Best 750 quotes in «poems quotes» category

Her armor appears fragile – a delicate shell of silk and perfume. Life's troubles seem to find each chink. But try to touch that smooth shield and you will see it crumble in your hands. As the dust dissipates, you find she is gone.

Here’s to the “so-so-ing” it. Here’s to the working since I was 14 in a smoke clouded day. Here’s to saying I could stay until the forms were faxed. Here’s to driving home past dark and dozing off the road. Here’s to no over time. Here’s to the long line to management. Here’s to ALREADY DONE THAT! Here’s to quitting, saying I’m through, saying I can’t compete for your leftover lean cuisine. Here’s to art. Here’s to freedom. Here’s to saying God gave me every penny and knowing it’s true. Here’s to the next 40 years with you. Here’s to the new. — Adrianna Stepiano

Her love was as wild as the flames that made her. She was not the one to be tamed but loved from far.

He walked out the door and with each step my heart breaks. He'd be gone for days with long silences between each breath. I know I'm his one of many and he knows he's my one of one. The only one who holds him down. Yet, he still leaves. He walks through the door and with each step my heart leaps. He crumbles to the ground in tears telling me he's sorry. He says he needs me and he's nothing without me. How can he be so attached and detached at the same time? I swear, this man loves to see me in pain.

He was broken in the best way – in a way that made me stop and stare and want to love him.

He was the hunter of my soul, lying in wait - silently and motionless. Coaxing me out of hiding, Enticing me with love, Dangling hope in my face. Pulling me in, drawing me close. I gave in and walked into his trap. He did a good job too, tearing me apart and ripping my heart out. He was the hunter and I, the game. How could I forget that a hunter's job is to kill?

History is a ship forever setting sail.

History doesn’t start with a tall building and a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is taking us for suckers and is playing a mean game.

Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a "Diver" - Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest, Her heart is fit for home- I- a Sparrow- build there Sweet of twigs and twine My perennial nest.

He reclines in the hospital bed like a martyred king taking leave of his beloved kingdom, but all I see is a petulant, destructive child hiding in a dead man’s body.

How could I live above the water or breathe under it. How could I swim in darkness consumed in an ocean of you? Falling or flying towards you, losing or finding myself in you and beauty was never the word to catch all that you are. For now I know the means of the infinite and it all starts and ends with you.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

How does a person exist after their world has been torn to pieces? It must be possible. People do it all the time. After all the floods and tornadoes and wars that have hit the world with inexorable violence, people somehow scrape up their lives and begin again.

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match,we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

Horse [Man you will find here a new representation of the universe at its most poetic and most modern Man man man man man man Give yourself up to this art where the sublime does not exclude charm and brilliancy does not blur the nuance it is now or never the moment to be sensitive to poetry for it dominates all dreadfully Guillaume Apollinaire]

How do poems grow? They begin deep down in the pit of the soul as a seedling of a thought …

How long you will live in your dreams? The time is now, it's better to go and follow them..

How to be a Poet (to remind myself) i Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity… ii Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensional life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. iii Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.

How would you start to write a poem? How would you put together a series of words for its first line—how would you know which words to choose? When you read a poem, every word seemed so perfect that it had to have been predestined—well, a good poem.

Humans will never be in charge of this world, as long as dust and weeds do as they please.

I always felt it would pass. I listened to the charges against me knowing some of them to be true but certainly not important enough to become the target of violence, envy, vengeance. I thought it would surely pass.

I am going into the darkness of the darkness for ever.

i am a girl with the devil in my eyes and hades as my lover, dancing our way to an underworld, where he pins me against the wall and fingers out of me a silent confession

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood, neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eye I am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

I am less of myself and more of the sun; The beat of life is wearing me To an incomplete oblivion,

i am like a dead begonia hanging upside down because like a dead begonia I don't give a fuck

I am no one's to be claimed, I belong to me.

I am not sad anymore. I am not weak or tender or quiet like you remember because the second you said those words and closed that door, I sold my soul to the part of myself I had buried in order to love you, to let you touch every inch of my rotten body, for I wanted to be touchable and not so strange. Not so sad and tender, like I’ve always been, they say, so I changed. And then your glances and words throwing knives with no return about my change of habits and ways of living, being, and I nodded and smiled, dying silently a little bit inside.

I am signaling you through the flames. The North Pole is not where it used to be. Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest. Civilization self-destructs. Nemesis is knocking at the door. What are poets for, in such an age? What is the use of poetry? The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it. If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic. You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words....

i am permanently tanned in the summer of poetry.

I am sorry I am not the girl with the golden crown.’ The insecure girl said. The boy put his arm around her. ‘But you are the one with the silver wings.

