Best 750 quotes in «poems quotes» category

The thing about our choices is that after we have made them, they turn around and make us.

The world is a wide place where we stumble like children learning to walk. The world is a bright mosaic where we learn like children to see, where our little blurry eyes strive greedily to take in as much light and love and colour and detail as they can. The world is a coaxing whisper when the wind lips the trees, when the sea licks the shore, when animals burrow into earth and people look up at the sympathetic stars. The world is an admonishing roar when gales chase rainclouds over the plains and whip up ocean waves, when people crowd into cities or intrude into dazzling jungles. What right have we to carry our desperate mouths up mountains or into deserts? Do we want to taste rock and sand or do we expect to make impossible poems from space and silence? The vastness at least reminds us how tiny we are, and how much we don't yet understand. We are mere babes in the universe, all brothers and sisters in the nursery together. We had better learn to play nicely before we're allowed out..... And we want to go out, don't we? ..... Into the distant humming welcoming darkness.

The world you are in – Is the true hell. The journey to Truth itself Is what quickens the heart to become lighter. The lighter the heart, the purer it is. The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes. And the heavier the heart, The more chained to this hell It will remain.

They chased money, fast cars, and business empires. And all I ever wanted was to stare at the stars in the night and write poetry!

They're only trees. Only trees. Whose afraid of lonely trees?

The Weaver My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me; I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily. Oft times He weaveth sorrow And I, in foolish pride, Forget He sees the upper, And I the underside. Not til the loom is silent And the shuttles cease to fly, Shall God unroll the canvas And explain the reason why. The dark threads are as needful In the Weaver's skillful hand, As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern He has planned.

this is a world where our pain is what god eats religion is nothing but deceit god is a cheat (if he even exists)

This heart is a hurricane, turbulent with ache screaming winds of grief waiting to make the sky fall, to pluck the clouds from their beds with its whipping winds

This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms. only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

The work of existence devours its own unfolding. What dissolves will dissolve-- you, reader, and I, and all our quick angers and longings.

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.

think think think until you blink

This year has taught me the simple craft of belief. I believe in the things I’ve nurtured and built this year. Slowly but carefully. Such as understanding, knowledge, passion, strength; the hundreds of songs I’ve written, the 365 poems, the books I’ve read and the miles I’ve run. The resolution to breathe, to meditate, to not harm my mind or body even when I’ve felt like it.

This is why I love poems: they require me to sit still, listen deeply, and imagine putting myself in someone else's unfamiliar shoes. The world I return to when the poem is over seems fuller and more comprehensible as a result.

Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.

Through the darkest hours of the night and through the dreamers realm I seek, Far beyond the starry sky and beyond galaxies I am free. Through the grimmest memories and past a seasons air I cannot breathe, Far beyond this mortal world in an afterlife we shall meet.

Through windows, in wishing wells, whispering in the wind... that's where I find you.

This wobbly world host to insects and lint and a thousand pithy ways to feel unserious each minute It brings about a great softening of the mind, like the clouded edges of sea glass (this filter you could download and apply) A poultice or an opiate, rigidly individual. Alone and erasing sentences to splinters. (Poem No. 5)

t is silly to think they all achieved it "just like that". nothing in life is so easy, that is a fact. Behind the scenes were tears and pain, they stumbled and fell but got up again. They heard a voice, firm and true "Muster yourself you'll make it through" Steadied by a hand they arose to dance in the turmoil and storm with perseverance At the end, it came upon them; a light so bright success was theirs: it was their right!

To be successful in life , Plan, Implement, Revise, Update, and Build on Change.

Today is a trumpet to set the hounds baying. The past is a fox the hunters are flaying. Nothing unspoken goes without saying. Love's a casino where lovers risk playing. The future's a marker our hearts are prepaying. The future's a promise there's no guaranteeing. Today is a fire the field mice are fleeing. Love is a marriage of feeling and being. The past is a mirror for wishful sightseeing. Nothing goes missing without absenteeing. Nothing gets cloven except by dividing. The future is chosen by atoms colliding. The past's an elision forever eliding. Today is a fog bank in which I am hiding. Love is a burn forever debriding. Love's an ascent forever plateauing. Nothing is granted except by bestowing. Today is an anthem the cuckoos are crowing. The future's a convolute river onflowing. The past is a lawn the neighbor is mowing. The past is an answer not worth pursuing, Nothing gets done except by the doing. The future's a climax forever ensuing. Love is only won by wooing. Today is a truce between reaping and rueing.

