Best 750 quotes in «poems quotes» category

For the novelist or poet, for the scientist or artist, the question is not where do ideas come from, the question is how they come. The how is the mystery. The how is fragile.

for those memories are now just like these little kittens I hold in my hands those can be kissed and treasured but not held too tightly.

For you i have saved poems under my skin.

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I was different I was not raised; as others were My passions from a common sense of ideas. From the same source I have taken Thus, this is art that connects mankind My pains; I could not awaken Resurrected, because in art there's creativity My heart too complacent at the same rate; And all I loved indeed, I loved alone.I am alone.

From darkness; take me unto Light. O God! Help me today, make my maiden flight. From sorrow; give me the strength to break. And help me to love and to care. From darkness take me unto Light. O God! Hear my prayers and let in the sunlight. (excerpts of my poem from my book 'From the Silence Within')

From the moment I saw her I knew this one was worth the broken heart.

From the life’s pen My ink flows and my feelings pour Some call it poetry I call it my boat’s oar…

From 'The Book of Mostly Gibberish' Dedication: To me. I couldn't have done it without you.

From the Wild West, I heard the thundering voice of Bacchus’, winy prophesies,yet disillusioned in his self aching brains, that rattled his evil enemies.

Gazing from the moon, we see one earth, without borders, Mother Earth, her embrace encircling one people, humankind.

Give my soul to Heaven to keep it, while I am becoming nothing but pleasure in your skilful hands of a sculptor.

give me a pillow of strong ever-dependable shoulders that i can bury my head in.

Glossa Time goes by, time comes along, All is old and all is new; What is right and what is wrong, You must think and ask of you; Have no hope and have no fear, Waves that rise can never hold; If they urge or if they cheer, You remain aloof and cold. To our sight a lot will glisten, Many sounds will reach our ear; Who could take the time to listen And remember all we hear? Keep aside from all that patter, Seek yourself, far from the throng When with loud and idle clatter Time goes by, time comes along. Nor forget the tongue of reason Or its even scales depress When the moment, changing season, Wears the mask of happiness - It is born of reason's slumber And may last a wink as true: For the one who knows its number All is old and all is new. Be as to a play, spectator, As the world unfolds before: You will know the heart of matter Should they act two parts or four; When they cry or tear asunder From your seat enjoy along And you'll learn from art to wonder What is right and what is wrong. Past and future, ever blending, Are the twin sides of same page: New start will begin with ending When you know to learn from age; All that was or be tomorrow We have in the present, too; But what's vain and futile sorrow You must think and ask of you; For the living cannot sever From the means we've always had: Now, as years ago, and ever, Men are happy or are sad: Other masks, same play repeated; Diff'rent tongues, same words to hear; Of your dreams so often cheated, Have no hope and have no fear. Hope not when the villains cluster By success and glory drawn: Fools with perfect lack of luster Will outshine Hyperion! Fear it not, they'll push each other To reach higher in the fold, Do not side with them as brother, Waves that rise can never hold. Sounds of siren songs call steady Toward golden nets, astray; Life attracts you into eddies To change actors in the play; Steal aside from crowd and bustle, Do not look, seem not to hear From your path, away from hustle, If they urge or if they cheer; If they reach for you, go faster, Hold your tongue when slanders yell; Your advice they cannot master, Don't you know their measure well? Let them talk and let them chatter, Let all go past, young and old; Unattached to man or matter, You remain aloof and cold. You remain aloof and cold If they urge or if they cheer; Waves that rise can never hold, Have no hope and have no fear; You must think and ask of you What is right and what is wrong; All is old and all is new, Time goes by, time comes along.

God is.. Not in the Himalayas He is residing In the slums, On the borders, In the beggar’s bread In the Cancer patient’s strength Do not go in search of him In the temples, churches Or mosques Gone are the days When he could peacefully Sit on his throne Listen to your prayers Wipe your tears And attend your fears Go after him If you want to be blessed Give the hungry His share of bread Add life to the life of Who is already half dead Spend that extra penny Not on your luxury But the comfort of The child shivering On the road Seek God Not on his throne Gone are the days When he was not begging on the road

Good Bones" Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

Good folk, I have no coin, To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusy heather.

Growing older doesn't mean that you are more mature than everyone who is younger than you. Maturity is a lot of things, and age has nothing to do with it.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

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.

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

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 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.

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]

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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 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 going into the darkness of the darkness for ever.

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 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 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 believe in family values and following your dreams.

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 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.