Best 8 184 of Poetry quotes - MyQuotes
We have conversations most nights, Sylvia Plath and me. On these cold wintry nights with our coffee mugs in hand, we talk for hours and hours, Sylvia Plath and me!
And at that very moment, the smile arrived And the crowd, shoving to get a glimpse of a man's soul Stripped to its last shame, Met this smile That rose through his torn roots Touching his lips, altering his eyes And for a moment Mending everything Before it swept out and away across the earth.
In his youth, Wordsworth sympathized with the French Revolution, went to France, wrote good poetry and had a natural daughter. At this period, he was a bad man. Then he became good, abandoned his daughter, adopted correct principles and wrote bad poetry.
May I discard the outer cover of time from the layers of poetry by immersing the poet in its entirety within me
Find me, as time is a luxury For I wait, under this naïve moon
I blessed the power which has filled my life with poetry.
Walk the midway and hear the carnival barker. Come see the freak named after his deceased father. Come see the prince who wants to abdicate his throne. Come see the son whose name is carved on a gravestone.
I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole.
If we were to understand how important it is to say something and say it well, maybe we wouldn’t write a single word, but that would be tragic.
Katerina Stoykova Klemer
Lineation can make your break your poems.
Giovannie De Sadeleer
Even if you forget, I will remember for the two of us.
How would it alter Juliet’s love perception to learn the sea is but a rounded jug of water? Would her sensuous analogy turned simple simile unveil to her the limits of herself? Or would she forget the ocean, that deplorable casket, and turn on the true bottomless tumbler, the only running tap: the sky? It may have lost the title ‘heavens’ when its gods were dethroned, but its infinity reigns. So long as you walk, it reigns. So long as I talk and you listen, there’s a voice and ears to keep it active, moving, and reason to say: look! infinity lives. And when we and the other consciousnesses pass, though it in part dies with us, still it reigns. It will, in a sense, plod on, like a lifeless coffin through its own space, sails set for nothing, unstoppable when trailing its fabric.
You've given me a bad name I'll only make worse.
Hers is a timeless life weaving through other longer lives like a flash of lightning in a clouded evening sky.
I dream of a quiet man who explains nothing and defends nothing, but only knows where the rarest wildflowers are blooming, and who goes, and finds that he is smiling not by his own will. Sabbaths 1999 II
I give you this to take with you: Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.
Consider with thyself; as the rain is more than the drops, and as the fire is greater than the smoke; but the drops and the smoke remain behind: so the quantity which is past did more exceed.
As Henry Moore carved or modelled his sculpture every day, he strove to surpass Donatello 4. and failed, but woke the next morning elated for another try.
As thou know not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou know not the works of what makes all.
Alone" From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—
I have cried your name in every possible colour
When I was sad I smiled So everyone thought I was happy And smiled back Even if they were sad They were happy that I was happy Even if we were sad.
If there is anything I love most, in the poems I love, it is the audible braiding of that bravery, that essential empty-handedness, and that willingness to be taken by surprise, all in one voice.
Things are more like they are now...than they have EVER been before!
So what;if these old leaves are sick and dead; aye their time to go—for fresh ones to come with forest fragrance and shades new and broad;as we obey nature’s laws, thoughts and time.
Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemption For the sins committed before revelation.
Ishwara Algorithm Should we sleep to know how to sleep? Should we breathe to know how to breathe? We must be aware to know how to be happy? Clearly not! Happiness is oblivion!
And the box inside him in which his mother resides is velvet and black and without size.
Pain can make us lash out in unexpected ways. Pain can make us hurt those we care about. Pain can build walls between two human souls.
Too high for common selfishness , he could At times resign his own for others' good, But not in pity - not because he ought, But in some strange perversity of thought, That swayed him onward with a secred pride To do what few or none could do beside; And this same impulse would, in tempting time, Mislead his spirit equally to crime; So much he soared beyond, or sank beneath, The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe And longed by good or ill to seperate Himself from all who shared his mortal fate.
William Carlos Williams
But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents.
Poetry makes nothing happen. It survives in the valley of its saying.
Before we can fix the situation, we have to first see the situation, the world can't see straight right now, some are blinded by hatred, rage, fear, scepticism, some are blinded by their pains. We need to pray...pray that God open our eyes to see the problem from the source and not from the surface. You cannot solve a situation that you cannot see correctly.
To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honor
i reach the perfect cube, and wait for somebody to pick the phone back at home.
My Life can be summed up under three 'C's Confusion Chaos Comedy
MOTHER IS WATER I wish I could Shower your head with flowers And anoint your feet with my tears, For I know I have caused you So much heartache, frustration and despair – Throughout my youthful years. I wish I could give you The remainder of my life To add to yours, Or simply erase The lines on your face, And mend all that has been torn. For next to God, You are the fire That has given light To the flame in each of my eyes. You are the fountain That nourished my growth, And from your chalice – Gave me life. Without the wetness of your love, The fragrance of your water, Or the trickling sounds of Your voice, I shall always feel thirsty.
When all is lost, there is still a memory.
Robert M Drake
Every broken piece of me fell on every broken piece of you and when I took the missing parts, like the emptiness of me I saw the emptiness of you and I poured my half upon you to fill you whole. I risked it all just to dream you complete and catch you one day free in the wild.
I've been writing poems since I was sixteen. Back then, poems were an obvious release for all the frustrations and anxieties associated with adolescence. Mostly, they were a way for me to impress girls, even though I never remember any girls being impressed.
Gargoyles sat on the battlements- lean they were and the same hideous damp grey as the stone. They looked at her with hollow eyes and rattled their silver chains. They had wings of bats or wings or birds, most of them, and licked their beaks or teeth with forked or double tongues. Two paced restlessly before their platforms; others whined or picked their claws or groomed their mangy fur or feathers or lizard skin or scales.
I'm Artistry through Fluent and Flowing Poetry in Motion and I'm Letting it Flow.....
Giovannie De Sadeleer
She is now dancing with someone else to the song that reminded me of us.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
The sun still lives his silent vows to the moon, by bowing to kiss her feet whenever she walks in the room.
Must be going crazy--- my favorite poet lately has been me!
R. M. Engelhardt
If death is like a sonnet then life would be a haiku. The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic with the last breath~ love, words fading and floating off into the abyss that is space whilst our everyday lives or days more important than normal become just a mere whisper in only a few short syllables through which we convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. Verse XXVII
Why is it that you still beguile me – As wind, stone, bird – and all the likes? Why is that you smile on me – With sudden summer lightning strikes?
You are not white, but a rainbow of colors. You are not black, but golden. You are not just a nationality, but a citizen of the world. You are not just for the right or left, but for what is right over the wrong. You are not just rich or poor, but always wealthy in the mind and heart. You are not perfect, but flawed. You are flawed, but you are just. You may just be conscious human, but you are also a magnificent reflection of God.
I am republic I am maoist I am activist and I am this and I am that but why? Why can't; I be