Poetry Quotes - Page 23

I have wished a bird would fly away,And not sing by my house all day;Have clapped my hands at him from the doorWhen it seemed as if I could bear no more.The fault must partly have been in me.The bird was not to blame for his keys.And of course there must be something wrongIn waiting to silence any song.

But the sun will rise the day after tomorrowA millennium without us silences our last echoTo tiny fragments even our plastics are reducedIn Eden Reincarnate all life but ours is renewed

I never understood desire until i felt your hands around my throat.

Cliche is Truth's most loyal friend...

... time is how you spend your love ...

Naked PoetryWhen it comes to undressing poetry,we are often required to placenude pics of our soulsin virtual ink!

Poetry is the yearning of the soul to break free!

You're Times New Roman, but I'm more Comic Sans.

Kestral M. Gaian

A man does not become a real man by showing his physical domination over women. A man becomes a real man by loving, respecting and protecting women.

Poetry is the lighthouse of lifeGuiding the lost from a stormy sea.Without it's presence darkness prevailsKeeping us from all we can be.People write poetry because they have no choiceAnswering to the call of their gift.Where some tend to pull their readers downOthers compose to give them a lift.excerpts from The Power of Poetry by Tom Zart

Zart

I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.

She day-dreams just as I do. She is addicted to her solitude just as I am. She loves watching the rain-drops fall slowly on to the green leaves of an old guava tree just as I do. She loves drifting in time and time travel just as I do. She loves looking at the waves dashing against the rocks just as I do.

A strange feeling of lonelinessAdrift near the blue canvasYou may stare long and listen deepYet not know whether sea-shore or sea-snore!

I am trying to both be happy and pay attention to the world around me. I do not know if it is possible to do both at the same time.

Don’t you dare say these times are hollowJust because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillow,Close your eyes and say goodbyeTo the world that you lived in today.Let your dreams carry you away;You lived a nightmare all through the day,It is time to dream, so don’t delay.You searched for a reason to live,Yes darling, you searched everywhere.You had to push, you had to strive,It is time now to get some air.You searched in all that is outside,It is time now to look inside,Cause that is where you’ll findA reason worth keeping in your mind.These dreams are not an escape, darling,You need time to see past the lies that blind you.It is time for you to start runningTo those things that are true.So, don’t you dare say these nights are hollow,Just because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillowAnd lose yourself in this lullaby.

& besides, I don’tdesign my smiles to be nets because I’m not fishing

Roseanna Boswell

Truth is everywhere, and easily seen.Believing one’s eyesIs the difficulty.

Cover mine eyes, O my Love! Mine eyes that are weary of bliss As of light that is poignant and strong O silence my lips with a kiss, My lips that are weary of song! Shelter my soul, O my love! My soul is bent low with the pain And the burden of love, like the grace Of a flower that is smitten with rain: O shelter my soul from thy face!

Everything is connected. We see the signs every moment. There are miracles waiting to happen!

If I could claw the words out of the back of my throat and give them, dripping of me, to you, we would talk of sticky hands, and the messes they make.

You were the devil. Dressed in everything. I wanted.

R H Sin

No one leaves home unless homes is the mouth of a shark.

I'd rather write poetry than watch TV it allows me to share the wide screen in me.

Stanley Victor Paskavich

Some poems are written great, some poems are written swell. But then there are poems that could win a prize in Hell.

Stanley Victor Paskavich

the light too brief to finish any work —the woman seeks to amplify the dark

Leatha Kendrick

I have a book of poetry I believe many should read but in each verse you'll discover it wasn't written for greed.

Stanley Victor Paskavich

Des Menschen Kraft, im Dichter offenbartThe human power is revealed by poetIl potere dell'umanità si rivela nel poeta

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

When you are lost in the right way, you don't go back to being found in the wrong way.

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.

Some people wait to get flowers while others grow gardens.

Decide if a poem is a question or a declaration, a meditation or an outcry.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Etched In Bone-At night I engrave my bones with poems.Scratching.Carving.Etching.During the day I feel every notch and ridgehidden inside me.I repeat them to myself.In time others will read them tooand know me.

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

Amanda Linsmeier

By noon, silence arrives one last time, flowing into every space of her room. And before long, silence swallows sound and color and seconds and equations and entire stanzas of old poetry, leaving new words. The sheets are breathless. The room is bruised.My mother is still warm.

Brenda Sutton Rose

Poetry, to me, is a type of shamanistic chant capable of chasing away the darkness within us.

Poetry is an old wise serpent which only occasionally comes out to catch the sun (and scare people).

Man is in his own microcosm akin to a personal box, with poetry as its lid which it can defend itself from the world

Some people are like the fragrance of flowers!

Why do I love poetry? It's more than word play, less about the pay. Let's just say that for the first time in along while I stopped running, stared back at my darkest worst and said, 'Come here, you belong with me

Why do I love poetry? It's more than word play, less about the pay. Let's just say that for the first time in a long while I stopped running, stared back at my darkest worst and said, 'Come here, you belong with me

Over the mountain growths, disease and sorrow,t An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,High in the purer, happier air.

Now came still evening on, and twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad;Silence accompany'd; for beast and bird,They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale;She all night long her amorous descant sung;Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmamentWith living sapphires; Hesperus, that ledThe starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,Rising in clouded majesty, at lengthApparent queen unveil'd her peerless light,And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

Reluctant hero, drafted again each Fourthof July, I'll bow and remember you. Whoshall we follow next? Who shall we killnext time?

William Stafford

PoetTo mask the fiery thought,in simple words succeeds.For still the craft of genius is,To mask a king in weeds

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thoughts as warm as a silky summer rain, flowing over the edge of my soul's gentle.not tides returning them along the shoreline to laughing gulls.

Basith

fortune has no era finer than this moment

J. Lavan

It is right it should be so;Man was made for joy and woe;And when this we rightly know,Thro' the world we safely go.Joy and woe are woven fine,A clothing for the soul divine.Under every grief and pineRuns a joy with silken twine.- "Auguries of Innocence

The emmet's inch and eagle's mileMake lame philosophy to smile.He who doubts from what he seesWill ne'er believe, do what you please.- "Auguries of Innocence

Oh, the summer night / HAS A SMILE OF LIGHT / And she sits on a sapphire throne.

So, the world happens twice--once what we see it as;second it legends itselfdeep, the way it is.

William Stafford

People are looking for chimes and resonances. Chimes leave echoes, and that's what rhyme is. Poetry is about leaving an echo imprint in somebody else's head, in the dark snow of their mind.

Unlike the bough that shook off her dead leaves violentlylike a wet terrier,unlike the beating of the butterfly, her wings, against the cocoon, some dreams never made a move.

V.S.Atbay

. . . distant as the death of grocery chickens.

The morning slathers its whateveracross the thing.

Michael Robbins

Blessed is the covenant of love, the covenant of mercy, useless light behind the terror, deathless song in the house of night.

Blessed are you who circled desire with a blade, and the garden with fiery swords, and heaven and earth with a word.

Poetry should be like 'Uh-huh. Baby has to have it.

O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

Should I get lost, just point me in the direction of a poem.

Though I love your company, your instructions are wasted her. I will always choose the woman who caries me off, I will always sit with the family of loneliness.

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