Poetry Quotes - Page 115

A tree forms itself in answerto its place and the light.Explain it how you will, the onlything explainable will beyour explanation.” Sabbaths 1999 IV

I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!

when I finally begin to driftinto sleepyour memory is the...firstand the moonlightthe last, to kiss my face.

Why do I love poetry? It's more than word play, less about the pay. Let's just say that for the first time in a long while I stopped running, stared back at my darkest worst and said, 'Come here, you belong with me

Even when your heart is blue, I'll safely hold it. I really don't mind these indigo-stained hands.

Her smile was like laughter to me— it bubbled in like champagne.

E andando nel sole che abbagliasentire con triste meravigliacom'è tutta la vita e il suo travaglioin questo seguitare una muragliache ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.

Love crosses the sky \ on a peculiar disturbing night.

But the seawhich no one tendsis also a garden

The poet is the priest of the invisible.

Don't patronize the chain bookstores. Every time I see some author scheduled to read and sign his books at a chain bookstore, I feel like telling him he's stabbing the independent bookstores in the back.

A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse, though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen.

Just being around her made me feel better. She had an amber shade aura to her that filled any cracks and brokenness I hadn't yet fixed. I could be myself around her, knowing full well she held on as I let go.

...you look at me like an emergency

When sighs are hypnotized by sorrowHappy moments you need to borrowFrom a little child or from a birdWho has the wild freedom of soul: stirred!

leave me a smilejust warm enough...to spend a milliongolden afternoons in.

You love meand love me notyour love is an arm of clockjoining hands with mineonly to leave me again

Let This Darkness Be a Bell TowerQuiet friend who has come so far,feel how your breathing makes more space around you.Let this darkness be a bell towerand you the bell. As you ring,what batters you becomes your strength.Move back and forth into the change.What is it like, such intensity of pain?If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.In this uncontainable night,be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,the meaning discovered there.And if the world has ceased to hear you,say to the silent earth: I flow.To the rushing water, speak: I am.

I notice you have the assault proof vest -So it's my fault I guess.So apparently I didn't say 'no' as loud as my clothes could say 'yes.'You see I didn't know that my ‘no’ wasn't enough -I didn't understand that my body became less precious because certain dresses make me look hot.And I guess if I'm wearing the wrong topthen my ‘yes’ is the same as ‘stop.’And you shouldn't have to, just because I begged you to.I'm begging you -Tell me the magic outfit and I'll buy it.Apparently my ‘no’ wasn't heard,even when I screamed.So I need my clothes to be quiet.

Yo, múltiple, como en contradicción

Stop the tape, cut the paper! I will just write another poem and grab a microphone and push record again!

Feelings and emotionran through my veinslike a hurricane.And that's when everythingbegan to look like poetry.—You look like poetry

How much living have you done?From it the patterns that you weaveAre imaged:Your own life is your totem pole,Your yard of cloth,Your living.How much loving have you done?How full and free your giving?For living is but lovingAnd loving only giving.

With poetry, rules are meant to be broken. And that's the beauty of poetry; it's rebellious, like me.

I wanted to write some words you'd remember.Words so alert they'd leap from the paper,crawl up your shoulder, lie by your ears,and purr themselves to you like baby kittens,but it was rainy, so I laid there and daydreamed about you.

I was miserable, of course, for I was seventeen, and so I swung into action and wrote a poem, and it was miserable, for that's how I thought poetry worked: you digested experience and shat literature. [from "Mingus at the Showplace"]

Under a night’s skyFilled with a hundred billion starsIs it so crazy to believeOur paths were destined to cross?

my lovefor youwill always belike a mountain stream.quiet. persistent. continuous.

Stardust
If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.
When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all we carry from one life to the next.

you areas fleetingly beautifulas a mother’s tearsand a father’s pranksa brother’s bachelorhoodand a best friend’s bad mooda bride’s glittering jittersand a handsome stranger’s smile.

Haven’t you seen and heard that every word I seed for you is a feeling, and every thought I bloom bears a meaning? Rivers of words, blending together for the same course, the action of my being: my universe, your beauty.

Silence can be lovely or disturbing, depending on the source.

Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, I'll sing theea song in thy praise;My Mary's asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.Thou stock dove whose echoresounds thro' the glen,Ye wild whistly blackbirdsin yon thorny den,Thou green crested lapwingthy screaming forbear,I charge you, disturb notmy slumbering fair.How lofty, sweet Afton,thy neighboring hills,Far mark'd with the coursesof clear winding rills;There daily I wanderas noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary'ssweet cot in my eye.How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands,the primroses blow;There oft, as mild eveningweeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shadesmy Mary and me.Thy crystal stream, Afton,how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot wheremy Mary resides;How wanton thy watersher snowy feet lave,As, gathering sweet flowerets,she stems thy clear wave.Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river,the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dreams.

Doubt quit stopping by when I started staying out late, dancing in a flood of self assurance discovered when holding your hand.

that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it getsI wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind

Let Your Inhibitions Run Free

The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.

I've got mixed feelings about poetry cause done well poetry is fantastic. But not many people are capable of doing it well. I think you should have some kind of license to perform poetry. A poetic license perhaps.

Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be...

Love is the only bow on Life’s dark cloud. It is the morning and the evening star. It shines upon the babe, and sheds its radiance on the quiet tomb. It is the mother of art, inspirer of poet, patriot and philosopher.It is the air and light of every heart – builder of every home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It was the first to dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody – for music is the voice of love.Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to Joy, and makes royal kings and queens of common clay. It is the perfume of that wondrous flower, the heart, and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are less than beasts; but with it, earth is heaven, and we are gods.

Bring to me, it said, continual proof / you've been alive.

Quote words that affirmall men and women are yourbrothers and sisters.

Your world is as big as you make it.I know, for I used to abideIn the narrowest nest in a corner,My wings pressing close to my side.

I try to feel my own edges in the low light. I send my mind to the outer edges of me — where do I end?I send myself to my innermost edges,and I see that in both directions I am infinite.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end;Each changing place with that which goes before,In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Always dream big and dare to believe!

Walking away ends a battle in the heart of one, and starts a war in the soul of another.

My emotions have already spilled out on a canvas; I need you my king, to rescue me from the madness!

I watched the spinning stars, grateful, sad and proud, as only a man who has outlived his destiny and realizes he might yet forge himself another, can be.

In school, I hated poetry - those skinny,Malnourished poems that professors love;The bad grammar and dirty words that catchIn the mouth like fishhooks, tear holes in speech.Pablo, your words are rain I run through,Grass I sleep in.

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

My mother's deathchanged the alchemy of food.Holidays run together nowlike ungrooved rivers. I forgetwhat they are for. I buy bakery goods.They look deadunder the blue lights.I don't do anything the way she taught mebut I get fat.I don't look like her and I don't soundlike her, but I stand like her.

Tonight, I won't dream, because nobodyhas held me and no hands have strayed and eventhough I'm drunk with love, my arms are empty.

God always wants us to see things from heaven's prospective. You may not be doing much to your community but what you are is so important. You are significant.

Your smile is poetry to my soul igniting flames of old

It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.

seeing a woman cough today made me sense a vague fear of death

Better associations. If you associate yourself with a change maker,Your life will by all means become better.You will wink at challenges and begin to think.In times of frustrations, you will not sink.If you miss the way to a great destination,Just look for those going to that direction.Mount the shoulders of a giant believerAnd you will become a great achiever.People around you determine your speed.They will influence the growth of your seed.People you are around will decide your strengthAnd also the figure of your success’ lengthI trust you want to become a better you.It matters, what your associates plan to do.It depends, where your companions want to go.It relies on what your friends believe and know.Quit friendships that build you nothingChoose friends who bring out of you somethingOne iron sharpens another ironGo along with great people and ride on.

You're too sane for a lunatic girl like me. You live in reality, while I tango in the jungle of my imagination making love to firecracker dreams.

You cannot devote your life to an abstraction. Indeed, life shatters all abstractions in one way or another, including words such as "faith" or "belief". If God is not in the very fabric of existence for you, if you do not find Him (or miss Him!) in the details of your daily life, then religion is just one more way to commit spiritual suicide.