Poetry Quotes - Page 110

The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.

She gave me hugs that were like oxygen to a dying man and uplifted my soul!

She was small. Her shadow moved in the dance of chaos before her as the inferno blazed behind her and licked the sky with its many tongues. She clutched an indistinguishable toy with both arms tightly. Her face was serene. Her eyes shone with courage more immense than the surrounding flames. She was small, but at that moment, I've never seen a bigger person.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,And has the nature of infinity.

Once upon a time, son, they used to laugh with their hearts and laugh with their eyes; but now they only laugh with their teeth, while their ice-block-cold eyes search behind my shadow. There was a time indeed they used to shake hands with their hearts; but that’s gone, son. Now they shake hands without hearts while their left hands search my empty pockets.

O, how this spring of love resemblethThe uncertain glory of an April day,Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,And by and by a cloud takes all away!

I need you because I know I deserve you but let me fall in love with you one last time before I let go. So I can remember the beautiful imperfection that rattled my bones.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Ah! The anguish, the vile rage, the despairOf not being able to expressWith a shout, an extreme and bitter shout,The bleeding of my heart.

Purity. Serenity... Solitude: What you ought to uphold. But the important thing is whether you believe it.

The dictionary feeds me daily, thesaurus always adds the gravy, big words I bite, so very tasty.

When I stand strong in youI can look beyond the cloudsWith your wordsThe sun will rise again

All beautiful distractions, ignites from you.

Love her but leave her wild 

The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass.

This man has talent, that man geniusAnd here's the strange and cruel difference:Talent gives pence and his reward is gold,Genius gives gold and gets no more than pence.

For my part, I love to give myself up to the illusion of poetry. A hero of fiction that never existed is just as valuable to me as a hero of history that existed a thousand years ago.

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

You darkness, that I come from,I love you more than all the firesthat fence in the world,for the fire makesa circle of light for everyone,and then no one outside learns of you.But the darkness pulls in everything:shapes and fires, animals and myself,how easily it gathers them! -powers and people -and it is possible a great energyis moving near me.I have faith in nights.

...in my dream the shadings of your soul are the dark tincture of rain...

I live there...where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit's a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt's a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.

Poetry is the struggle against the simplification, codification, and mummification of language, it serves as a constant redirect - moving us to the experience to which the words point.

When the long bygone Lee Po wanted to say something, he could do it with only a few words.

Cut my life into pizzas. this is my plastic fork. oven baking, no breathing, dont give a fuck if its carbs that i'm eating' -Catherine Spann

Even so have I given the womb of the earth to those that be sown in it in their times.

The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.

There are no clear borders, Only merging invisible to the sight.

Home is— Where the heart wants to dwell, Where the mind wants to dance, Where the air is always pleasant, And where love is always abundant.

It's important to have your private enjoyments because sometimes that's all we have.

Love is who you are.

To the Virgins, To Make much of TimeGather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles today,tTomorrow will be dying.The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,tThe higher he’s a-getting,The sooner will his race be run,tAnd nearer he is to setting.That age is best which is the first,tWhen youth and blood are warmer;But being spent, the worse, and worsttTimes still succeed the former.Then be not coy, but use your time,tAnd while you may, go marry;For having lost but once your prime,tYou may for ever tarry.

I am a work in progress.

I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete,The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken.

I'm the G when you spell OG

if god is real, she put all of herself into this girl. she vowed to unleash a woman so violently herself, the sky would collapse every time she came to orgasm.

If I should be available to everyone, I will eventually end up with nothing to give to anyone. So the greatest gift you can receive from me is my time. Count yourself lucky if I give you a minute of my hour.

He wanted to be a poet,' someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. 'Said he'd only lacked the words to be one.

No man was ever yet a great poet, without at the same time being a profound philosopher.

Yet you stand, too ashamed to run, too fearful to embrace. God I see so much ofwhat I love in that face.

… and now and then we could look up and give each other a thought, because I think he could have beautiful thoughts,and we could just let each other be less lonely in our loneliness.

the time will come, my dearwhen I will hold you closeand all will beright againin the world.

Every day the world subtracts from itself and nothingis immune.

Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.

Be with someone who willingly runs in the storm with you, not someone who cowers away because of turbulent winds.

Dare to love yourselfas if you were a rainbowwith gold at both ends.

Good morning, daddy!Ain't you heardThe boogie-woogie rumbleOf a dream deferred?Listen closely:You'll hear their feetBeating out and beating out a -You thinkIt's a happy beat?Listen to it closely:Ain't you heardsomething underneathlike a -What did I say?Sure,I'm happy!Take it away!Dream BoogieHey, pop!Re-bop!Mop!Y-e-a-h!

In general, I would think that at present prose writers are much in advance of the poets. In the old days, I read more poetry than prose, but now it is in prose where you find things being put together well, where there is great ambition, and equal talent. Poets have gotten so careless, it is a disgrace. You can’t pick up a page. All the words slide off.

when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.

You'll never be able to silence the woman who was born to write.

There ain't no money in poetry, that's what keeps the poet free. I've had all the freedom I can stand.

Onwetend van dit alles maakte ik eind vorige eeuw mijn entree in dit discours door aan een tijdschrift te vertellen dat poëzie volgens mij entertainment is. Als iemand dat platvloers vindt, voegde ik er behulpzaam aan toe, had hij volgens mij een te lage dunk van entertainment.

I have no use for these other loves.Seal them shut in jarsand place them in the pantry. A reserve of love.Thank them for their love.They are so kind.Perhaps store them in the fridgeFor others to take.They say love is a panacea. I know it is not.Flakes of snow,no two are alike.When I am down on my knees, hopeless and angry,for the world no longer makes sense,I won't look in the pantry or fridge.It is your hand pressing on my shoulderthat makes me whole,makes me forget.What trouble? What world?

From ashes I cameTo ashes, I'll return.But tonight I'm contentTo sit here and burn.

. . . We love fog becauseit shifts old anomalies into the elementssurrounding them. It gives relief from a way of seeing

. . . chasing after words like trying to grab the tails of comets.

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

Shit is disgusting and horrible. A lot of people and things are disgusting and horrible, and I want to be a nice person, and I am. When you are speaking about rejected people whose suffering makes them disgusting, you are speaking about shit. I do not mean that we should all eat shit and love what we can’t help rejecting. I am saying that I tried to do that, just to see if it was possible.It’s not possible.

You put butterflies back into my soul and painted their wings with passion and poetry.

UselessnessLet mine not be the saddest fate of all, To live beyond my greater self; to see My faculties decaying, as the tree Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall Let me hear rather the imperious call, Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, And follow death ere I have reached my prime, Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall. The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, Unhappy witness of its own decay. May no man ever look on me and say, 'She lives, but all her usefulness is past.

Vila the White,Built a City up height,Not in the Heavens, not on the ground,But on the edge of a Cloud,Vila the White,Put defenses the bright:Gold defends the heights, Sun defends the gate,Moon defends the City when it's late,Vila the White,Stood with Sun at sight,Watching what comes from the bay,And saw Lightning and Thunder play,Vila the White,Wed her son on Moon at night,And gave her daughter to Gold, as bride,They have couple brothers, she's their brother's wife.