Poems Quotes - Page 2

Poetry, is a life long war wagedagainst ineffable beauty.

We dreamt of a crappy apartment somewhereMaking love while we let the midnight airFlow through the open window, into our closed heartsLeft bitter from heartbreak and too much time apart

Love is the reflection of a broken heart in a shattered mirror...

You write poems with your fingertipsAnd I keep listening to the songs written on my skinBy some distant dream, similar wordsBut the verses never meet...

Asthmatic spewer of filth gasps, but clean air does not sufficeTo fuel fires fueled by thoughts got rottenLest we all be forgotten thingsThat sit like dust upon the mantel of her mind

Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.

only kindness that raises its headfrom the crowd of the world to sayit is I you have been looking for,and then goes with you everywherelike a shadow or a friend.

Its not your fault for not being there.Its my fault for thinking you would be

She had the power to change the world but she couldn't save the one she loved.

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.

The only unreachable dream is the one you don’t reach for.

The kind of poetry to avoid in the pretty-pretty kind that pleased our grandmothers, the kind that Longfellow and Tennyson, good poets at their best, wrote at their worst.

THE HARDESTSTEPWE ALL MUST TAKEIS TO BLINDLY TRUST IN WHO WE ARE. - ATTICUS

Love is what makes two people sit in the middle of a bench when there is plenty of room at both ends. Love means nothing in tennis,But it's everything in life

oh, the heartbreakingly beautiful tender weight of being human.

you need to be careful with me.i fall in loveand i fall in love forever.

There's a story behind every "I don't believe in love""Period

stay curious and stay the brave, strong, unrelenting soldier of love that you are.

beware women grownoldwho were neveranything butyoung

I will forever walk alone in a world overflowing with those that will never understand my meaning of “Learning to See” I’m always teaching myself to see beauty in all aspects of reality, yearning to learn the beauty in others, from their vision of everyday life to their deepest secrets of their dreams. As the sun rises I must smile, smile for those with the beautiful mind and soul. I’m so passionate for the visions I see, and the dreams I wish the world could be.

Horse[Man you will find herea new representation of the universeat its most poetic and most modernMan man man man man manGive yourself up to this art where the sublimedoes not exclude charmand brilliancy does not blur the nuanceit is now or never the momentto be sensitive to poetry for it dominatesall dreadfullyGuillaume Apollinaire]

Smiling is not a choice It’s a Lifestyle Pass it on

I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

they say people only hear what they want to hear,but i don't know if that is always true, i've been wanting to hear your heart and it's as silent as the moon.

When They Die We Change Our Minds About Them When they die we change our minds about them. While they live we see the plenty hard they’re trying,to be a star, or nice, or wise, and so we do not quite believe them. When they die, suddenly they are what they claimed. Turns out, that’s what one of those looks like. The cold war over manner of manly or mission is over. Same person, same facts and acts, just now a quiet brain stem. We no longer begrudge his or her stupid luck.When they die we change our minds about them. I will try to believe while you yet breathe.

love is my thighs,this belly,my eyes.love is my speech,the search,my cry.love is myself in the mirror.i will see love every time.

You bear a sword and shield, remind meof her labor, her stoning gaze. What beastwill your blade free next? What call will you loosefrom another woman's throat?

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!

Passion + Vision +Skill + Mentoring = Success.

Life is about the moments you create, that you can keep it with you FOREVER. After everything is over,That is what we have or what we are left with.

She has a fiery soul that cannot be tamed.She has free spirit that cannot be maimed.She moves with the wind and flows with the river.She howls at the moon and smiles at the sun.Just when you think she is finished, she declares, “I’ve just begun.”Like wild flowers, she grows where she decides to push through fallow ground.Like wild fires, she spreads with speed that can’t be drowned.She has mystery in her blood, magic in her touch and regardless of her frameshe can be too much-wild woman.She is not predictable, controllable nor the people pleasing kind.That’s why she is called wild woman and can never be defined.

you wanted it all to make senseand you wanted the most complicated answer,but the answer is simple.just be.

In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your face seems clearer I revere your presence and remember We are warriors Thrusted onto this plane We are strong We must use our strength While bearing compassionIt's easy to get lost This place makes it so easy to get lost But- In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your presence seems clearer And I remember We are warriors

oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear –lose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

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

Hemingway is overrated,Twain is even more lost at sea,And all truths point to the mouth of a woman,Where both her whispers and her screams,Are born.Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey,I don't care,So long as its wisdom is sharp,And it tells lies instead of promises.

All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.

She is yet like a diamond on a heap of broken glass.

it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispereddream...in the mysteriousblue minutesbefore dawnlike a secretinfatuation.... like slowlanguorous sipsof green tea... like a lingeringglimpsea self-wrappedparadiselike his name upon my lips.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Maybe one day we’ll find that place, where you and I could be together and we’ll catch our dreams within the waves of change. So hear me, you are not alone.

Sometimes to self-discover you must self-destruct.

Because I found the strength to do the things I believe in, and the will to stop doing the things I don't believe in.So I have discovered what it means, to be at peace.

Writing poems is simply an excuse to remember You.

When I no longer have your heartI will not request your bodyyour presenceor even your polite conversation.I will go away to a far countryseparated from you by the sea— on which I cannot walk —and refrain even from sendinglettersdescribing my pain.

Poems are difficult to silence.

There are no lungs like the ones that breathe poetry.

My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.

the opening,the breaking,the falling apartis always so quick.the hurting,the healing,the putting back togetheris always too long.

In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spirituality is usurped by the divisive politics of religious organizations, and when broken hearts bleed pain in darkness without the relief of compassion, the voice of an exceptional poet producing exceptional work is not something the world can afford to dismiss.

...you fantasize about me reading my poems to you - it doesn't work that way - I write down everything later - living is not an after-thought...

But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both

Master the art of selfloveand you will never have to seekvalidationever again.

A Poet never denies creativity entrance.

He pulled me close and said, "Katie, don't leave me, you're my breath, I refuse to live without you."It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, but I still walked away, because my name is Anne Marie.

In Damascus:poems become diaphanousThey’re neither sensualnor intellectualthey are what echo saysto echo . . .

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.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost 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 useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith 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.