Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

Sand lines my soul which is filled with the breath of the ocean.

]Sardis often turning her thoughts here ] you like a goddess and in your song most of all she rejoiced. But now she is conspicuous among Lydian women as sometimes at sunset the rosyfingered moon surpasses all the stars. And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields. And the beautiful dew is poured out and roses bloom and frail chervil and flowering sweetclover. But she goes back and forth remembering gentle Atthis and in longing she bites her tender mind

Sataa kirsikan kukkaslunta ja lumen kirsikankukkaa. Minä kysyn kevväältä: lunta, kukkaa vai lunta?

say, beautiful & point to the map of your body say, brave & were your skin like a gown or a suit say, hero & cast yourself in the lead role /// when a girl pronounces her own name there is glory when a woman tells her own life story she lives forever

savor with me the lushness of a lingering sleep... and last night’s dream.

Say you could view a time lapse film of our planet: what would you see? Transparent images moving through light, “an infinite storm of beauty.” The beginning is swaddled in mists, blasted by random blinding flashes. Lava pours and cools; seas boil and flood. Clouds materialize and shift; now you can see the earth’s face through only random patches of clarity. The land shudders and splits, like pack ice rent by widening lead. Mountains burst up, jutting, and dull and soften before your eyes, clothed in forests like felt. The ice rolls up, grinding green land under water forever; the ice rolls back. Forests erupt and disappear like fairy rings. The ice rolls up- mountains are mowed into lakes, land rises wet from the sea like a surfacing whale- the ice rolls back. A blue-green streaks the highest ridges, a yellow-green spreads from the south like a wave up a strand. A red dye seems to leak from the north down the ridges and into the valleys, seeping south; a white follows the red, then yellow-green washes north, then red spreads again, then white, over and over, making patterns of color too intricate to follow. Slow the film. You see dust storms, locusts, floods, in dizzying flash-frames. Zero in on a well-watered shore and see smoke from fires drifting. Stone cities rise, spread, and crumble, like paths of alpine blossoms that flourish for a day an inch above the permafrost, that iced earth no root can suck, and wither in a hour. New cities appear, and rivers sift silt onto their rooftops; more cities emerge and spread in lobes like lichen on rock. The great human figures of history, those intricate, spirited tissues whose split second in the light was too brief an exposure to yield any image but the hunched shadowless figures of ghosts. Slow it down more, come closer still. A dot appears, a flesh-flake. It swells like a balloon; it moves, circles, slows, and vanishes. This is your life.

Scent of old books a mystery; a secret port of the dreamers.

Say No! Accept the burdens of revenge.

Say you could view a time-lapse film of our planet: what would you see? Transparent images moving through light, “an infinite storm of beauty.” The beginning is swaddled in mists, blasted by random blinding flashes. Lava pours and cools; seas boil and flood. Clouds materialize and shift; now you can see the earth’s face through only random patches of clarity. The land shudders and splits, like pack ice rent by a widening lead. Mountains burst up, jutting and dull and soften before your eyes, clothed in forests like felt. The ice rolls up, grinding green land under water forever; the ice rolls back. Forests erupt and disappear like fairy rings. The ice rolls up-mountains are mowed into lakes, land rises wet from the sea like a surfacing whale- the ice rolls back. A blue-green streaks the highest ridges, a yellow-green spreads from the south like a wave up a strand. A red dye seems to leak from the north down the ridges and into the valleys, seeping south; a white follows the red, then yellow-green washes north, then red spreads again, then white, over and over, making patterns of color too swift and intricate to follow. Slow the film. You see dust storms, locusts, floods, in dizzying flash frames. Zero in on a well-watered shore and see smoke from fires drifting. Stone cities rise, spread, and then crumble, like patches of alpine blossoms that flourish for a day an inch above the permafrost, that iced earth no root can suck, and wither in a hour. New cities appear, and rivers sift silt onto their rooftops; more cities emerge and spread in lobes like lichen on rock. The great human figures of history, those intricate, spirited tissues that roamed the earth’s surface, are a wavering blur whose split second in the light was too brief an exposure to yield any images. The great herds of caribou pour into the valleys and trickle back, and pour, a brown fluid. Slow it down more, come closer still. A dot appears, like a flesh-flake. It swells like a balloon; it moves, circles, slows, and vanishes. This is your life.

Scenes from the Playroom Now Lucy with her family of dolls Disfigures Mother with an emery board, While Charles, with match and rubbing alcohol, Readies the struggling cat, for Chuck is bored. The young ones pour more ink into the water Through which the latest goldfish gamely swims, Laughing, pointing at naked, neutered Father. The toy chest is a Buchenwald of limbs. Mother is so lovely; Father, so late. The cook is off, yet dinner must go on With onions as her only cause for tears She hacks the red meat from the slippery bone, Setting the table, where the children wait, Her grinning babies, clean behind the ears.

