Poetry Quotes - Page 19

If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces

I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to sate it... He’s never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.

No reprimand in the mirrorSlow walk to LiberiaSlow dance across the SaharaSlow unraveling of gray matter

There's two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying

Every attempt to fix eternity is an escape from reality. I will be plaguing my days with moments and minutes. For ever is too far!

Every situation is of man's making and can only contain what man contains.

The only way to find art is to lose touch with reality.

The artistic reward for refuting the received national tradition is liberation. The price is homelessness. Interior exile.

Facts produce structures, objects are lyrical realities.

Do you want to see all the wrong things in our world?You sit right there.Then notice how many people move too fast about in life,they go blind over the miracle of being in the moment.Now, do you want to see all the right things?Well I can't honestly speak for others.But this is how it always works for me.I just sit right here.Right here. Beside you.Then silently,I notice how all the wrong things in my worldjust seem to start fallinginto their rightful places.Right here. Beside you.

I have seen your darkest nights and brightest days and I want you to knowthat I will be here forever loving you in dusk.

Each month is gay,Each season nice,When eatingChicken soupWith rice

CALL YOURSELFLook deep in the mirrorAnd say: 'I LOVE YOU'And immediatelyAn electric current willRipple throughout your soulAnd burst through your eyesLike shooting starsDancing across the skiesIn ecstasy.To tell your soul you love it -Is like rememberingWHO YOU AREAfter being in a comaFor a hundred years.Your face will beam the lightOf a hundred galaxies.

Since it has quietly began to snow,new distances have awakened within me.

Painting is so poetic, while sculpture is more logical and scientific and makes you worry about gravity.

The first thing fading is your beautythe least trustworthy is your minddown here on this earthnothing's of any worth—in the end

We have conversations with each other most nights - Sylvia Plath and me!

Some people complain there are too many people on earth, Some people complain about secret societies, Some people accuse others of not being able to wake up early. Almost all people complain about something.

The best piece of life's magnificence is your slice of internal peace.

A poet is an unpaid laborer of a mine where he digs into the mountain to find rough diamonds. He then polishes them with his imagination and emotion to share with everyone.

my musicplay downsorrow

When I can feel you breathing into me i, like a stone gargoyleatop some crumbling building,spring to lifea resuscitated angel.

A black cat among roses,phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon,the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still.It is dazed with moonlight,contented with perfume...

I knew he was the one when he mended my wings and looked forward to where they would take me. Embrace those who encourage your growth... who don't fear the journey into Wonderland, Neverland, Whereverland.

By(e) pen, I've tried my hand at poetry; only to see how boring it is to me. That is, unless I get a chance to destroy each and every piece while doing it as I please.

Though we tremble before uncertain futuresmay we meet illness, death and adversity with strengthmay we dance in the face of our fears.

The one who can draw your widest smileis also the one who can throw youto the farthest exile

Love, bemysticalas the flickering blue flameof nightas the fully-awokenmoonbeneath cobwebsof passing cloudsamidst chantinghigh-tidesfuzzy,as my blanketbig enough to illuminate a hundredthousand billion galaxiesand just small enough to fitinto my embrace.

...my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...

My wife is a thief...She takes the last cookieTakes forever to get readyShe takes her time in the showerTakes all of the hot waterShe takes my favorite seat on the couchTakes the high road when I lose controlMy wife is a thief...She took my last nameTook the time to get to know me, love meShe took the back seat and let me leadTook on motherhood and the emotional toll that it bringsShe took care of me the many times that I've gotten sickTook on the pain of pregnancy so that the Jackson legacy would live onMy wife takes, and takes, and takes...I'm so proud of my perpetual thief who stole my heart and won't give it back.

Nobody reads poetry anymoreSo who the hell are youI see bent over this book?

Every heart must have its privatebestseller book.

Prose lies its way to the truth

Use the wings of the flying Universe, Dream with open eyes; See in darkness.

I speak of new cities and new peopleI tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down,a sun dropped in the west.I tell you there is nothing in the worldonly an ocean of tomorrows.a sky of tomorrows.I am a brother of the cornhuskers who sayat sundown:Tomorrow is a day.”- Carl Sandburg, Cornhuskers

I like my thingshurried and haunted. Night teadarktime. Sacred geometry, secret geometrypetal-flame whisper: I am here, and you aren't.

