Poetry Quotes - Page 58

... those who seek the lost Lord will find traces of His being and beauty in all that men have made, from music and poetry and sculpture to the gingerbread men in the pâtisseries, from the final calculation of the pure mathematician to the first delighted chalk drawing of a small child.

Caryll Houselander

Do not conceale thy heavenly voice,Which makes the hearts of Gods rejoyce,Least Musicke hearing no such thing,The Nightingale forget to sing.

Sir Francis Kynaston

Beauty surrounds us, but oftentimes it takes a person with a poetic perception, an artist’s way of looking at the world, to first notice the sublime, and then stagecraft the splendor of nature so that other people can perceive their synoptic vision. The spirit and aesthetic intention behind the work is what assigns the work its artistic quality. Great works of poetry and writing, for instance, express not simply a criticism of life, but also encompass a philosophy for living.

Kilroy J. Oldster

At the end of the day…we are anchoring into the peaceful lagoon, smiling at the majestic sun and its flirting rays, slowly slipping into the glittering ballroom of immense night skies, sipping on the platinum moon liquor under the blues of rippling waves kissing my golden foot hanging over the board of gently rocking boat, and diving into the bed of galaxies whispering magical stories of their eternal lives connecting souls…till the dawn…

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I have placed you in my hallWhere I wander every day.Echo beauty, and you’ll stay.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Always carry what is beautiful in your heart.

One could say that Hopkins practiced transubstantiation in every poem. By mysterious talent, he changed plain element into reality sublime. He encountered a jumble of weather, birds, trees, branches, waters, blooms, dewdrops, candle flames, prayers, then instressed them and, delighted, wrote in his journal, 'Chance left free toact falls into an order.

Margaret R. Ellsberg

How many loved your moments of glad grace,And loved your beauty with love false or true,But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

How can you love art, beauty, poetry, and hate life? That's like saying you love the ocean but hate water.

My soulmust reachinto the cloudsand touch the beauty of madness.

Her skin smelled like the twilight moon and her eyes looked primal, like a hungry animal. She was darkness – dangerous, beautiful darkness.

There is a beastwithin my heart.She plays immaculately with the beauty in my soul.

So bashful when I spied her!So pretty ― so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find ―So breathless till I passed her ―So helpless when I turnedAnd bore her struggling, blushing,Her simple haunts beyond!For whom I robbed the Dingle ―For whom betrayed the Dell ―Many, will doubtless ask me,But I shall never tell!

Emily Dickinson

With poetry, rules are meant to be broken. And that's the beauty of poetry; it's rebellious, like me.

It's her black wings that make her beautiful.

She burns like the sunBeautiful when she comes undoneNo restraintsPure passion flowing through her veinsMadness refusing to be tamed.

Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.

Dejan Stojanovic

Beauty is a cheap word, but beauty remains priceless.

Dejan Stojanovic

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Dejan Stojanovic

It is beautiful to talk about beautiful things and even more beautiful to silently gaze at them.

Dejan Stojanovic

We may feel bitterly how little our poems can do in the face of seemingly out of control technological power and seemingly limitless corporate greed, yet it has always been true that poetry can break isolation, show us to ourselves when we are outlawed or made invisible, remind us of beauty where no beauty seems possible, remind us kinship where all is represented as separa

Before you, nothing.Now you, and everything

Knowing you,I became mindless.Having wasted previous wishes,I'm riddled with regretsFeeling you,I became hopeless.Adrift in chasms,I surrender to a caress.Loving you,I became love.My universe became love.Planets rotate on love's axes andapples fall to be near their beloveds.No longer a rationalist, I assert my existence with love. I love, therefore I exist,therefore I love.

I have no use for these other loves.Seal them shut in jarsand place them in the pantry. A reserve of love.Thank them for their love.They are so kind.Perhaps store them in the fridgeFor others to take.They say love is a panacea. I know it is not.Flakes of snow,no two are alike.When I am down on my knees, hopeless and angry,for the world no longer makes sense,I won't look in the pantry or fridge.It is your hand pressing on my shoulderthat makes me whole,makes me forget.What trouble? What world?

Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words have the ability to change our lives simply by being next to each other.

Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.

I write our names on the page.What of it, if the paper will be burned?I write our names in the sand.What of it, if the shore will be washed by waves?I write our names on trees that will be cutand benches that will be painted,but what of it?I will keep on writing our namesbecause in this world of ephemera, You and I are the only constant.

Be you.That, my friend,is the change you wantto become in the world.

Frederick Espiritu

Don’t just exist; do something meaningful with your life. Discover a problem and fix it.Don’t just fit in; make it a point to brighten your corner. Decide to resolve your challenges. Don’t just manage; go extra mile and win your race. Never give up the fight. You will win.Don’t just be able; always make sure you are available. Be present to make a change.Don’t just be alive; once you have arrived, find the reason why and make that reason accomplished.Don’t just wish; be passionate about what you wish to see happen. Rise up and make it happen.Don’t just create; create to change; change to improve; improve to increase. Aspire to inspire.Don’t just be making a living; make a life and leave an indelible footstep wherever you step.I want to meet you and many others on the top. Don’t be left out!

