Poetry Quotes - Page 51

Am I making something worth while?I’m not sure.I write and I sing and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts,but am I making something worth while?I’m not sure.There was a boy last night who I never spoke to because I was too drunk and still shy, but mostly lonely, and I couldn’t find anything lightly to say,so I simply walked awaybut still wondered what he did with his lifebecause he didn’t even speak to meor look at mebut still made me wonder who he wasand I walked away askingAm I making something worth while?I am not sure.I am a complicated person with a simple lifeand I am the reason for everything that ever happened to me.

Charlotte Eriksson

Speak to the breeze cautiously during those lonely summer nights.

The stars, like the hollow eyes of a god forgotten, marry the sadness of the exhausted hour and inspire a little chaos, a little gentleness, to those below. I look up at the sky and see everything I’ve ever lost,waiting for me.

this heart yearns...for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms...unknown adventures.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those...soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

Dreaming of getting you I loosed everything Cheerfulness of smile And all the dreams of life

Every heart must have its privatebestseller book.

I breathe in...the silenceof my own heartaching with tendernesswith memories..Of home.

Get out of my head,You've overstayed your stay,This head no longer can spare more thoughts,Leave my aching heart alone,You weaved your web all over my heart,Captured what was never yours,The aching in my chest can't bare more,Get out of here,My soul is no longer a safe place.

Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of clasping your hands so tight,Dreaming of another time,Dreaming of the shipwreck that is in my heart would end

It's been awhile since I have heard from you,To me it felt like it was only yesterday that all we could do was talk to each otherTo me it felt like it was only yesterday that I'd fall asleep with you on my mind and be awakened with a smile from your morning messagesTo me it felt like it was only yesterday that you started to back away, when I was in a dark placeTo me it felt like it was only yesterday when you left my mind and heart in a million pieces

I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don’t answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I’m still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you’re far away and can’t sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can’t live without.I want to be someone you can’t live without.

Charlotte Eriksson

Loveis not leaning on each other, adjusting to fit a different size.Loveis simply two hands reached out in the darkness,saying; I’ll be your light, if you’ll be mine.

Charlotte Eriksson

With dark raven paper and twinkling white ink, I wrote my heart in the night’s sky.

Shannon L. Alder

A fruitless year, take a fearless heartOne that blooms late will flourish in the dark

Love is the true state of the human heart. When we love, we unguard our hearts. We open ourselves up to the world with- out any restraint. When passion flows, desires stir, our earthy senses become dull, and our ethereal self becomes illumined. At this stage, we are naked, totally naked, with little or no covering of ego.

Salil Jha

Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.

Salil Jha

Oh my…!Love can be troubled somber,mournful and yet subtle and precise. Love is a chaotic thing, my dear!

Take a shower. Wash away every trace of yesterday. Of smells. Of weary skin. Get dressed. Make coffee, windows open, the sun shining through. Hold the cup with two hands and notice that you feel the feeling of warmth.   You still feel warmth. Now sit down and get to work. Keep your mind sharp, head on, eyes on the page and if small thoughts of worries fight their ways into your consciousness: threw them off like fires in the night and keep your eyes on the track. Nothing but the task in front of you. Get off your chair in the middle of the day. Put on your shoes and take a long walk on open streets around people. Notice how they’re all walking, in a hurry, or slowly. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, hurried to get to wherever they’re going. And notice how you’re just one of them. Not more, not less. Find comfort in the way you’re just one in the crowd. Your worries: no more, no less.Go back home. Take the long way just to not pass the liquor store. Don’t buy the cigarettes. Go straight home. Take off your shoes. Wash your hands. Your face. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. It’s still beating. Still fighting. Now get back to work. Work with your mind sharp and eyes focused and if any thoughts of worries or hate or sadness creep their ways around, shake them off like a runner in the night for you own your mind, and you need to tame it. Focus. Keep it sharp on track, nothing but the task in front of you.Work until your eyes are tired and head is heavy, and keep working even after that. Then take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more.  You’re doing just fine. You’re doing fine.I’m doing just fine.

