Poetry Quotes - Page 35

She had stars in her eyes and galaxies in her veins

There is a defect in usas human beingsbecause we think ourselvesa fortress, a mountain, unbreakablebut at the centerin that stillness of beingthere is a chasmof lovewhich echoes hope, compassion, empathytry again, it saysand though the fault lines are full of darknesswe are held together bythe optimism and foolishness of a single spark

We could scan each car for terrorists and lovers she could lean into my camouflage her head resting on woven trees. When they come for her body she could run deep into my uniform into the forest of me where they could never find her.

Wake up wild one! Your mind is a cageless bird waiting to fly to uncharted lands. Like the phoenix, you'll rise again with renewed vigor, clarity, compassion and insight.

I am an artist, and a rebel one at that. I live in the voluptuous dimension of imagination, so if you're expecting normalcy (dullness) from me, sorry to disappoint, but you're quite mistaken. Ordinary is not my best attire, I've tried it and normal just never fit quite right. I will always be the crazy one who believes in magic, unicorns and impossible dreams. But also love, compassion and empathy.

She'd been taking care of others for so long that she scarcely recognized herself when she looked in the mirror.

Alfa H

And these are the sametype of people who killthe innocent andjustify it by saying“They’ve gone to bewith Jesus now”But we won’t talkabout how theycrucified Him, too

God's FoolIf loving God, celebrating God, loving life, being a servant, loving my neighbor is foolish then let me be a fool. If loving God, celebrating God though art, poetry, song & dance is a fools game then let me be a fool.If trusting Jesus is a foolish waste of time and energy then let it be known by one and all I shall waste everyday every dollar I shall waste time and eternity celebrating Jesus the one who loves and delights in me.

Charles W. Warner

...loving a fairy lady with a magic song will leave you desolate on a cold hillside ... but from there you can see the stars...

Come closer, my dears, let me give you a warning,Of the fate that befalls those who stay out past morning,In the darkest hours before the dawn,When witches roam and demons spawn,And children die with spirit gone,Magicked away in the gloaming.

Fact is not truth, but a poet who willfully defies fact cannot achieve truth.

I can weave words together and create magic,it's like knitting and crocheting words with pen and paper, some call it Poetry.

Charmaine J.Forde

She was the kind of eleganceThat would never tarnish. A mixture of lace and mesh, Like a classic heirloom that begged to be worn.She was sharp intellect and quick wit.The type of woman that spoke her mind,Even if it shook.(Or even if no one was listening.)She was beautiful.But not someone you’d see in magazines, Her hips were too wide, her hair a mess of wispy tendrils, (Rather, she was actually very ordinary.) My, was she stubborn! She’d drive you mad!(Sometimes, you’d probably call her crazy.)But mostly, her laughter was a joyful moments. Like a warm towel fresh from the dryer,Or finding a twenty-dollar bill in your winter coat.And that was the true revelation.That magic does exist, It ran through her like a wild, fiery current.

I wish for magic this season,laughter and fun.I wish for mistletoe kisses-those sparkly ones.

You are only as touched my the magic of this life as you want to be.

Fall in lovewith the energyof the morningstrace your fingers along the lullof the afternoonstake the spirit of the eveningsin your armskiss it deeply and thenmake loveto the tranquilityof the nights.

your gazeacrossmy cheeksturned theminto strawberry fields.

Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.

The magic fades too fastthe scent of summer never lasts the nights turn hollow and vast but nothing remains...nothing lasts.

Do you believe in magic?" she asked. "I believe in you," he said. "And you're the closest thing to magic that I've found.

John Mark Green

Walk a bit further. There is a different land not far away. The people in it have the magic to break the icy fingers of the great death.I heard that you don’t even have to pay.However, you have to find their door.It is only found by those who pay the other price.

Leave the comfort of your dark cocoon... Allow your imagination to take flight. Embrace those marvelous magical wings and soar!

Round these men stories tended to group themselves, sometimes deserting more ancient heroes for the purpose. Round poets have they gathered especially, for poetry in Ireland has always been mysteriously connected with magic.

I belong with the trees,the wind,the earth beneath my feet.I belong in the land of enchanting things.But mostly,I belong entwined in your kiss,lost,yet wild and free,pure bliss,like poetry.

From key signature to coda, from downbeat to the sound of life's final fermata, our pasts set the tone for all that was, that is, and that ever would be.

Jamie A. Hughes

...your memory is a warm stone hidden in my hand I'm always turning over...

...I want to live doubly - first with you and then afterwards in memory ...

I now know how your angercame from skeletonsthat rattled in your heartand you couldn't escape them.

Susie Clevenger

Memory, when it juts, retreats, recovers, shows us how to hold the darkness, how to breathe.

And you might try to hide or protect yourself, or compare the different states of love,but you must not grow up, must not act wise when it comes to love.You must stay foolish and fall for every heart will beat in different ways together with yours and love is not meant to be compared, only enjoyed, and suffered, and remembered.