Scatter as a prayer escaping my lips... as orchids blooming in clouds.

Science ask facts and religion ask faith, humans are confused between life and death.

Science is the poetry of reality.

Science neither cares to please nor to displease. She is inhuman. It is not science but poetry that charms and consoles. And that is why poetry is more necessary than science.

Science has given us a great lie. It is this lie that ends the current age of faith in God.

Science makes discoveries when it admits to not knowing, poetry endures if it looks hard at real things. Nature writing, if such a thing exists, lives in this territory where science and poetry might meet. It must be made of both; it needs truth and beauty.

Scientist alone is true poet.

Sea Prayer was inspired by the story of Alan Kurdi, the three-year-old Syrian refugee who drowned in the Mediterranean Sea trying to reach the Safety in Europe in 2015. In the year after Alan's death, 4,176 others died or went missing attempting that same journey.

Scrape away the rust from these jaded eyes and let me see again the wild wonder of life; to know in joy and pain what a miracle it is to feel anything at all.

Screw the false notion of "politically correct". No matter what race, nationality, creed or color you are. If you are a real writer then you are writing in the real world. Write about it and stand up for yourself as well as other writers.

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

Seal the borders of my body to pain, seal my eyes, mouth, belly to any hunger not my own. I rename myself America. No love no grief in the world but mine.

Seasons,the sad dreams and happiness give,like in on end,the bleak summers bear heart-felt sighs of death that circles the grave;and church bells toll loudly so deep and drear.

Sebagaimana senja senantiasa menyapa manusia, sebagaimana gemintang senantiasa menemani rembulan. Sebagaimana puisi yang berkasih sayang. Begitupula aku yang merangkulmu, pada cinta untuk kembali pulang.

SECRET SMILE End your day with a secret smile on your face.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Seed Leaves Homage to R. F. Here something stubborn comes, Dislodging the earth crumbs And making crusty rubble. it comes up bending double, And looks like a green staple. It could be seedling maple, Or artichoke, or bean. That remains to be seen. Forced to make choice of ends, The stalk in time unbends, Shakes off the seed-case, heaves Aloft, and spreads two leaves Which still display no sure And special signature. Toothless and fat, they keep The oval form of sleep. This plant would like to grow And yet be embryo; In crease, and yet escape The doom of taking shape; Be vaguely vast, and climb To the tip end of time With all of space to fill, Like boundless Igdrasil That has the stars for fruit. But something at the root More urgent that the urge Bids two true leaves emerge; And now the plant, resigned To being self-defined Before it can commerce With the great universe, Takes aim at all the sky And starts to ramify.

Sebab tak ada pelukan yang lebih erat dari puisi.

Secure in his flight Rider on the constant winds Hawk flies through his days Looks then to the east Prompted by fate’s gentle breeze Changes his intent Fate’s gentle breezes Move the mighty heart to change Destiny remade

SEED And if Paul Celan would come in here, in the future verse I would be the flower you the death I would not write to you on this uncertain wish to die on you like a fading flower to become a seed Tânia Tomé © Book - " Tie me behind the sun" 2010

Seeing you dumpster diving the other day, I meant To say hello and toss you a quarter, but the Secret Service wouldn't allow it. Plus, it would look phony, For I did shove you out into the cold years ago. Had to, or I wouldn't have made it this far, so Just be glad for your old buddy, as you chew Wet french fries and suck on leftover ice. [Barack Obama to his soul]

See I woke up to this God-body movement, three eyes wide open to this God-mind blueprint. The dynamic of this climax at the peak of a God-conscious is what I seek. Subliminally, I speak fluent, 10 figure mind, I just do it. Life unravels its turmoils and these pen to paper sessions ease my pain and free my mind as I watch the rain, looking through the souls window for a sign. Take you pass the senses into the sixth, take you into a place of paradise and bliss in all but only a few notice.

Seeing the God statement Suppose the statement Blessed Are the pure in heart, for they shall see God were placed like a wreath of violets, Lilies, laurel, and olive, blossoms strung together Like words in a sentence, a garland Launched, set out on a flowing creek Imagine that wreath carried Down the frothy rapids, tossed, floating Slipping over water-smooth, moss-colored Boulders, in and out of slow, dark pools, Through poplar and willow shadows. It dips, Sinks momentarily, emerges, travels, maitains Its ring, its declaration and syntax. At times it widens in a broad, deep Current, makes sense as a gift. The pure becomes inclusive, spatial, Generous. God and heart are two Spread wings of one open reading. And at times it narrows, restricts. Violets and heart entangle With God. The blessed braces, Overlaps lilies and laurel. Still, at any point you might reach down yourself, catch that ring of blossoms, lift it up, wear its beauty and blooming distinction across your forehead. Look into a mirror. See what you can see.

