Poetry Quotes - Page 46

Reality is not made of dreams, until you make them real.

Soar

Superior poets say what they really feel. Mediocre poets say what they decide to feel. Inferior poets say what they think they should feel.

Álvaro de Campos

If you had told me, though, when I was twenty-four that I would write about Skokie, Illinois, where I grew up, I would have said, ‘You’re out of your mind. Why would I have Skokie in a poem?’ But you become resigned. Your job is to write about the life you actually have.

But what you’re calling poetry is what everything is. It’s not even poetry — it’s seeing. These materialists are blind. You told me they say space is infinite. Where do they see that in space?”And I, disconcerted: “But don’t you think of space as infinite? Can’t you conceive of space as infinite?”“I don’t conceive of anything as being infinite. How could I conceive of anything as being infinite?”“But, man,” I said, “Imagine space. Beyond that space is more space, and beyond that more, and then more, and more... It never ends...““Why?” asked my master Caeiro.

Álvaro de Campos

The trouble with poetry is it's often written to the sound of a drum only the poet may hear; nonetheless, blessed are those poets who always manage to find unshakeable pleasure in their own works.

A Coy Aversion...a fluttertoo shyto be seen...

Muse

Ah youth, youth! That's what happens when you go steeping your soul into Shakespeare

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I collect my thoughts, I choose my words, Whenever I decide to talk to you.But...I feel like a dumb, without a tongue,Whenever I reach in front of you.I wonder why it happens to me?even when my feelings are genuine and true.

Reality calls for a name, for words, but it is unbearable, and if it is touched, if it draws very close, the poet’s mouth cannot even utter a complaint of Job: all art proves to be nothing compared with action. Yet to embrace reality in such a manner that it is preserved in all its old tangle of good and evil, of despair and hope, is possible only thanks to distance, only by soaring above it--but this in turn seems then a moral treason.

Czesław Miłosz

He was her reason for existence,She was his ultimate risk.

Anjum Choudhary

There were plenty of fishes in the pond,yet i fell in love with a crocodile.

Anjum Choudhary

Love left us long back,we just got better.You at pretending,Me at hiding.

Anjum Choudhary

My mind gets stronger everyday,my heart gets weaker with time.

Anjum Choudhary

I think i should get love inked on my skin.Maybe that's the only way i am destined to keep it.

Anjum Choudhary

Don't focus on the words i write,pay attention to the ones i don't.These lines won't tell you much about me,try to read in between these lines.

Anjum Choudhary

Words fail to describewhat i feel anymore.Let me be numb for a while,let me be sore.

Anjum Choudhary

There is nothing out here...it is all inside;it is all in my head.The things that happen do not existunless I give them meaning.To be able to define everythingis where my greatest weakness lies.To be able to feelis the madness I need to make senseof the things that strike me.People strike me,love strikes meand everything else moves mein such a waythat I could barely understand.I feel,and everything I feel is nothing;nothing but an extensionof the mindandof the heart I was born with.

Robert M. Drake

You are the dreamBut I’ve had wake up calls

sometimes even the worst dreams are better than this reality

The moments of nature's universal, triumphant silence had come, those minutes when the creative mind works harder, poetic thoughts seethe more ardently, the heart's passion blazes more brightly and its longing aches more painfully, the grain of criminal thought ripens in a cruel soul more imperturbably and powerfully.

The season was waning fastOur nights were growing cold at lastI took her to bed with silk and song,'Lay still, my love, I won’t be long...I must prepare my body for passion.''O, your body you give, but all else you ration.''It is because of these dreams of a sylvan scene...A bleeding nymph to leave me serene...I have dreams of a trembling wench.''You have dreams,' she said, 'that cannot be quenched.''Our passion,' said I, 'should never be feared...As our longing for love can never be cured...Our want is our way and our way is our will...We have the love, my love, that no one can kill.''If night is your love, then in dreams you’ll fulfill...This love, our love, that no one can kill.'Yet want is my way, and my way is my will,Thus I killed my love with a sleeping pill.

but in the cityin which I love you,no one comes, no onemeets me in the brick clefts;in the wedged dark,no finger touches me secretly, no mouthtastes my flawless salt,no one wakens the honey in the cells, finds the hummingin the ribs, the rich business in the recesses;hulls clogged, I continue laden

Beautiful feelings soar freely, while true care roots deeply. Real love can only bedefined by them both.

Soar

If you want the light, like you say you do, then why do you keep it strangled in thedark? If you preach love, like you strive to, why do you run away from practising?My love,the universe you fumble for doesn’t exist, if you don’t start from within. Before you,all that I can be is eyes and heart. And all that I can do is to remain by your side,for I can’t love you any less than the more I do now.

Soar

At times, love is silent because of too much hurt or too much care. At all times,love is the strongest voice you can always rely on.