Today I write, riots with insite! Tomorrow I read, take the lead! Sometimes I sleep, health to keep! But for now I write, and got no gripe!

To enjoy a peaceful & Beautiful Life We should open our 'EYE' and Close our 'I

To love is to soar in the wild unexpectedly.

Tip and Lulu shared a smile… and what can we say? Best friends were made that day. Marafiki milele was what they would stay. Their laughter could be heard for miles around. It truly was a wonderful sound.

Too often girls cover up their highlights instead of their shadows. And too often the right boys are too late to notice.

To sin by silence, when we should protest, Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance, and lust, The inquisition yet would serve the law, And guillotines decide our least disputes. The few who dare, must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills; May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and childbearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires. Therefore I do protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land. Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link. Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave. Until the manacled slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, Until the mother bears no burden, save The precious one beneath her heart, until God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labor, let no man Call this the land of freedom.

Time change - Moments don't.

Too lazy to be ambitious, I let the world take care of itself. Ten days' worth of rice in my bag; a bundle of twigs by the fireplace. Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment? Listening to the night rain on my roof, I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.

Towards these weeks of rain I give effusive praise. Let me always be reminded that there is time for change.

Traveling down a road of self-destruction With no room for any reconstruction

True poetry is embarrassing.

True art comes from flying with the madness so close you burn your eyelashes.

To write good poems is the secret of brevity.

True Relations never break and relation which breaks were never true

Trust not the promises of haste. They curl up as little lies...

Two seeds destined to grow in concert, planted together in the field of love.’” She took in a lungful of air and continued. “‘The sky cast wet buckets of dreams and desires, the roots took shape, and the leaves tangled as one.

Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold–too cold for me- There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light.

Turn your attentions to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance.

Two powerful factors which creates difference between destroying your relationship and deepening it are EGO and Attitude

...unforgivingly, and forcefully magnificent...

Unmask that face Let me see what lies beneath Unmask that face Let me see what’s not on the surface I no longer believe the smile on that face Hidden motives is all I see I no longer believe the sweetness of words A backstabber is all I see Dare to show your real face As coward is that masked face Dare to flaunt the inner you As respect, you might get Sharpen your knife Stab me in the chest I will admire you For not stabbing me in the back Unmask that face Let me see what lies beneath Unmask that face Let me see what’s not on the surface

Viceversa" Tengo miedo de verte necesidad de verte esperanza de verte desazones de verte tengo ganas de hallarte preocupación de hallarte certidumbre de hallarte pobres dudas de hallarte tengo urgencia de oírte alegría de oírte buena suerte de oírte y temores de oírte o sea resumiendo estoy jodido y radiante quizás más lo primero que lo segundo y también viceversa.

Versifying left her cold. Poems were too close to prayer, rousing regrettable passions. Waiting for God to rescue you when it was up to you. Poetry and prayer put ideas in people's heads that got them killed, distracting them from the ruthless mechanism of the world.

Use love as the only instrument to question the world around you.

Way Down South in Dixie (Break the heart of me) They hung my black young lover To a cross roads tree. Way Down South in Dixie (Bruised body high in air) I asked the white Lord Jesus What was the use of prayer. Way Down South in Dixie (Break the heart of me) Love is a naked shadow On a gnarled and naked tree.

Watch carefully the magic that occurs when you give a person enough comfort to just be themselves.

We are all a little broken, looking for something whole to hang on to. But sometimes, what seems whole is even more broken than we are.

Vivo sempre no presente. O futuro, não o conheço. O passado, já o não tenho.

We are not what we might be; what we are / Outlaws all extrapolation / Beyond the interval of now and here: / White whales are gone with the white ocean.