SEEING OFF A FRIEND Green hills above the northern wall, White water winding east of the city. On this spot our single act of parting, The lonely tumbleweed journeys ten thousand li. Drifting clouds echo the traveller's thoughts, The setting sun reflects my old friend's feelings. You wave your hand and set off from this place, Your horse whinnies as it leaves.

SEEING OFF MENF HAORAN FOR GUANLING AT YELLOW CRANE TOWER My old friend's said goodbye to the west, here at Yellow Crane Tower, In the third month's cloud of willow blossoms, he's going down to Yangzhou. The lonely sail is a distant shadow, on the edge of a blue emptiness, All I see is the Yangtze River flow to the far horizon.

Seeing thou hast now given me the way, I will proceed to speak before thee: for our mother, of whom thou hast told me that she is young, draw now nigh unto age.

See--two who dreamed that dream, and you were one.

Seek the ones you love. --- Only therapy.

sekali berarti sesudah itu mati

SELF BENEATH THE SURFACE, VEILED ON PURPOSE, ALL KNOWING AND GRAND, DIRECTED, GUIDED, BY THE ETERNAL HAND, SUSTAINED, FULFILLED, FULL OF LIGHT, REALIZATION ACHIEVED, BY WILLFUL MIGHT.

Self-care is taking all the pressures you are facing right now, and deciding to which you will respond, and how.

Self-love isn’t always so poetic; sometimes it’s a nice big triple back flip kick in the ass. You’ve got to call yourself on your own nonsense; on the incredibly efficient way you can be self-destructive.

Seigneur je suis très fatigué. Je suis né fatigué. Et j'ai beaucoup marché depuis le chant du coq Et le morne est bien haut qui mène à leur école. Seigneur, je ne veux plus aller à leur école, Faites, je vous en prie, que je n'y aille plus. Je veux suivre mon père dans les ravines fraîches Quand la nuit flotte encore dans le mystère des bois Où glissent les esprits que l'aube vient chasser. Je veux aller pieds nus par les rouges sentiers Que cuisent les flammes de midi, Je veux dormir ma sieste au pied des lourds manguiers, Je veux me réveiller Lorsque là-bas mugit la sirène des blancs Et que l'Usine Sur l'océan des cannes Comme un bateau ancré Vomit dans la campagne son équipage nègre... Seigneur, je ne veux plus aller à leur école, Faites, je vous en prie, que je n'y aille plus. Ils racontent qu'il faut qu'un petit nègre y aille Pour qu'il devienne pareil Aux messieurs de la ville Aux messieurs comme il faut Mais moi je ne veux pas Devenir, comme ils disent, Un monsieur de la ville, Un monsieur comme il faut. Je préfère flâner le long des sucreries Où sont les sacs repus Que gonfle un sucre brun autant que ma peau brune. Je préfère vers l'heure où la lune amoureuse Parle bas à l'oreille des cocotiers penchés Ecouter ce que dit dans la nuit La voix cassée d'un vieux qui raconte en fumant Les histoires de Zamba et de compère Lapin Et bien d'autres choses encore Qui ne sont pas dans les livres. Les nègres, vous le savez, n'ont que trop travaillé. Pourquoi faut-il de plus apprendre dans les livres Qui nous parlent de choses qui ne sont point d'ici ? Et puis elle est vraiment trop triste leur école, Triste comme Ces messieurs de la ville, Ces messieurs comme il faut Qui ne savent plus danser le soir au clair de lune Qui ne savent plus marcher sur la chair de leurs pieds Qui ne savent plus conter les contes aux veillées. Seigneur, je ne veux plus aller à leur école.

S'en est allée l'amante Au village voisin malgré la pluie Sans son amant s'en est allée l'amante Pour danser avec un autre que lui Les femmes mentent mentent

Sentinels of trees breathe life into bodies of earthly flesh As their mighty arms reach to the stars we join in their quest for Helios’s mighty power Like sentinels, we seek our place in the forest of nature’s gentle breath

SENT TO DU FU BELOW SHAQUI CITY What is it that I've come to now? High before me: Shaqiu city. Beside the city, ancient trees; The sunset joins the autumn sounds. The Lu wine cannot make me drunk, Qi's songs cannot restore my feelings. My thoughts of you are like the Wen's waters, Mightily sent on their southern journey.

Self love is an ocean and your heart is a vessel. Make it full, and any excess will spill over into the lives of the people you hold dear. But you must come first.

Senja yang retak. Kapalkapal berlayar membawa kenangan. Airmatamu menjelma puisi paling duri, paling angin.

Seré una de las pocas poetisas en el mundo completamente feliz de ser mujer, no una de esas amargadas y frustradas, retorcidas imitadoras de hombres, que en su mayoría acaban destrozadas

Seulement la terre qui obéit, sait bien qu'elle tourne en rond, tandis que nous vers l'infini nous précipitons. Translation: But the obedient Earth well knows that she moves round and round, whereas we hurtle down toward infinity.