Soar

Although steady and slow are the trail to love, there is no path to see through without the engine of passionate and true. (Soar)

Soar

I am lover of words... I am wickedly drunk with the magic of words... the poetic nature whispers through and to my very heart and soul.

Jennifer Hillman

Big Love and More Light!XxMwaaahhhhXx

K. Love

My bridled soul leaps under the pressure of desires,Chained i am by this organic-societal form from galloping freeMy mind heaves me to safety,but heart is ready for doom...An all knowing glance pierced deep through my skinSmiling at my ailing and confused form,Invading my senses, feeding them to the eternal fires...

Gayathri Jayakumar

Music is not my life. My life is music.

I do not blame himfor not knowing the gentleness of my soul.When I only showed him,how violently I loved.

Saiber

Here, illuminated at last,Nestles the ruddy glint of spiritual certainty;Sweet moments of passion and healing,Of sensual release.

The sea loved the moonWhen she was supposed to love the shore.The moon knewAnd hence made his intentions known. That she should love the shoreWho was destined for her.Yet his protests seemed weak. And even when he pushed her towards the shore-She always retreated back.To want, to need, to love the moonFor all she's worth.Everyone said, it wasn't meant to happen.Yet, the Tsunami rose that night for their union.

Saiber

how is it thathe's alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.

i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.

kisses... areand always will be the only language that I will have ever truly known.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

The fury of confession, at first,then the fury of clarity:It was from you, Death, that such hypocriticalobscure feeling was born! And nowlet them accuse me of every passion,let them bad-mouth me, let them say I’m deformed,impure, obsessed, a dilettante, a perjurer.You isolate me, you give me the certainty of life,I’m on the stake. I play the card of fireand I win this little, immense goodness of mine.I can do it, for I have suffered you too much!I return to you as an émigré returnsto his own country and rediscovers it:I made a fortune (in the intellect)and I’m happy, as I once was,destitute of any norm,a black rage of poetry in my breast.A crazy old-age youth.Once your joy was confused with terror,it’s true, and now almost with other joy,livid and arid, my passion deluded.Now you really frighten me,for you are truly close to me,part of my angry state, of obscure hunger,of the anxiety almost of a new being.

Pier Paolo Pasolini

I write to forget the days that broke me into a million nights.

There’s a pressure at all hours of the day only a poem can assuage.

Kristen Henderson

You hid in my ink and guided my hand. You stained the pages with your silence as God wrote the words, "Be still." Yet, my heart's blindness could only write in loud hues of red, "I love you.

Shannon L. Alder

I have always been a fire, and everyone I loved walked away as ashes, until I met a phoenix who was born to love flames.

I paint the darkness and the silence, You see them as stars and poetry.

I have hunger for your mouth, for your voice, for your hair

I repeated: come with me, as if I were dying,and no one saw in my mouth the moon that was bleeding,no one saw the blood that was rising into the silence.Oh love, now let us forget the star with thorns!

When she smiled at me, I felt unborn poems stirring within.

John Mark Green

Her veins flowed with liquid poetry. I stole the words from her mouth with my kisses.

John Mark Green

Passion lingers on a state of blissLove loves you more when you kiss

Dark is the world’s night without you my love,

You askif I will write a poemI could,I supposewrite the mostsplendiferousone of allbut notrightnownot whenyour handsare brewingwarmcinnamon teaacross my skinnot when I’mtrying to imaginewhat might happenif you beganfloweringkissesuponmeMy dear,how canI writea poemwhen I’m alreadyinside one?

Only remember: I am not the ease, but the end.I am not to blind you, but to find you.What you think is the sirens singing to lure you to your doom is only the voice of the inevitable, welcoming you after so long a wait. I was made only for you.

Elizabeth Smart

My heart still speaks of our fire.

N.R.Hart

I would rather suffer with passion than not feel anything at all.

N.R.Hart

You are not going to burn out, you're just beginning. You have an entire galaxy of stars burning fiercely inside of you and once the blaze begins it's impossible to annihilate. Passion can't be contained.

I understood the ominous sky because it was so much like you, and I was the sun always willing to burn for our love.

I'm a tad insane, but I promise you won't forget me.

Oh,' said a very white body as it threw a wrist watch to the ground which broke without attracting anyone's attention, 'Oh, how can anyone not love poetry, natural machines, large white houses, the brilliance of steel, crimes and wild passions?

The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seaswhere we would dive for pearls. My lover’s wordswere shooting stars which fell to earth as kisseson these lips; my body now a softer rhymeto his, now echo, assonance; his toucha verb dancing in the centre of a noun.Some nights, I dreamed he’d written me, the beda page beneath his writer’s hands. Romanceand drama played by touch, by scent, by taste.In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,dribbling their prose. My living laughing love -I hold him in the casket of my widow’s headas he held me upon that next bes

Carol Ann Duffy

Previous 1 … 44 45 46 47 48 … 121 Next