina

...my heart is a desolate field over which geese vee, the sky turns and the days lie fallow...

...you can be talented as a wolf is breathtakingly fierce...silver and gray, like smoke in the trees - but what do you do with terrible beauty?...

...I see you as series of gestures, a palette of colors -all these tiny tiles pixelate, and then coalesce... into the idea of you...

...I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs...strands of significance, traces of you in my life ...

once ruffle-skirted vanity table where I primped at thirteen, opening drawers to a private chaos of eyeshadows lavender teal sky-blue, swarms of hair pins pony tail fasteners, stashes of powders, colonies of tiny lipsticks (p.39)

Barbara Blatner

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

Theirs 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

Oh dear sunday, I want to sleep in your arms and have fun day.

Whiteness is the color of death, you know, not black. Wetness is life, the breeder and shaper of life. In the beginning the sun was black. So all light was absorbed before it had a chance to return. And our dreams, then, were empty.

They were too much to carryso i left them behindfor a new life, in a new placebut no one forgot who i wasi didn'tand neither did the people who watchthey watched for yearsthey watch now

The sea waves stirred before methey dashed against the rocksLike a mermaid rising from its depthscurled white sea foam were her locks...

Giselle V. Steele

The most procession that ever comes to a man in this world is a women's heart.

Josiah G Holland AKA Timothy Titcomb

Almost every truly creative being alienated & expatriated in his own country

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.

(1)BEING A POETis like opening a car door& exposing yourself.(2)BEING A GOOD POETis like opening the door& exposing the passengeras well.

Chocolate Waters

... this longing inside me that never goes away, must be a poem...must be you ...

Our story has been told,our song has been sung.You're a road I’ve already traveled,and from it, I have moved on."Already Traveled

Talk to me in poetry. / It is all I understand.

...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...

I offer you my soulWithin are my flawsMy grace, my kindnessMy love for you"The Offer

It must have been an endless breathing in: between the wish to know and the wish to praise there was no seam.

Margaret Atwood

The rules of life are nothing that cannot be fixed.

Shannon A. Thompson

I want to show my sins withinTo help make me sinless, once again"What I Want

And when I feelthe masks beneathcrumble and fade withtime I build new onesto replace the old."Masks"- Sins Within

so quiet now my dearest knightyour armor shines white stillfor my lips shall not say the wordsthat make you flee with fear"White Knight

I can no longer trust in this loveIt has fallen like the saints aboveAll because of your sweet liesYou sang them like a lullaby"Phoenix

When humankind cannot produce a philosopher to speak its mind, it longs for a poet to sing its heart

Failures of nerve and energy are not permitted. That's what it means to be an object.

The codfish lays ten thousand eggs.The homely hen lays one.Codfish never cackles to tell you what she has done.And so we scorn the codfish,while the humble hen we prize,which only goes to show you that it pays to advertise!

I fancied you'd return the way you said,But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song

...my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...

...freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...

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