Poetry Quotes - Page 16

yo te amo para comenzar a amarte,para recomenzar el infinitoy para no dejar de amarte nunca:por eso no te amo todavía.

Now goes under, and I watch it go under, the sunThat will not rise again.Today has seen the setting, in your eyes cold and senseless as the sea,Of friendship better than bread, and of bright charityThat lifts a man a little above the beasts that run.That this could be!That I should live to seeMost vulgar Pride, that stale obstreperous clown,So fitted out with purple robe and crownTo stand among his betters! Face to faceWith outraged me in this once holy place,Where Wisdom was a favoured guest and huntedTruth was harboured out of danger,He bulks enthroned, a lewd, an insupportable stranger!I would have sworn, indeed I swore it:The hills may shift, the waters may decline,Winter may twist the stem from the twig that bore it,But never your love from me, your hand from mine.Now goes under the sun, and I watch it go under.Farewell, sweet light, great wonder!You, too, farewell,-but fare not well enough to dreamYou have done wisely to invite the night before the darkness came.

I do not fear the nightWhen I know that todayI am bathed in a lightIt cannot be stolen away

Writing poems is simply an excuse to remember You.

They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

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.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

Pirate Captain Jim"Walk the plank," says Pirate Jim"But Captain Jim, I cannot swim.""Then you must steer us through the gale.""But Captain Jim, I cannot sail.""Then down with the galley slaves you go.""But Captain Jim, I cannot row.""Then you must be the pirate's clerk.""But Captain Jim, I cannot work.

At last everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I could not help admiring the setting: these mingled touches betrayed on a small scale the inspiration of a poet, the research of a scientist, the good taste of an artist, the gourmet’s fondness for good food, and the love of flowers, which concealed in their delicate shadows a hint of the love of women

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

A rural Venus, Selah rises from thegold foliage of the Sixhiboux River, sweepspetals of water from her skin. At once,clouds begin to sob for such beauty.Clothing drops like leaves."No one makes poetry,my Mme.Butterfly, my Carmen, in Whylah,”I whisper. She smiles: “We’ll shape it withour souls.”Desire illuminates the dark manuscriptof our skin with beetles and butterflies.After the lightning and rain has ceased,after the lightning and rain of lovemakinghas ceased, Selah will dive again into thesunflower-open river.

Poetry, romance, beauty, and love have no book value, but life has no value without them.

Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.

Because philosophy arises from awe, a philosopher is bound in his way to be a lover of myths and poetic fables. Poets and philosophers are alike in being big with wonder.

Poems are difficult to silence.

We built tall buildings, but we have not become any taller.

You and those shot-glass eyes, deep swirling pools of 80-proof firewater, with the depth and profundity of Saturn’s spinning pulsars…

I'm not your blue-eyed Czech,I'm just a brown-eyed girl, A little mix of rock your world,And now you'll never be the same. You grabbed me by the hand,I grabbed you by the neck. I changed the game, and your convictions.So is it criminal to steal a heart or two?I keep them on the shelf, Like only hunters do. I like it hardI like you highI love your mouthWhen it's on mine.I wanna hear you make that sound, Cause it's the greatest thing around. Take it off now,Take from here.Watch your head spin When I come near,And you will lose every time,Cause I won't stop until your mine.And they say who the hell is she?They either love me or they hate me. But still they never look away,This vixen's gonna give you everything.

Those lips that Love's own hand did makeBreathed forth the sound that said, 'I hate'To me that languished for her sake,But, when she saw my woeful state,Straight in her heart did mercy come,Chiding that tongue that ever sweetWas used in giving gentle doom,And taught it thus anew to greet:'I hate,' she altered with an endThat followed it as gentle dayDoth follow night, who like a fiendFrom Heaven to Hell is flown away.'I hate' from hate away she threwAnd saved my life, saying 'not you'.

The important thing in life is to be.

Tell the truth, but tell it slant.

My Papa's Waltz:The whiskey on your breathCould make a small boy dizzy;But I hung on like death:Such waltzing was not easy.We romped until the pansSlid from the kitchen shelf;My mother's countenanceCould not unfrown itself.The hand that held my wristWas battered on one knuckle;At every step you missedMy right ear scraped a buckle.You beat time on my headWith a palm caked hard by dirt,Then waltzed me off to bedStill clinging to your shirt.

