Poetry Quotes - Page 28

Dig Deep! When the task at hand seems to be very difficult. Dig Deep! Whenever you feel you're drifting away from your intended course. Dig Deep! When others doubt you and say it can't be done. Dig Deep! Whenever you feel like giving up. Dig Deep! When life throws you a curve ball. If you quit, you'll never hit that homerun

Reading poetry is like undressing before a bath. You don't undress out of fear that your clothes will become wet. You undress because you want the water to touch you. You want to completely immerse yourself in the feeling of the water and to emerge anew.

Hold your venomDo you recognise the instinctin me, fellow scorpion?

Poets and painters are outside the class system or rather they constitute a special class of their own like the circus people and the gypsies.

Once spun,The silken thread of all our aspirationsRemains intact,It can never be broken.

Many are they that rise up against you. Many there be which say of your soul, ‘’There is no help for you.’’ But the instruments of death is prepared for your cause.

I want to be intoxicated by the darkened ether of midnight, running through my fingers as sparkling stardust. I crave the taste of the ocean's salty tears, as her temperamental tides crash and break against the rocks. I yearn for the sweet scent of sun on my skin and the earthy musk of dirt giving way under my bare feet. I want to lay naked in golden fields, as i gaze up at an endless sky, dreaming my dreams, as Mother Nature's love washes over me like spiritual sunshine.

It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.

Some of the greatest poetry is revealing to the reader the beauty in something that was so simple you had taken it for granted.

Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

We hear the saints saying: Our brother the world. We hear the revolutionaries: Dare we win?

If words allow themselves to be handled, it is with the help of infinite carefulness. One has to welcome them, listen to the, before asking any service of them. Words are living things closely involved with human life.

At the end of all things, why do lovers break up? Because love is magic. You have to believe, for it to exist.

If I wouldn't of spent so much time shooting spit wads at my English teacher I'd know how to punctuate good thing I normally write poetry.

I do not trust the truth. It shifts into reality.

Laser technology has fulfilled our people's ancient dream of a blade so fine that the person it cuts remains standing and alive until he moves and cleaves. Until we move, none of us can be sure that we have not already been cut in half, or in many pieces, by a blade of light. It is safest to assume that our throats have already been slit, that the slightest alteration in our postures will cause the painless severance of our heads.

She walkedthrough her lifeheavyfrom themighty wingsupon her back.

Surrounded by enemies, surrounded by evil, surrounded by darkness, injustice......."don't be afraid , those who are with us are more than those who are with them"2 Kings 6:16

Going down in history is a dead end pursuit

Late, by myself, in the boat of myself,no light and no land anywhere,cloudcover thick. I try to stayjust above the surface, yet I'm already underand living within the ocean.

If I should get lost in all the chaos of the world, pull your butterly net and catch me in the beauty of your love. Remind me of important things -- friends, flowers, fields of cool grass under bare feet, blue skies above, rain on my face, and freedom... freedom to make a difference, freedom to be me. Pull out your butterfly net and remind me of these things, and most of all... your undying love.

What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?

A loner by nature and an introvert... i am a twinkling star, burning bright amidst a cloudless night. As such, i tend to fade in and out of people's lives. This aspect of me is often misunderstood as rejection or a lack of love and caring. In reality, the only way i can survive as an introvert, is to drop from the sky, from time-to-time, recharging within the energizing landscape of my inner-universe. To love me, is to let me me have the space i need to illuminate the sky. I can't be taken hostage or held captive. Inner-light is what gives my star its twinkle.

Sleep my baby, rock-a-bye,On the edge you must not lie.Wolf the Fluffy roams astray,Will he grab you, drag away?Into Furthest Darkest Woods,Hide you under Willow roots?There birdies chirp and squeak,Will they let you fall asleep?

my mine ,I searching for you ..long time in the trip time walls,searching you in was me..I never felt lonely,this world always singeven at grave heart'sbeing numb to hearyour song is ..What the dealt of this life saidso breathe in wind singingsinking sailing in waves,and breathe out find me..in the rain and riversbut you and me are the ocean,you know ? in long time agothe time in this room make you forget..keep searching time with me and i.put the name your mine to heart of golduntil you coming home,behind the tumble light waiting.

you want to be angry but you can’t stop looking and when you look you love and when you love the entire world unfolds around you

Desire is a powerful boat herding anchors and chains in the middle of the night.

