Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

I love you in my very own way. Like a stone loves the mosses around it Like a sea loves the pebbles in it Like a coincidence... Taking you as the way you are, With all the bruises, scars and broken parts all around you and your heart. I love you in my very own way By throwing the stone, the mosses, the sea and the pebbles to your head Like i want to kill you. Just because of envying the love That my heart spend on you.

I love you like I have never loved before.

I love with love, so that we all may love." ~ Amunhotep El Bey

I love you every day -for the code and the blush and the shrug of it. Make your mind up in me, and I will do the same.

I love you Of the tempestuous love That unites the sea and the sailor I love you Like the round of the sun High up on my garden Like the shape of your hand in my own Like the breath of your breath -at dawn I love you beyond life itself Beyond obviousness I love you in the union of my senses When they order yours In the evening silences

I love your uneven soul, you bloom uniquely in my gardens giving me the most extraordinary view and upon tasting the edges of your temple you do remind me of ice cream.

I love you to infinity Yet sometimes If you ask me how much I may not be able to answer If you ask me why I may not be able to show But I know I will keep on loving you Till my heart beats

Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville.

I'm afraid of waking up to a world where you see and I am not what you saw

Il sempre è fatto di attimi.

Il troppo mi urta - è così insolito. Mi sentivo a disagio, spaesata - come una bacca di fratta montana trapiantata sulla strada. E non avevo fame. Allora capii che la fame è un istinto di chi guarda le vetrine dal di fuori. L'entrare, la disperde.

I made her go because I knew she could do better and now I wonder if I should have just been better.

I made mistakes in the past that prevent me from rising above the lowest standard of society, so does that mean I have to deal with a burden 100 times heavier for eternity? No, because God has given me that key of knowledge to be above the monkey, for what they all see, they all do. They do because they don't know for if they knew, they'd rise from the primitive to an instinctive individual of intellect and would come to see Truth & where else can we find Truth but in the Word of God?

Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville. Tears are shed in my heart like the rain on the town.

Ils vécurent heureux et eurent beaucoup d'amants.

I made him the hero in my story and the center of my life.

Imagination is a gift. I've misused it, Hired it to Paint my walls With fear. I've learned it, Laughed at My stories Of "truth." I've burst with it, Dripped my Hopes and lies Onto you. And now I've become it, Stopped trying To control my wildfire And let it spread. Life is a gift. I'm. Opening. It.

Imagination's better half can sometimes tilt it's heavy head and wink, as if to say, "That's the way!" And I'd be off at a trot wherever it led.

I make work that is many things at once: poems that are prose, that are pictures, that are poem and picture. Actions that are images using poems that are umbrellas. My best work is both/and, in-between, occupying several dimensions simultaneously. (from my Poetics Statement in Troubling the Line)

I make so many plans but fail at follow-through. Gemini mind once a mat for you to wipe your feet. I’d beg for it. I’d plead 'Here! I’m here waiting for you to be the one. Take my heart, my life, my air: rip them to shreds and hand them back.No need to worry. I have enough superglue and tears to keep me busy for months...

imagine your heart is just a ball you learned to dribble up and down the length of your driveway back home. slow down control it. plant your feet in the soft blue of your mat and release it is hard but slowly you are unlearning the shallow pant of your childhood. extend your body—do not reach for someone but something fixed and fleshless and certain— fold flatten then lift your head like a cobra sure of the sun waiting and ready to caress the chill from its scales. inhale—try not to remember how desperate you’ve been for touch—yes ignore it—that hitch of your heart you got from mornings you woke to find momma hysterical or gone. try to give up the certainty she’d never return recall only the return and not its coldness. imagine her arms wide to receive you imagine you are not a thing that needs escaping. it is hard and though at times you are sure you will always be the abandoned girl trying to abandon herself push up arch deep into your back exhale and remember— when it is too late to pray the end of the flood we pray instead to survive it.

I make wishes, but she says never be afraid to take chances.

imagine the desert mothers, with hair tangled tighter than their theology and breasts that flowed milk and mystic wisdom. they knew how to draw the singing sigils in the sand, how to dig rough and bitten fingers into desiccated dirt for water to wet the lips of their young. women of hips and heft, who learned how to burn beneath the wild and searing sun, who made loud love against the star-flecked threat of night, who knew that strength is not always a matter of muscle. imagine your ancestresses, the prophetesses of the arid lands, before these starched traditions and pews too hard to pray from, who bled true ritual and birthed their own fierce souls at creation's crowning --

I'm always quiet. Quiet with the storms inside me.

