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I wanted to explore more of us and lose myself, I wanted it to be you and no one else" AP
Alexis Pettway
Poetry listens to me when I am silent and understands me when no one else seems to be able to.
Delano Johnson
Does my soul sufferWhen my body breaks downWhen I feel mortalWhen my body is weakDoes the soul rejoiceThe end is near
A.A. Patawaran
No music in the raindropsNo clouds with silver liningTorrents of sorrowsHorror in streams
A.A. Patawaran
heopened me uplike a book& poured thepoetryback i
Amanda Lovelace
May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.
Sanober Khan
The mere ambition to write a poem is enough to kill it.
Henri Michaux
This is hell, but I planned it. I sawed it,I nailed it, and I will live in it until it kills me.I can nail my left palm to the left-hand crosspiece butI can’t do everything myself. I need a hand to nail the right,a help, a love, a you, a wife.
Alan Dugan
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.I knew that there were crimes and evil men,Misery and hate; nor did I hope to passUntouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.In mine own heart I saw as in a glassThe hearts of others ... And whenI went among my kind, with triple brassOf calm endurance my weak breast I armed,To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woeful mass!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
No Brasil não há outonomas as folhas caem- In Brazil there is no autumnbut the leaves fall
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Poetry is not only to write but to express our feelings.
Nupur rane
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
Poetry is not for poets, poetry lovers or perceived poetic persons only. Poetry is in yourself, others and everything of nature and man-made.Poetry may not be a solution, yet it can reveal or ease challenges faced.Poetry is capable of affecting any heart.
Gloria D. Gonsalves
Sorrows of Werther William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–63) WERTHER had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, 5 And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sigh’d and pin’d and ogled, And his passion boil’d and bubbled, 10 Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, 15 Went on cutting bread and butter.
William Makepeace Thackeray
Love me...with all the abandonof a sudden wild rain.
Sanober Khan
I have woken up…quite sloshedfrom night-mingled rainsa little drugged, by mountain fogsI have been kidnappedfor years....by a mere kiss.
Sanober Khan
Did you tell people that songs weren’t the same as a warm body, a soft mouth?
Warsan Shire
the time will come, my dearwhen I will hold you closeand all will beright againin the world.
Sanober Khan
A town loved with bitter love.
Anna Akhmatova
Terence, this is stupid stuff:You eat your victuals fast enough;There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,To see the rate you drink your beer.
A.E. Housman
I've been told by many the art of poetry's dead, I believe it's alive on pages they haven't read
Stanley Victor Paskavich
Oh, let what I am keep on existing and ceasing to exist,and let my obedience align itself with such iron conditionsthat the quaking of deaths and of births doesn't shakethe deep place I want to reserve for myself eternally.
Mark Eisner
Love is like a white geranium.It grows like a weedoverpowering the ground–if you don’t take care of itprune itshape itit climbs wallsand hidesinsectsthat slowly eat at itmaking it die.Easily grownand easily withered.
Isabel Quintero
Poetry is an attempt to penetrate the dense reality to find a place where the simplest things look as new as through the eyes of a child.
Czesław Miłosz
Desire is a powerful boat herding anchors and chains in the middle of the night.
Rosabetty Muñoz
I only live to love so manyFig trees but could neverSleep under one. One is tooLittle in one lifetime.
Al Mamoon Mohit
We all knew she needed help.But none of us knew how.And none of us could swallow our pride and just ask her what she needed.I don’t know why.Maybe we were too ashamed we didn’t know how to approach our own mother.So we let the years slip unhappily past us and hoped we would never inherit the misery embedded in her soul.But I did.And I didn’t know how to say it aloud. And I still don’t.
Stacy Morris
I can’t pinpoint the moment this all happened. The moment we broke. But we did.And it feels like acid in my throat.
Stacy Morris
It always felt as though there were a shaken beehive living in my chest. I could never rest.
Stacy Morris
I felt torn Between living and dying Between sleeping and surviving.
Stacy Morris
At times poems can be like riddles, too difficult to decipher or comprehend. But how else does one come to understand what can only be felt but not said?
Raneem Kayyali
You should be more carefulwhen you move, my dearwhat with you...spilling moonlightinto my poem, with a mereflick of your hand.