Charlotte Eriksson

Freud could never be certain, he said,in view of his wide and early reading,whether what seemed like a new creationmight not be the work insteadof hidden channels of memory leadingback to the notions of others absorbed,coming now anew into formhe’d almost known within him was growing.He called it (the ghost of a) cryptomnesia.So we own and owe what we know.

It’s not magic. I remember because I make comparisons. Not in terms of better or worse, just different. And not all of these memories are great, but they’re mine.Which lends way to believe, that none of our lives are put together on an assembly line. We’re not pre-packaged with memories or programmed with stories. We have to make our own.

Shane L. Koyczan

Inconstancy of every second punishes me.The wind, the rain, the clouds, the days,I try to grasp the hours but they banish me,And I remain in the vortex of incongruity.The lone coyote shrieks,Startling my soul into wakefulness.The Cacti bloom and the Wren beckons,Deepening my mind into dreamlessness.And the moments spend time with inconstancy,increasing the ease of uneasiness.Why this daily pilgrimage of ideas?When no saint has ever ceased the day!Still yearning for some magic hour,Where nothing but permanence dwells.Alas, only this thought be the only truth,That certainty in death is constant.And so, in every second, minute, hour,our only gain is memory.Be it bitter or sweet:it is ours!Rejoice.

We look at the world once, in childhood.The rest is memory

You scour these Chinatowns of the mind, translating themlike sutras Xuan Zhang fetched from India, testing waysreturn might be possible against these homesick inventions, trace the traveller's alien steps across borders, and in between discover how transit has a way of lasting, the way these Chinatowns grew out of not knowing whether to return or to stay, and then became home.

I find it incredibly amazing how at every sunset, the sky is a different shade. No cloud is ever in the same place. Each day is a new masterpiece. A new wonder. A new memory.

the flicker of a memoryis all we can cling tofor our cherished ghostsFrom "Cat Paws on a Windscreen

We are our memory,we are that chimerical museum of shifting shapes,that pile of broken mirrors.

Jorge Luis Borges

I'm sure that you didn't think I would notice,but we memorize the strangest things in a personwhen we're in love with them.

Danabelle Gutierrez

Memories come to mind like excavated statuesthat have misplaced their heads.

Wisława Szymborska

Poetry is a hook for memory

Poetry lit fire in the vast forest of memories within you.

TRIPURARI

How do you like your blue-eyed boy Mr Death?

The storms inside uncoilinto sky held calm by far seeing eyesMemories dressed in the translucenttrickery of the mind,so as to wear life upon themselves,give up their tired dance and runinto free frequency

You'd think hindsight would do us some goodBut all it does sometimesIs add glass to the kaleidoscope

Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breedsAlong the pebbled shore of memory!Many old rotten-timber'd boats there beUpon thy vaporous bosom, magnifiedTo goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.

Sisters we gather,In answer to the call,To fulfill our destinyAs guardians this side of the wall.“Where the fabric wears thin,And our enemy’s at hand,We must thrust him backInto his own land.“We honor our legacyAnd before the night is done,Sisters past, present and futureWill unite as one.

Take us to the in-between,Where earth meets sky, and wake meets dream.And time rushes by, unseen.Take us to the infinite night,Where up is down, and left is right,And dark vanquishes light.

No matter how you are taught by your teacher about how to recite a poem, it is impossible to wear your teacher's smiling face to the stage. You got to change your own face into a smiling one!

Israelmore Ayivor

I say, 'Get me some poets as managers.' Poets are our original systems thinkers. They contemplate the world in which we live and feel obligated to interpret, and give expression to it in a way that makes the reader understand how that world runs. Poets, those unheralded systems thinkers, are our true digital thinkers. It is from their midst that I believe we will draw tomorrow's new business leaders."--Sidney Harman, CEO Multimillionaire of a stereo components company

I've finally decided to write about profit for a changeBut before I really started I already started to feel lameBaby what's it to a beast who manely to money remains untamed

he was so beautiful because when he held her he was not concerned with ‘being a man.’ ‘being a man’ had nothing to do with this. these flowers pouring from his chest. – weightless

Nayyirah Waheed

When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it, what will it be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then - that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it. You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?

FRIENDSLooking out the window, I see you looking in.You are the sunshine,That fills my soul.

It’s January and I’m kicking snow off the ground. I just threw out the flower you made me promise to water, handle with care, because I was too careless, you said. Careless with things and people, around me and behindand I remember being still for just a second or two, thinking that it’s so much easier to leave and start anew, than take care of what’s already here.

Charlotte Eriksson

our feet are grape-squashed in memoriesour skins are still flushedfrom the touch of summer’s lips.

Breezy daysdeserve the unionof two old friends.

If I’m not around I hope you’ll remember me and together we will hold on to our favorite song.

… and now and then we could look up and give each other a thought, because I think he could have beautiful thoughts,and we could just let each other be less lonely in our loneliness.

Charlotte Eriksson

Walking with my doggy is so much fun! And she makes me laugh, she makes me run. Licking she likes to make some good new friends, Kindly enough with cyclists who spin with no end.

Ana Claudia Antunes

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