Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

I'm the girl that goes backwards, takes wrong turns, stumbles in the dark. I'm also the girl that finds gold where others feared to stray. Perhaps because I follow my heart instead of sage advice thrown my way. I don't want to become numb by always playing it safe. Many of our most cherished times happen when we shatter the damn box, step off the safety zone and listen to the sound of our soul.

i'm the beast rattling the cage, asking for slaughter.

I'm the endorser of this Earth, dedicated to God as a first born son since birth. It's a blessing disguised above this governmental curse, governing our mental is a real life nightmare, a burden never ceasing to ease even when passed the ripe age of white hair. It's old testament redemption, bless em with an inheritance is what I'm trynna mention.

I'm supposed to a man who never blows his composure A boy trapped in a war, forced to be a solider The weight of the world just put on top of my shoulders But if there's one thing I know for sure It's that my mind has had its exposure And my emotional turmoil has finally had its closure

I'm the G when you spell OG

I must have been a poet, that might justify the high sensibility drifted apart. But then, I ask myself: “What is a poet without his voice of happiness?” “What is a poet when his sensibility is found in nothing but fatal solitude and deep melancholy?!” My beliefs pour into unfounded questions of my soul's floated songs. (Excerpted from Tears of pain, chapter Pain)

I’m with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I'm trying to be blessed with a gift to turn pain into productivity.

I'm two days away from day after tomorrow Counting the hours to my upcoming sorrow Suddenly I look into the eyes of my child Then all sadness gone as I smile the way she smiled

I must confess, that my heart is like a frozen lake, only pretends to be firm, to shroud its tearful ache. So tread over this heart, as often as you like, but one of these days, if it feels your warmth strike; its cold, thin surface will abruptly break asunder, and then it won’t resist from pulling you deep under.

I’m writing my name Like I used to write lovers’ Over and over

I'm writing to hold on to you.

In 2013 there were 7,427 poetry readings in April, many on a Thursday. For anyone born in 1928 who pays attention to poetry, the numerousness is astonishing. In April 1948, there were 15 readings in the United States, 12 by Robert Frost. So I claim. The figures are imaginary, but you get the point.

In addition, I think religion has a chance of a look-in whenever the mind craves solace in music or poetry-- in any form of art at all. Personally, I think it is an art, the greatest one; an extension of the communication all the other arts attempt.

In a dark silent room I sit all alone Feeling only the pain and With uncontrollable tears The floral bed sheets I'm covered in Fails to offer the warmth and comfort I’m trapped Underneath the blankets Screaming and tormenting I'm passing the nights

In a dark place in a dark time start with black. Stop. Soak up its energy. Remember the circle however bent and broken. Prize balance. Seek Pleasure. Allow surprise. Let music guide your every impulse. Support those who falter. Steer by our fixed star: No Justice, No Peace.

In addition to water, air, earth and fire, there is a fifth element essential for life: his name is poetry.

In all innocence I plead guilty for loving you by accident.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. And I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. And I know I am deathless. I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

In all we do, and hear, and see, Is restless Toil and Vanity. While yet the rolling earth abides, Men come and go like ocean tides

In all ages woman has been the source of all that is pure, unselfish, and heroic in the spirit and life of man.....poetry and fiction are based upon woman's love, and the movements of history are mainly due to the sentiments or ambitions she has inspired......there is no aspiration which any man here to-night entertains, no achievement he seeks to accomplish, no great and honorable ambition he desires to gratify, which is not directly related to either or both a mother or a wife. From the hearth-stone around which linger the recollections of our mother, from the fireside where our wife awaits us, come all the purity, all the hope, and all the courage with which we fight the battle of life. The man who is not thus inspired, who labors not so much to secure the applause of the world as the solid and more precious approval of his home, accomplishes little of good for others or of honor for himself. I close with the hope that each of us may always have near us: 'A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command, And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.

In all our wrongs, I want to write him, in a time where I can find him. Before the tears that tore us. When our history was before us.

In all the flames of fire fume’s left the trace Into the bluest sea the sky is drowned The miracles of life can you embrace From the poem 'Can You Embrace?