I'm asked "who do you say I Am" I say you are as am I, for what can come in between it? It's a perfect conquest of "I" that requires perfect knowledge of He which is in the middle of self. Smooth riddles as I sound the strings of a fiddle laid close to a stream of water as I drift away into constellation; A view out of sight within. As I close my eyes, I see what it is to be seen beyond the mediocre of superficial meditation. It's a deep sense of revelation that goes beyond the sense, give ear as I try to make sense of it.

I’m always lost in thought, as if waiting for something

I’m always playing devil’s advocate in my head, which gets so damn exhausting, but the devil…she just won’t shut up.

I’m a man of integrity. My heart is locked and I have given you the only key.

I'm at that place I grew up to leave.

I'm Artistry through Fluent and Flowing Poetry in Motion and I'm Letting it Flow.....

I'm an open book in a closed room.

I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.

I'm a net teeming with pervy fingers, reaching for anything that will bite me back, any promise of stoppage—

I'm a peasant I'm the muzhik A pest you're destined to play the music And yes it's pleasant to say it's beauty I'm Indebted to rest respecting it truly

I'm asked, "What is one of your goals?". I answer, "To be wealthy". "Why be wealthy"? "To help those in need". "Why help those in need?" "Because their blind". "Blind to what?" "The Truth". "What's the Truth?" "The Truth isn't spoken upon but acted upon". It's the only way to course to be taken, though the taking be coarse. It really is true freedom

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

I'm a wanderer, a lost soul a bright fire in midst of sea a free spirit with a radiant heart a glorious Knight with beautiful scars.

I’m back there again, broken from being a champion, The boy that no one loved, The years I spent training like a method actor to Become the man that everyone admired, But it means nothing, Like ashes on a forehead, they marked me inferior, When I was still young enough to receive it into the grain of my being

I’m breaking down and I’ve got so little time to do it

I’m burning in despair Love which you distanced from me Return once again I’ll forgive you again Return, Page 19

...I'm constantly agitated, restless - I work moments like worry beads until I see your face...

I'm disappearing in the nightfall, becoming one with the rocks I’m sitting on… Sinking in my own reminiscence of your smile, your lips and your smell… Not missing you, not longing for you, but grieving for the dreams that held the image of the darkest brown eyes. Perhaps I was your one as you called me… It is said a man can be happy with any woman but the one he truly loves.

I'm becoming more a vessel of memories than a person it's a myth / that love lives in the heart it lives in the throat we push it out / when we speak when we gasp we take a little for ourselves / in books love can be war-ending a soldier drops his sword / to lie forking oysters into his enemy's mouth in life we hold love up to the light / to marvel at its impotence

I’m dancing to songs about death again. I’m grooving to a tune about disease. I’m clapping to a rhythm that’s terminal. I’m singing with the greatest of ease.

I mean, have you ever imagined the ocean is alive, and needs to tell us something important, and the only way it can talk is by making waves crash, and we just lounge there, drenched in cocoa butter, on towels with crappy novels and volleyballs, sipping spritzers, as the ocean uses all its strength to repeat the same warning over and over?

I mean, have you ever imagined the ocean is alive, and needs to tell us something important, and the only way it can talk is by making waves crash, and we just lounge there, drenched in cocoa butter, on towels with crappy novels and volleyballs, sipping spritzers, as the ocean uses all its strength to repeat the same warning over and over? (from the poem "The Berlin Mall")

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes; I wonder if It weighs like Mine, Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long, Or did it just begin? I could not tell the Date of Mine, It feels so old a pain. I wonder if it hurts to live, And if They have to try, And whether, could They choose between, It would not be, to die. I note that Some -- gone patient long -- At length, renew their smile. An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil. I wonder if when Years have piled, Some Thousands -- on the Harm Of early hurt -- if such a lapse Could give them any Balm; Or would they go on aching still Through Centuries above, Enlightened to a larger Pain By Contrast with the Love. The Grieved are many, I am told; The reason deeper lies, -- Death is but one and comes but once, And only nails the eyes. There's Grief of Want and Grief of Cold, -- A sort they call "Despair"; There's Banishment from native Eyes, In sight of Native Air. And though I may not guess the kind Correctly, yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary, To note the fashions of the Cross, And how they're mostly worn, Still fascinated to presume That Some are like My Own.

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long – Or did it just begin – I could not tell the Date of Mine – It feels so old a pain – I wonder if it hurts to live – And if They have to try – And whether – could They choose between – It would not be – to die – I note that Some – gone patient long – At length, renew their smile – An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil – I wonder if when Years have piled – Some Thousands – on the Harm – That hurt them early – such a lapse Could give them any Balm.

I mean when you leave the balloons that you carry in your laughter behind on my ceiling, well, I like them better than flowers.

I’m floating. I’m flowing. I’m loving, but I’m going.