Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

They don’t know I only speak in runaway train stations and everybody is always a few minutes too late to the platform. No one has ever gotten the chance to get too close because it is never romantic to fuck the girl who makes love to her own sadness every single night.

They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

They creep along the brown sea of earth, tiptoeing, after the waves of the Blaze leave dancing heat springs, and before the sky washes out the heat. They visit among themselves. I stay at home. They talk to each other. I write. I stay at home and write.

They danced underneath the lampposts at night, when they were bored. And when the sun rose, they tormented wandering souls.

They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.

(They) have killed off that part of themselves which feels, Which cannot look away, which brings them trembling to their knees, at the wet-faced beauty of each instant,,, They deftly slip the punches that life throws at their head as it screams "Look at me! Feel me! Why did you even come here?

They lay together in a sheltered place among the ruins of Brasilia while deathbeams from Chinese EMVs played like blue searchlights on broken ceramic walls.

They loved each other, but neither Would venture to speak thereof; They glared at each other like enemies And wanted to die of love.

they make love in the sculptures on a temple wall

They’re close. Voices loud and fierce, Slapping faces with words. A scream … A cry … They’re getting closer. Did I lock the door? It’s too late to check. They’re coming. I barely move, barely breathe. Perhaps they’ll go away. But they’re getting closer. The door slams against the wall. My eyes squeeze shut. This curtain is not a shield. They’re here. They’ve come for me. I freeze. Metal rings clank together. My barrier is cast aside. Wearily, I look. Reddened eyes glower at one another … But not at me. I wonder. A moment of silence … Water streams down my face. Steam rolls around my flesh. I glare at the intruders And slide the curtain between us. I wait. He shrieks, “She took my glow stick!” She howls, “No, I didn’t!” I scowl. “Go tell your father about it.” They leave. I inhale the lavender mist. Slather bubbles over my skin. Five more minutes … And, next time, I shall lock the door.

They mouth love's language. Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with. Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh. Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung, As sour as cat's breath, Harsh of tongue.

They're auras, Davey. I see them, too. The longer you stare at them, the wider the energy field expands until more colors begin to show themselves.

They say she is too much to handle, but when the moon pulls the tide and the wolves howl her name, blessed are the ones who have been taken by her wild.

They're waiting for you to say all these grand statements, you know? You march across the room and you're supposed to say 'DEATH HAS TWELVE WINGS LIKE THE ANGEL OF HELL!' but people aren't built that way. You can only say 'Hey, uh, baby, why don't ya' make me a cup of coffee?

They say I am powerful, They say I am eloquent, They say I am wealthy. But I am feeble, I do not believe, I am surrounded by the mute, the inanimate, For I am made of baser things. Poem: An Honest Soliloquy in ‘Chameleon Lights

They say, poetry is dead. I say, was there ever a time they had a clue of what the state of poetry is?

They say that history is going on somewhere. They say it won't stop. I have held One picture still for a long time and waited.

They say I’m a poet I say I just put words Into feelings To justify My inadequacy

They surrounded me, bare me. Their fingers like tentacles and their desires like knives. Their fingers traced my secrets and their desires carved my skin.

They think thee mad? I'll show thou mad, my lord.

they say they only want flowers to grow from my mouth, so i will look them dead in the eye as i shove soft petals past my lips, chew with my jaw completely unhinged, & spit them down at their feet -i will never be your expectations of me

They that be born in the strength of youth are of one fashion, and they that are born in the time of age, when the womb fail, are otherwise.

They say, The result of waiting would be great The result of patience would be great But, no one tells you About the pain it brings along No one talks about the pain Of a person Who waits for the entire life Only to die alone In the end With the questions unanswered Many have died alone With the unanswered questions

They tell you That the world will love you back If you love yourself enough I am sorry to say It doesn’t really work in that way Know your worth When someone treats you like You are ordinary Know your worth When he fails to appreciate you Know your worth When he tells you that He no longer needs you Know your worth When she cannot love you fully Know your worth They tell you That the world will love you back If you love yourself enough I am sorry to say It doesn’t really work in that way

They say the truth will set you free, but what they neglect to mention is what happens when the truth isn't what you want to hear.