The first stanza of Eyes In Moonlight Drown, a poem from DeadVerse.With your face framed in a halo of stars,your hair melts into trailing clouds,and your eyes in moonlight drown.A man could lose himselfin those freckled irises,reflecting the galaxies above;surely he could fall into their promiseof eternity, of Heaven, of love.Your lips glisten, part, and beckon,a smile of warm invitation,a suggestion of sweet intensity,a loss of self in addictive agony.For we translate these aestheticsinto something mystical;ideas of fantasy, of fiction,obscuring the clinical truthof chemical reactions,electric sparks, responsesas sure as gravity,measurable yet beyond cold,above philosophy and below truth.

I could be that tenebrous enigma that floods out your words with sighs and frustration.

ENDURANCEI don't know you,But I love you,Just as God loves me and you.The sun and the moonAre opposing forces,But they still greet each other,Peacefully,As one awakens in the morning,Just as the other goes to sleep.Life has pounded me downAnd thrashed me around,Time and time again,But I always get right back up,Because I still love life -Just as the earth still lovesThe rain.

Today, death is your opponent.

I was painter staring at a canvas waiting for the forgotten visions of my new abstract piece to come to me. But I am the abstract piece and my mind cannot comprehend the work my heart has created.

You are the dreamBut I’ve had wake up calls

What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow.What are brief? today and tomorrow.What are frail? spring blossoms and youth.What are deep? the ocean and truth.

Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.

I find my data first in myself, not first in the poets. For if I did not find it in myself, I would not be able to find it in the poets.

As a poet I hold the most archaic values on earth. They go back to the Neolithic: the fertility of the soil, the magic of animals, the power-vision in solitude, the terrifying initiation and rebirth, the love and ecstasy of the dance, the common work of the tribe.

Every sword that was dripping the blood became a pen. Every word that was written in it became a poetry.

If you ask me I think the greatest breakthrough each and everyone of us need is not on finance, marriage, work, relationship, own house, car but self. The first breakthrough should start from being selfish.

i love good cries,loud sobs that soak your pillowthat kind that come at the endof a perfect bookyou're gasping for airas droplets of salt water trickle down your cheeksinto the corners of your mouthas your chest rises and fallsand your vision is blurredby the tearsbut your mind is so clear and your every thoughtin that moment feels so meaningfuland important and rightit feels okay to justlet it all outit makes you feel likeyou are free

If you must write prose or poems, the words you use should be your own. Don't plagiarize or take 'on loan'. There's always someone, somewhere, with a big nose, who knows, who'll trip you up and laugh when you fall.

I didn't come from a success lineage but I am so glad that my earthly lineage is not my final story because when I gave my life to Jesus twelve years back, God interrupted my story.

Some people wait to get flowers while others grow gardens.

I had never met another who loved my mind more than my body. I could feel his curiosity finger-walk through my thoughts... intentional and hard. Absorbing me. Learning me. And as he leaned in and held my hand close to his, I heard my soul sigh... in a deep grateful breath.

Pay to go inside Neruda's homeA body lies there with no dome.But right there in the front hallLean a fairy against the icy wall.Oh Endless enigmas had the bard!Nice and large and calm backyardEnds In the middle of a rare roomRare portrait of revelishing gloom.Up climbing at the weird snail stairDoes make you grasp for some air.And there's a room with bric-a-brac:Old and precious books all in a pack.Dare saying what I liked most of all?Enjoyed seeing visitors having a ball!

How can you say you love mewhen you’ve never seen me cry?when you’ve never heard the pieces that keep breaking up insideOr when the sky is dark and I’m restless in my bed will you be the one to whisper that the sun will rise ahead?You’ve never seen the battle scarsthat lay across my skin the price I paid for love, and a joy that grew withinSometimes the weight I carry isn't always feather light will you pick it up and stand up straight, brave against the fight?There's always room for fun and laughs and a beauty to keep warm but I'd never sail away with you if you can’t survive the storm.

May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.

Stars are only the rain of the Absolute.

We didn't start the fireIt was always burningSince the world's been turningWe didn't start the fireNo we didn't light itBut we tried to fight it

Don't go far off, not even for a day,because I don't know how to say it - a day is longand I will be waiting for you, as inan empty station when the trains areparked off somewhere else, asleep.Don't leave me, even for an hour, because thenthe little drops of anguish will all run together,the smoke that roams looking for a home will driftinto me, choking my lost heart.Oh, may your silhouette never dissolveon the beach, may your eyelids never flutterinto the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me fora second, my dearest, because in that moment you'llhave gone so far I'll wander mazilyover all the earth, asking, will youcome back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Poetry is the royal essence of beauty.