I am the poet, you are the poem; I hold the pen, you are the words, love is the ink, silence is the blank page.

I am very close to HIM, sometimes I think I am HIM, with my mood is the weather,bright and sunny forever.

I arrived, I saw humans and I saw through their faces. Nothing ever changes but the light in their eyes. For I too have buried my demons today, without knowing what might remain beneath the face of tomorrow.

I balance you on the end of my pen. Teetering between love and letting go.

Htinya sekarang seperti benda rapuh. Aku tak tahu seberapa retak atau hancur di dalam sana, Aku hanya bisa menerka-nerka dari sini Dari tempatku Aku tak tahu apakah ia ingin kurengkuh atau kupeluk Atau hanya sekadar kulihat dan ku dengar dari sini Dari tempatku. Aku belum tahu Mungkin waktu tahu Mungkin nanti ia akan mengijinkanku tahu atau mungkin waktu.

I believe in family values and following your dreams.

I believe eros dwells in our innermost being as the spirit of creative expression. To me, eros is a great path that we must walk, a song we listen to, a game that we hunt and enjoy, a lesson to learn, a garden where flowers bloom, a prodigious puzzle to solve, a book to read, a chapter to write, and an ocean to swim in. That’s what eros is to me.

I believe that good poetry resonates with people on a metaphysical level; you can read a poem without quite being able to put into words why you enjoyed it. It could have been the shivers that ran down your spine or the elevating in your heartbeat. Or, it made you smile, or even cry; made you feel something.

I breathe in... The sights and smells Of this city I’ve come to know... So well I gaze... Across the turquoise ocean Where the waves Liberate my spirit... From its shell I breathe in... The brilliant sky line Where the birds Emerge shyly From the dappled sunshine I breathe in... The gently... Blowing winds That soothe me Like a mother, around her child I breathe in... The sounds of laughter Pure and pretty Like the golden-green butterfly I’m always after I breathe in... The closeness, I have always shared With people, Who almost knew me, Almost cared I breathe in... The comfort Of my home, The safe walls, The scents of childhood On the pillows I breathe in...the silence Of my own heart Aching with tenderness... With memories.. Of home I breathe... in... The fragrance Of love, and moist sand The one... His roses left... On both my hands And I just keep on breathing Every moment As much as I can Preserving it, in my body For the day It can’t So I breathe in.. Once again.. Feeling life's energy Fizzing through my cells Never knowing What awaits me Or what's going to happen to me.. Next I breathe in This moment... Knowing it's either life Or it's death I close my eyes, And breathe in Just believing in myself.

I breathe therefore I write…

I breathe in... the fragrance of love, and moist sand the one his roses left on both my hands I just keep on breathing every moment as much as I can preserving it, in my body for the day it can’t.

I bleed to un-break you, un-mending me. I fall to save you... now who will save me.

I build boxes and place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

I color my nails black and dye my hair red to wear, in metaphors, what my heart wants. The things I don‘t wish to remember, leaking from the tips of my fingers. The things I wish I won‘t forget, clinging to the roots of my hair.

I could take a walk with my wife and try to explain the ghosts I can't stop speaking to. Or I could read all those books piling up about the beginning of the end of understanding... Meanwhile, it's such a beautiful morning, the changing colors, the hypnotic light. I could sit by the window watching the leaves, which seem to know exactly how to fall from one moment to the next. Or I could lose everything and have to begin over again.

I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)

I did it the hard way Many of the big dreams I dreamt, I dreamt, when I met a failed attempt. Life taught me to believe that Great ideas can start from a wretched hut. Many of the strongest steps I took, I took, when I was given the fiercest look. My passion pokes me to understand That people’s mockeries, I can withstand. Many of the fastest speeds I gained, I gained when I was bitterly stained. I first thought the only way was to quit As I tried again, I no longer have guilt. Many of the bravest decisions I made, I made, when my life was about to fade. I was frustrated and ripe to sink. But then I strive to release the ink. Many of the longest journeys I started, I started, having no resource; money parted I relied on God my creator all dawn long And at dusk He gave me a new song. Many of the hardest questions I tackled, I tackled, when I was heckled. They were very troublesome to settle But I make it happen little by little Yet, it was not I, but the Lord Jesus The saviour who gives me success. In Him, through Him and by Him I have the liberty to do everything with vim. I don’t want to enjoy this liberty alone. You too must step out of your comfort zone. It’s not easy, but you can do it anyway. Jesus is the life, the truth and the way.

I didn't come looking for you the day you uninvitedly appeared on my doorstep How did we go from nonchalant conversation me waiting for you to turn me off with corny jokes and mind dumbing conversation to love To love and mind blowing chemistry that I've yet to make sense of What are you here to teach me?

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.