Poetry Quotes - Page 2

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my lifefor our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

...careful the morning lest it wake from slumber the city half-encumbered by the morning mist ...

I was born with my eyes turned inward.

David Joseph Cribbin

Over the water of time I call to youIn a language I do not know.

Stars ink your fingerswith a lexicon of flameblazing rare knowledge.

Aberjhani

The temporal heart resonates at whispersFrom a Truth overarchingOf whose countenanceTimeless Intellect yearns vainly to fathom

OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT'S CALLED "POETRY" - YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING'S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~

Amy King

when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.

We wear many things, but that with greatest import is our expression.

J. Benson

My emotions have already spilled out on a canvas; I need you my king, to rescue me from the madness!

Poetry is –raw feelings as sunny summer,fiery turmoil as vibrant autumn,daunting revelation as stormy winter,intrepid hope as blooming spring.

Gloria D. Gonsalves

As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feetinto the night’s velvet slippersI settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag,of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.

I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.

I am a baby, I am a child, I am the innocent wonder in my eyes I am a glimpse, I am a sign, of someone I can be, someone I might I am not one, I am not two, but I am a million things entwined I am a piece, I am a slice, strung together by the yarns of time.

the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

I am going to hurt you.You are going to hurt me.But we will do it with practiced fingersand passionate mouthsand I swear to godit will be worth something.

I wouldn't mindif life left me...winglessburnt to cindersripped by stormsscattered...like weedscelestially woundedwithout cherry blossomsto perish withbut I would crywith head held in my handsif it left me...unfulfilled.

We quenched the bulging flame, amongst the ashes embers of fire remain

Lonely you linger in a league above poetry.

Stop the tape, cut the paper! I will just write another poem and grab a microphone and push record again!

his abusemakes her an anvilwithout spark

the time will come, my dearwhen I will hold you closeand all will beright againin the world.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my love into.Here, Drink!

She is the light,at the end of this endless tunnel.

Tingling fingers, morning birds, rain splatters on window pane, journals of fading escapades and laughter...

no one tells you rome is ending until you're the last one standing alone in a coliseum where a city had been.

Brandon Thomas DiSabatino

They say she is too much to handle, but when the moon pulls the tide and the wolves howl her name, blessed are the ones who have been taken by her wild.

I am a hoarder of words, a giver of them, too

Amanda Linsmeier

Behold, we know not anything;I can but trust that good shall fallAt last -- far off -- at last, to all,And every winter change to spring.

Alfred Tennyson

Rain's pouring and it's too cold. All people bored and I even accord What to do but spell a tale told: So once upon a time a land in the shore...

Ana Claudia Antunes

A revolution in the eyes of man carries purpose.A revolution in the eyes of the awakened carries bliss.

I'm going to Hell in a basketWeaved in from my sinsLike wickerWith little Wiccan tiesAs if I'm a witchAccused

Start with your heart, and only good can follow!

Ocean

When true love broke my heart in half,I took the whiskey from the shelf,And told my neighbors when to laugh.I keep a dog, and bark myself.

Theodore Roethke

Perfect bliss, from just the thought of you next to me.

I knew I loved youwhen 'home' went from being a placeto being a person.

Eric Micha'el Leventhal

fierce lovers.and battle warriorsboth comefrom the same place. there is bound to be,some bloodshed.

my love is a winter’s mistgently dissolvingthrough the windowat the nape of your neck.

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

rassool jibraeel snyman

when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.

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

I climb the door instead of a treeJust to crawl with myself walking freeWhat if I’m a lizard beneath my skinChanging my colours of the human I’ve been

you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.

when I finally begin to driftinto sleepyour memory is the...firstand the moonlightthe last, to kiss my face.

for those memories are nowjust like these little kittensI hold in my handsthose can be kissedand treasuredbut not held too tightly.

...for if a woman's body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.

Michael Bassey Johnson

On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good,Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry, All mingled into oneAnd pressed against my heart.

tread carefullyinto my life, my dear.the currents are strong.you will get lostin this warm oceanof my skin.

I stumble and fall.I weep and struggle to rise.My mom feels it all.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Chemistry has the same quickening and suggestive influence upon the algebraist as a visit to the Royal Academy, or the old masters may be supposed to have on a Browning or a Tennyson. Indeed it seems to me that an exact homology exists between painting and poetry on the one hand and modem chemistry and modem algebra on the other. In poetry and algebra we have the pure idea elaborated and expressed through the vehicle of language, in painting and chemistry the idea enveloped in matter, depending in part on manual processes and the resources of art for its due manifestation.

James Joseph Sylvester

There are no barriers to poetry or prophecy; by their nature they are barrier-breakers, bursts of perceptions, lines into infinity. If the poet lies about his vision he lies about himself and in himself; this produces a true barrier.

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