I love poetry, but I often wonder how poetry feels about me.

It is not what they built. It is what they knocked down.It is not the houses. It is the spaces between the houses.It is not the streets that exist. It is the streets that no longer exist.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know

love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.

So the nymphs they spoke,we kissed and laid.By noontime’s hourour love was made.Like braided chains of crocus stems,we lay entwined, I laid with them.Our breath, one glassy, tideless sea,our bodies draping wearily,we slept, I slept so lucidly,with hopes to stay this memory.

My life was a blank paper, until you came to rhyme with words & make it a poetry book. ❤ ❤

I am God, la de dah.

Wildflowers can't be controlled, and neither can the girl with a soul boundless as the sky, and a spirit as free and wild as the ocean.

Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.O hateful error, Melancholy's child,Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of menThe things that are not? O Error, soon concieved,Thou never com'st unto a happy birth,But kill'st the mother that engendered thee.

could not sleep last nightbed cover of unease distance kept me awake windy whispers in summer nightwas telling you were awake one corner to another rollinglike swimming in a competitionmy heart wanted to seeyou then n thenwe live ,we loveon same earth mostlyrare within a real another world don't allow usto sleep in side your ,or mine restful love©litymunshi

Prayer is an insurance policy that you can never lapse on.

unsignificantlyoff the coastthere wasa splash quite unnoticedthis was Icarus drowning

And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.

Language is fossil Poetry.

She was a warrior by day... playing her part. But she slept at night with wishes in her heart.

Falling in love with you was out of my control, but I do have a say in what happens next. And, I will choose to stay in love with you through everything this life throws at us.

I could do with a bit more excess. From now on I'm going to be immoderate--and volatile--I shall enjoy loud music and lurid poetry. I shall be rampant.

... in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women will have to bury children, and support themselves through grief.

O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one.

Genius in general is poetic. Where genius has been active it has been poetically active. The truly moral person is a poet.

A death in reverse is the rewinding of life. I do not die of old age, in a bed surrounded by strangers my loved ones paid to take care of me. I die in reverse. I die falling backinto a younger age. From my forty-five years to twenty-five. To sixteen. When we were in love. To fourteen: when we first met. To five. To one. To the hospital my mother died at from the complications of my existence. A life for a life.

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.

It was not Death, for I stood up,And all the Dead, lie down—It was not Night, for all the BellsPut out their Tongues, for Noon.

And then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw.

All of my life God has allowed me to share prospectives with people who are different. You cannot lead people whose prospective you are not willing to understand.

Women are like beautiful flowers. Only when you love them and take good care of them will they fully bloom into the beautiful flowers that they are.

Often one spends weeks trying to write a poem out of the conscious mind that never comes to anything - these are sort of 'ideal' poems that one feels ought to be written, but don't because (I fancy) they lack the vital spark of self-interest. A 'real' poem is a pleasure to write.

She's always looking for poetry and passion and sensitivity, the whole Romantic kitchen. I live on a rather simpler diet.' 'Prose and pudding?''I don't expect attractive men necessarily to have attractive souls.

I repeated: come with me, as if I were dying,and no one saw in my mouth the moon that was bleeding,no one saw the blood that was rising into the silence.Oh love, now let us forget the star with thorns!

the moon is just another kind of clock

Chemistry has the same quickening and suggestive influence upon the algebraist as a visit to the Royal Academy, or the old masters may be supposed to have on a Browning or a Tennyson. Indeed it seems to me that an exact homology exists between painting and poetry on the one hand and modem chemistry and modem algebra on the other. In poetry and algebra we have the pure idea elaborated and expressed through the vehicle of language, in painting and chemistry the idea enveloped in matter, depending in part on manual processes and the resources of art for its due manifestation.

You are only as free as you think you are and freedom will always be as real as you believe it to be.

...as we are endowed. ...with rhetorics. ...none will deny. ...of innocence. ...towards scribbling. ...of love lines. ...and of lust. ...to what seems like male. ...to what seems like female. ...in those days. ...I mean nothing. ...but in high school.....even me. ...I can't deny.

You touched my heart...ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been...merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.

A single poem, alonecan turn tidesscatter galaxiesand burst forth with riversfrom paradise.

Valentine's Day is the poet's holiday.