Charlotte Eriksson

You rewrote the art in my heart.

Not with a club, the Heart is brokenNor with a Stone –A Whip so small you could not see itI've known

Emily Dickinson

Who was it that hurt you,stole light out of your eyes?Cut a hole in your heartand let the love drain dry?Who was so damn careless,to leave you with such scars?Where will you find healing?Right here, within my arms.

John Mark Green

With rough hands and gentle heart, I'll seduce you. You will feel my power and surrender to desire.

John Mark Green

Who was it that hurt you, stole the light out of your eyes? Cut a hole in your heart and let the love drain dry? Who was so damn careless, to leave you with such scars? Where will you find healing? Right here, within my arms.

John Mark Green

Even when your heart is blue, I'll safely hold it. I really don't mind these indigo-stained hands.

John Mark Green

UnsightlyIf I strip my heart naked, you'll see all the unsightly scars, I'm afraid.

John Mark Green

Poetry is more than just art, it’s like super glue to a broken heart. It can also be a light when your life seems a little dark.

Nothing much bothered you for a while and you kept walking like a silhouette through this town, saying hi’s and goodbyes, acting polite at all times. But there is no fire in your heart; you are not very concerned.

Charlotte Eriksson

When I lean my ear up against your seashell heart, I can hear an ocean of love roaring inside.

John Mark Green

I took him to the river and said “let’s watch something drown,” So he took a stoneand I took my necklaceand we threw it all together,the way I always think I will get better in July. Things will change and sounds won’t acheand I gave my heart to uncertainty so many times, and so I took him to the river,threw the necklace in the river to slowly watch it drown, or burn, or fade awaylike I’ve done so many times.

Charlotte Eriksson

I am not a broken heart,and I am not your fault.

Charlotte Eriksson

When your heart starts to feel full again. I love FREE refills, and if a restaurant tries to double charge me, I refuse to write a love poem on their Yelp page.-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

I have a kind heart, I’m in love. It gets deeper with every kiss and every hug.

for every mile the feet gothe heart goes nine

And then,There was a loveShining so bright,That even the darkest partOf our heartsFelt the warmth

choose your words well(be honest, be true)butabove all else,be kind

Storm WarningsThe glass has been falling all the afternoon, And knowing better than the instrument What winds are walking overhead, what zone Of grey unrest is moving across the land, I leave the book upon a pillowed chair And walk from window to closed window, watching Boughs strain against the skyAnd think again, as often when the air Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting, How with a single purpose time has traveled By secret currents of the undiscerned Into this polar realm. Weather abroad And weather in the heart alike come on Regardless of prediction.Between foreseeing and averting change Lies all the mastery of elements Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter. Time in the hand is not control of time, Nor shattered fragments of an instrument A proof against the wind; the wind will rise, We can only close the shutters.I draw the curtains as the sky goes black And set a match to candles sheathed in glass Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine Of weather through the unsealed aperture. This is our sole defense against the season; These are the things we have learned to do Who live in troubled regions.

We love with all our heart but we also keep our heart light and pliable. It has space. It breathes. It waits on life to give instructions. It sings with sweetness when the winds are soft and warm. It stands with calm patience when the storm is brewing. It lets go when endings have left their irrefutable mark. It moves. It heals. It hopes.

You are the mark on my liquid heartwhere love begins with the beginning’s startYou are the desire of the ablaze fires the only truth from ten-thousand-liarsFrom the poem- A Letter to My Love

The moon seems unawareof night's dark hittingon the damp warm rain misguiding owl's spitting A thunder light of loveraising hearts beatingwhile weather learns morefrom rain lovers meeting

Believe me when I say: 'Out of all those around, she’s the best locksmith in town.' Her stethoscope ears know when the dials of your heart click into place.She’s been cutting keys for years.You don’t stand a chance with that flimsy case.Alas, no matter how you lock your heart— bolt, fixture, and key— she’s got nimble fingersthat pick locks for free.Padlocks and deadboltsare all in vain.Why do you even botherwith that chain?She’s way too smart. Along with ours, she’ll have your heart. And you will see that the best locksmith in town is she.