Not a scar just psychological,But as material as roaches,Street corners and billy clubs. A wound reopened systematically,Inflicted with economic anarchy And "No Help Wanted" signs.

Man's panic does not produce God's power.....sometimes you need to pray before you post on social media.

With one perfect kiss on one perfect English summer afternoon, we understand the meaning of all the colors of every rainbow, forevermore.

She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.

The distinctive features of the world's civilisations are not simply and solely the giraffe and the city of Rome, as the children may perhaps have been led to imagine on the first evening, but also the elephant and the country of Denmark, beside many other things. Yes, everyday brought its new animal and its new country, its new kings and its new gods, its quota of those tough little figures which seem to have no significance, but are nevertheless endowed with a life and a value of their own, and may be added together or subtracted from one another at will. And finally poetry, which is grater than any country ; poetry with its bright palaces.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

How can love's spaciousnessbe conveyed in the narrowconfines of one syllable?

We didn’t deny the obvious,but we didn’t entirely accept it either.I mean, we said hello to it each morningin the foyer. We patted its little headas it made a mess in the backyard,but we never nurtured it. Many nights the obvious showed upat our bedroom door, in its pajamas,unable to sleep, in need of a hug,and we just stared at it like an Armenian,or even worse— hid beneath the coversand pretended not to hear its tiny sobs.

We're all just wandering souls searching for a heart to call home...

When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work it is constantly amalgamating disparate experiences.

Although steady and slow are the trail to love, there is no path to see through without the engine of passionate and true. (Soar)

Where the bright seraphim in burning rowTheir loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.

Now came still evening on, and twilight grayHad in her sober livery all things clad;Silence accompany'd; for beast and bird,They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale;She all night long her amorous descant sung;Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmamentWith living sapphires; Hesperus, that ledThe starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,Rising in clouded majesty, at lengthApparent queen unveil'd her peerless light,And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

I avoid the looming visitor,Flee him adroitly around corners,Hating him, wishing him well;Lest if he confront me I be forced to say what is in no wise true:That he is welcome; that I am unoccupied;And forced to sit while the potted roses wilt in the crate or the sonnet coolsBending a respectful nose above such dried philosophiesAs have hung in wreaths from the rafters of my house since I was a child.Some trace of kindliness in this, no doubt,There may be.But not enough to keep a bird alive.There is a flaw amounting to a fissureIn such behaviour.

No matter who’s looking at you, love, honesty, and kindness will always make you beautiful!

...and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me...

What is hell to a writer? Hell is being too busy to find the time to write or being unable to find the inspiration. Hell is suddenly finding the words but being away from your notebook or typewriter. Hell is when the verses slip away through your fingers and they never return again.

This poem inspired me to write my eBook.The Miller's Daughter by Alfred Lord TennysonAnd I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp’d at night.

Perhaps the year and a half spenttrying to make sense of all this has finally drained meMaybe, just maybe, I always know I deserved better, but was too afraid to accept it

In the days of Prismatic Colornot in the days of Adam and Eve, but when Adam was alone; when there was no smoke and color was fine, not with the refinement of early civilization art, but because of its originality; with nothing to modify it but the mist that went up, obliqueness was a variation of the perpendicular, plain to see and to account for: it is no longer that; nor did the blue-red-yellow band of incandescence that was color keep its stripe

Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.

Your face expresses a simple majesty,Your look is that of a captive princess,Your lips have a slight smile andThis shows your glory of being a woman.

You think it's time for a new beginning. You long to start from scratch, so you seek new things - trying like hell to reinvent yourself. Out with the old and in with the world's new. But you'll never create a version of yourself that is as magical and unique as the original. So... just be you.

I danced with my shadows until they became part of my light.

I remainMistress of mine own self and mine own soul