In a myriad of ways you tell one truth.

In an instant he forgot Joe's poem about Japan except the part about 'you are the bell, and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,' and a new sound entered his life, like when he was a kid and he first heard the sound of horses clip-clopping and he asked his mother in wonder, "What's that sound, because I've never heard it before?

In another land there is glory In another land there is happiness In another land we all get along In another land we will stand with others

In a pine tree, A few yards away from my window sill, A brilliant blue jay is springing up and down, up and down, On a branch. I laugh, as I see him abandon himself To entire delight, for he knows as well as I do That the branch will not break.

In a serener Bright, In a more golden light I see Each little doubt and fear, Each little discord here Removed.

in a slapfight with Jesus my face bleeds because no one cut their fingernails back then

In a single wave of meaning the triumphant purity of being.

In a way, she became the sand to my hourglass... she made watching that trickling sand a little more bearable. I no longer worried about what would happen when the sand ran out. I began to see the spark each grain held as it fell.

in a split second of letting down my guard and opening up my soul, you corrupted it with this magnificent disease called 'love

In a tired time, with the light outside drifting away for another day and the lights inside flickering as they come to life, I cup my hands together and prepare to give thanks ... to the life of a day given to me. A day shared with past and present, living and dying, of body and not, and a realization that in everything that is, there is something that was.

In a world of love lightning and rainbow are lovers now. They arc and strike upon the horizon of credence to rise above their cloudy vow

in a world of chaos and ticking clocks, live for the moments that keep you still

In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.

In darkness, some flowers blossom!

In daylight we pick up our tinned rations and hike off, every artery and nerve of us, into the rest of our commemorative lives.

In dealing with us, God always starts with our motives. What do you want for the people? What does God wants for his people? What do you want Him to do for you; that's is a starting place.

In death we vanquished enemies, In death, we slew our foes. Blood soaked rage engulfed our blades, When blood lust took its hold. – In death, a darkness troubled one, In death, concealed, undone. Deep in darkness dragons wait, When blood would set the sun. – In death, we glorified his name. In death, we saw too late, When drink, to him, we raised in praise, The dragon sealed his fate. – In death, we lived. In death, we fought. In death, we grew to hate. In death, the blackened wraith released, The blinded shade beneath. – In death, his darkened eyes grew dim. In death, his mind was lost within. With blackened eyes, he slew his kin, In death, we lost to him. – In death, I took up sword and slew. In death, the dragon’s wrath ensued. We had no choice. The dragon fumed. In death, he was consumed. – In death, our brother’s blood deplored, In death, our brother, did I gore, When I rose up and killed one more. His blood ensconced my sword. – From death, his mutterings are weak. From death, his voice, to me, it speaks. Entombed within my brother’s keep, Revived in death, he sleeps.

Incomparable wound weeps through a parable Barrenness I bear into the unbearable I read the pale sadness from the unreadable My mind starts breeding from the bare unbreedable

In dividing the light, things are seen. And we notice ourselves.

Inebriate of Air — am I — And Debauchee of Dew — Reeling — thro endless summer days — From Inns of Molten Blue —

indelible waiting l'art poetique "..I will wait for the night to chase me..." I sit on a rock and watch children playing in the park below They don't see me Or know my thoughts Or that you haven't called But I forgive them their indifference today Above me a crow caws Perhaps he smells the crumbs on my dress Or my anger But he flits away over the trees Probably has a home Probably has a wife Probably knew to call The children leave The coffee in my can turns cold The wind nips at me Some street lights flicker on But I won't move Not yet I will wait for the night to chase me Back where I came from Up the empty street To a quiet house

In distance we seek what we call home, the mad city where we belong.

I need to work on me. The me without you.

I negate this distance with / what it would be / to be shining you.

I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away. My heart goes wandering around and calls for Susie...My heart is full of you; none other than you are in my thoughts, yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me. If you were here, we need not talk at all for our eyes would whisper for us and, your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language.

I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to me to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.

I never think of burning a star when I acquire certain sadness attached by suspending from the top of a raging dark sky within my unnerving me. From the poem- Not A NightGazer