BLESSINGS ARE IMMEASURABLEYou canLose a childOr a parent,The love of your life,A good job,A game,A deal,A bet,An idea,Your favorite thing,Money,Your best friend,A moment,An opportunity,A chance,Your keys,Your mind,Your health,Your identity,Your virginity,Your religion,Your shirt,Your license,ID or Passport,Phone or phone number,Hope,Faith,Luck,Your pride,Or your house,And feel likeYou've lost everything,And keep on losing.StopCounting lossesAnd start counting your blessings.Only then,Will you discover that lossesAre easier to point outAnd countThan blessings,And that blessingsOutnumber your lossesFor they are trulyImmeasurable.It is only normal thatPeople count losses withTheir minds,And ignoreTo count blessingsWith the graciousnessOf their hearts.

Sealing your lips makes your eyes talk Truth creeps beneath your lame feet’s walk Knees stiffen when blood vessels stalk A pounding heart’s lies hard as rock

Don't trust the heart, it wants your blood.

Stanisław Jerzy Lec

Tickle my heart with your pen. Write me for all to read. Bind our love inside a book. Make me, your poetry.

N'Zuri Za Austin

The sky can never be frozen because its vastness has chosenall warmth of our lives as we look abovewith unbreakable hearts armoured in love

There is a poem at the heart of things and a mythic story in the heart of each of us. At certain times it is the poetry of life and the mythic imagination of the soul that become necessary in order to heal the wounds inflicted by an excess of reason or an overuse of force.

The heart, I think, which is the home of all things rhythmic, is where learned poems go to live.

Bill Richardson

Starlight beats when heart twinklesYouthful sky beyond cloudy wrinklesMuse of glory to flame the nightVerse inscribed as written light

My heart can feel the softness of a starOnly when the moon stays afar I lay my mind on the pillow of skyWhere sleep dares not ever to pry

Such a nasty bruise,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. I am stunned he can see it. Delicate to the touch and tender on every side, the bruise is deeper than days. My hand automatically moves to my chest.Science taught me with valid assurance that my heart was fixed in my rib cage, but life has since shown me otherwise. My heart in fact dangles from a tangle of strings. The ends are grasped tight by numerous people who yank and release, having caused many painful bruises over time. I cry because they are invisible to most.“Such a nasty bruise,” he repeats, tugging on my poor heart. His kind eyes fall away from mine as I feel a squeeze on my arm. He twists it enough to show me a small, round patch of purple surrounded by a sickly yellowish corona. “Oh. My elbow.” I let the air exhale from my lungs. Another bruise forms where my heart has hit the floor. It is jerked up again. “Can I do anything for you?” I see in his eyes the mirror image of a finger—his finger—wrapped in one of the dangling strings. He tugs and I feel it.“No,” I reply to his question. But it is a lie. There is something he could do, along with all who grasp a portion of the web entangling my heart. I wish they would mercifully let go.

Richelle E. Goodrich

When the tidal waves wildly behavingMy bare feet on the shore busy savingThe calm warmth leaking out of the sandTo let my heart feel peacefully tanned!

Do all hearts break the same way?

Vanshika Dhyani

She was a warrior by day... playing her part. But she slept at night with wishes in her heart.

Alfa H

The killer whale's heart weighs one hundred kilosbut in other respects it is light.There is nothing more animal-likethan a clear conscienceon the third planet of the Sun.

Wisława Szymborska

I don't want comfortable. My heart is not a recliner.

Alfa H

Come, get entwined in the dream catcher of my heart.

If you can weep with your words, the meaning of your heart can be written forever

Be you still, be you still, trembling heart;Remember the wisdom out of the old days:*Him who trembles before the flame and the flood,And the winds that blow through the starry ways,Let the starry winds and the flame and the floodCover over and hide, for he has no partWith the lonely, majestical multitude*.

I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn’t get me anywhere. It was work and it was money and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away.

Charlotte Eriksson

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