They were learning that New York had another life, too — subterranean, like almost everything that was human in the city — a life of writers meeting in restaurants at lunchtime or in coffee houses after business hours to talk of work just started or magazines unpublished, and even to lay modest plans for the future. Modestly they were beginning to write poems worth the trouble of reading to their friends over coffee cups. Modestly they were rebelling once more.

They told us it was a dance, a party, a pageant, so we ran laughing together straight into the disaster.

They were all around us that day. In the confusion of air. In our strange dreams. In the baggage we'd brought with us and would have to leave. In our fading animal memories: The humming gold of being, and ceasing to be. The exposed motor of eternity.

They told me to pay attention to my heart; that it would lead me to my purpose, my passion. So I did, I listened closely to the beat of my heart and it always brought me back to you.

They took my books because my message was love. They took my pen because my words were love. Then they took my voice because my song was love. Soon they’ll take myself so nothing remains. But they don’t know that when I'm gone my love will stay.

They were full of mysteries and secrets, like... like poems turned into landscapes." "'Poems turned into landscapes.'" he murmured with a slight smile. "And what of Vestenveld's gardens? Do you see poems in them?" "Your gardens are like your country's poetry. Very frilly and organized.

they told her, “fear the reaper." she laughed to herself and muttered, 'baby, death ain’t nothing’ more than a quick fuck. a little bit of silence after he comes.

They were opposites in one way They were similar in another But they felt real with each other They felt alive with each other

They took the red string which bound me to you They sank it in the center of the ocean

They were wrong about the sun. It does not go down into the underworld at night. The sun leaves merely and the underworld emerges. It can happen at any moment. It can happen in the morning, you in the kitchen going through your mild routines. Plate, cup, knife. All at once there’s no blue, no green, no warning.

They will smile, as they always do when they plan a major attack late in the night.

Things always show up when they don't arrive.

Things began happening with odd synchronicity, as if the universe itself was conspiring on behalf of their love story.

Things change, time changes. People change, life changes. Time changes things, life changes people.

Thine own things, and such as are grown up with thee, canst thou not know; How should thy vessel then be able to comprehend the way of the Highest, and, the world being now outwardly corrupted to understand the corruption that is evident in my sight?

. . . they will say: "The one you love, is not a woman for you, Why do you love her? I think you could find one more beautiful, more serious, more deep, more other . . .

They will tell you home is safe zone. No, bitch face is safe zone. Bitch face is home. Bitch face is cutting off the ladder, willing to burn in the apartment, if it means he can't get in.

things will happen as they should. what is meant to be will always be good.

Thing were falling apart. We just could not slow down. We were evolving into something greater, perhaps too much for our own good. And one thing always remained as I moved on. I saved a little bit of love just in case you would ever return home.

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.

Thinking it’ll be tough, one forwent the test; while other took it but studied hardest. Thinking it might rain, one canceled his trip; while other pushed through, with raincoat equipped. Thoughts of hindrance make you not negative, it’s in the kind of reaction you’ll give. If the negative’s way is just to quit, the positive’s style is find ways round it.

This bitterly cold weather is a shift from an even colder half of year. It's as if we're back to some sort of embryonic development that brought us to where we started: an inertia of life— changing positions like atoms within a molecule— the cruel, cruel curse of the winter sunset... a reminder that natural light comes and goes as it damn well pleases.

Think positive. Think green.

This city by the fearsome river Was my crib blessed and dear And a solemn wedding bed Which the garlands for the head Your young cherubs held above - A city loved with bitter love. The subject of my prayers Were you, moody, calm, and austere. There first the groom came to me Having shown me the pathway holy, And that sad muse of mine Led me like one blind. * II * December 9, 1913 The darkest days of the year Must become the most clear. I can't find words to compare - Your lips are so tender and dear. Only to raise your eyes do not dare, Keeping the life of me. They're lighter than vials premier, And deadlier for me. I understand now, that we need no words, The snowed branches are light, and more, The birdcatcher, to catch birds, Has laid nets on the rivershore.

This fifth and final sun will die, Like every sun before— But for a moment we laughed in its light, Like wind-blown petals Sparkling near an exile’s campfire Before the flames take them.