Israelmore Ayivor

This poem was meant to be unwritten. But I am writing it now and have thereby changed destiny.

Towards these weeks of rain I give effusive praise. Let me always be reminded that there is time for change.

Let us remember to always rediscover one anotherbecause we are forever changing.

Nothing is made, nothing disappears. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping.

Dejan Stojanovic

Women invented misery, but we don't understand it.

Rita Dove

don't think you can ever forget her don't even try she's not going to budgeno choice but to grant her spacecrown her with skyfor she is one of the manyand she is each of us

Rita Dove

Since she's discoveredmen would rather drownthan nibble,she does just fine.

Rita Dove

The window of her sadness was so vast that it almost opened a path to her soul.

Ondjaki

Poets, you always write about women worth dying for. Write, for a change, something about the ones worth living for!

Ljupka Cvetanova

i am a woman and a poem. – visceral

Nayyirah Waheed

She is yet like a diamond on a heap of broken glass.

Mina Loy

i act harder than i am.i am softer than i look.

Ava

I have never been able to make out," I began, "why women are so shy about being caught reading poetry.We men--lawyers, mechanics, or what not--may well feel ashamed. If we must read poetry, it should be at dead of night, within closed doors. But you women are so akin to poesy. The Creator Himself is a lyric poet, and Jayadeva must have practised the divine art seated at His feet.

Rabindranath Tagore

Stranger inside me, when you are born, I will give youa closed book and ask you never to read it, never rest, never forgive a man who wants to save you.

a body betrayeda heart destroyeda mind in confusionand yet a womanis capable of taking painand transforming it into triumph

R H Sin

She's vodka in a sexy lingerie and high heels.I'm always drunk.

J.A. ANUM

A maidenhead, the virgin's troubleIs well-compare-d to a bubbleon a navigable riverSoon 'tis touched t'is gone forever

Embrace your inner goddess, never let go of the light you carry within.

Cynthia Dougherty-Bernal

Don't compare her to sunshine and roses when she's clearly orchids and moonlight.

A man once said of women, "Women are like roads, the more curves, the more fun, exciting and dangerous they are." While the evolved man smiles with class and confidence and says, women with more curves, twists and turns in her mind are the most beautiful, exciting, dangerous creatures alive. And the evolved woman, well, she will accept no less than the evolved man; a man with honor, dignity and depth.

Her stories were made of badass women teasing monsters and running wild with dragons.

I was painter staring at a canvas waiting for the forgotten visions of my new abstract piece to come to me. But I am the abstract piece and my mind cannot comprehend the work my heart has created.

Used to be hewas my heart's desire.His forthright gaze,his expert hands:I'd lie on the couch with my eyesclosed just thinking about it.Never about the factthat everything changes,that even this,my best passion,would not be immune.No, I would bask on in aneternal daydream of the handsfinding me, the gaze like a windingstair coaxing me down. . . .Until I caught a glimpseof something in the mirror:silly girl in her lingerie,dancing with the furniture--a hot little bundle, flush withcliches. Into that pairof too-bright eyes I lookedand saw myself. And something

Deborah Garrison

Do you pray for our world or just your world? If all your prayers were answered, would it change our world or just your world?

...and when we die we die alone I cry, I cry aloneLike a piece of stone I am thrown into the wavy ocean of lifeto atone...to atoneOnly to atone...

In our most vulnerable hour, it is helpful to remember our creative power.

I talk about writing and write so much because aside from music, it’s the only thing giving me peace and reason and purpose. Everyone is looking for answers but I don’t have them and I’m not the answer, but I feel like if I could see the face of God, I’d be better, healed—absolved. I feel like a bastard and like I’m pushing a Ponzi scheme every time someone comes to me for guidance and I push them to the “right” path when I’m just as lost as they are. And it makes me feel like shit every time someone wants to look up to me, or when people call me strong or brave or amazing or want to tell me how “great” I am. And then, the next moment, I’m fine, until the next tide of emotion comes again. I’m just a person who’s had a lot of time to think—a flawed and fucked-up person.

I love the smell of coffee when I wake up in the morning. It gives me the awesome feeling of hope!

You resting your head tenderly on my shoulders while we sit below the old Oak tree. And we smile at each other and gaze lovingly at the fascinating sunset over the hills. This moment makes me feel completely alive as if we have reached not just cloud nine or ten but also cloud infinity!

The night is the balm for the wounded soul!

The fakirs always throng the sea-shoreTo find meaning in the chaosAnd then they too become melancholyFeeling nothing but their naked toes.

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