Sanober Khan
Someone will remember us I sayEven in another time
Sappho
I'm two days away from day after tomorrowCounting the hours to my upcoming sorrow Suddenly I lookinto the eyes of my childThen all sadness goneas I smile the way she smiled
Munia Khan
Silence. First it’s a cloud of apricot trees in flower, yellow or ivory, like a thousand little butterflies sown in the fresh grass, moving in the glow of lamplight when night ascends. Fragments of dreams. You can see the red sun setting on the foliage, like an enormous mass of incandescent steel.Then there were the trees a little farther off, straightening their fragile frames, the woolen blue pincushion flower like an eye and that tumult of milk in the deep stone, and finally the moan of the air beaten by a flock of blue woodpigeons– a silken challenge perhaps, or one of crackled leather.
Deborah Heissler
Latefor the present, I supposeaccentuated each timeyou see, quick enoughthis fraction of earthunderfootthat upright speechimprints,like the whole of beingresumesWe’ve hit on something like lightning strikes
Deborah Heissler
And thenwe no longer distinguish far nor nearThey sleepdreamgather branchesfor this firethe cloud brewsagainst the powerless day —Long line of fugitivesbeneath the snow
Deborah Heissler
Everything had become song. The curve of the road beneath the clouds here, and there the strokes of dark earth, the green and the gray, the torn pink of clay and gravel under fingertips. The consonance was above all that of the muffled shadow and grass to the depths of sky, where a flutter of cheerful feathers quivered.In these dreams there are also black walnut trees, and then a forest that opens in a breeze. Nothing. Nothing more than the obstinate sound of wind.
Deborah Heissler
I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue
A.A. Patawaran
Poems arrive. They hide in feelings and images, in weeds and delivery vans, daring us to notice and give them form with our words. They take us to an invisible world where light and dark, inside and outside meet.
Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge
The Veil of Consciousness is a thin sheath thatI wear to view the transparency of the life thatSurrounds me.
Sandra Proto
I crouch in cornersThe infection is widespreadLove epidemic
A.A. Patawaran
I think you feel like, unless you're damagedyou're not deep enough or mysterious enoughor complicated enough to ever be appreciated by another.And that is deeply untrue.
Stacy Morris
It took me a long time to realise that mothers are women who carry youAnd not necessarily in their womb.
Stacy Morris
Lift up your eyes unto mine air and see the love floating there for I am Paradise and I am everywhere.
Allen Meece
These poems are cupsthat I pour my love into.Here, Drink!
Kamand Kojouri
She is the light,at the end of this endless tunnel.
Vivid Darkness
No misery ever so beautiful than the one this mind creates.
Vivid Darkness
You burn like a candleinside my soul,showing me a waythrough this darkness.
Vivid Darkness
Amidst a crowd of strangers,I still remain unknownto myself.
Vivid Darkness
Tingling fingers, morning birds, rain splatters on window pane, journals of fading escapades and laughter...
Val Uchendu
Never be an artist that starts worshiping yourself or believe your little group is better than anyone outside of it. For, you are nothing more than a grain of sand on a hillside in this world of ours. Even Da Vinci’s work is only glanced at then scrolled past on a phone or computer these days. Climb down off your throne and become humble once more.
Jason E. Hodges
The mind is a poetic meadow for reification, where dark and light things are created
Val Uchendu
We all have our state of mind-tthappy or sad,sources of both are so relatable.Despite showing someone’s faults & flaws we need to cherish them. cause, we all are into an te n d l e s s l o o p.
Ayushi Jain
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
Do tears not yet spilledwait in small lakes?Or are they invisible riversthat run toward sadness?
Pablo Neruda
That woman wants to hear all my wishes,For already a thousand years,And each my thought knows to read,Even if I don't utter it aloud.
Stjepan Varesevac Cobets
i asked him why he carried a flask."because the bottle pours too fucking slow
Brandon Thomas DiSabatino
Life provides the substance for poetry we just have to put it to paper
Sondra Tinnin
Do not forget about the thorns on the roseswhen you say that love is like a red red rose.
Isabel Quintero
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