Poetry Quotes - Page 5

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.

As for the tokens whereof thou ask me, I may tell thee of them in part: but as touching thy life, I am not sent to shew thee.

We must experience certain things in life, even in our childhood, so we can later look back and value the journey.

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.

If I should ask thee how great dwellings are in the midst of the sea, or how many springs are in the beginning of the deep, or how many springs are above the firmament, or which are the outgoings of paradise: Peradventure thou would say unto me, ‘I never went down into the deep, nor as yet into hell, neither did I ever climb up into heaven.

It takes courage to share your gifting, but when you do, you have authority and a life changing attitude

Just as in the second part of a verse bad poets seek a thought to fit their rhyme, so in the second half of their lives people tend to become more anxious about finding actions, positions, relationships that fit those of their earlier lives, so that everything harmonizes quite well on the surface: but their lives are no longer ruled by a strong thought, and instead, in its place, comes the intention of finding a rhyme.

I see that you are heartlessly clever.For you know how to Love,but not Forever. You still return to me in flashes,so strong it clouds my Mind.The fire has turned to ashes,and yet, you’re not behind.

The poet must always, in every instance, have the vibrant word... that by it's trenchancy can so wound my soul that it whimpers.... One must know and recognize not merely the direct but the secret power of the word; one must be able to give one's writing unexpected effects. It must have a hectic, anguished vehemence, so that it rushes past like a gust of air, and it must have a latent, roistering tenderness so that it creeps and steals one's mind; it must be able to ring out like a sea-shanty in a tremendous hour, in the time of the tempest, and it must be able to sigh like one who, in tearful mood, sobs in his inmost heart.

Poetry should be common in experience but uncommon in books.

You grow. You are large. You are a 19th century poem.All of America is inside you,a catalogue of lives and landand burrowing things.-From "Catalogue

The kind of poem I produced in those days was hardly anything more than a sign I made of being alive, of passing or having passed, or hoping to pass, through certain intense human emotions. It was a phenomenon of orientation rather than of art, thus comparable to stripes of paint on a roadside rock or to a pillared heap of stones marking a mountain trail. But then, in a sense, all poetry is positional: to try to express one's position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge. Tentacles, not wings, are Apollo's natural members. Vivian Bloodmark, a philosophical friend of mine, in later years, used to say that while the scientist sees everything that happens in one point of space, the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time.

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all. Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.

i am a woman and a poem. – visceral

She day-dreams just as I do. She is addicted to her solitude just as I am. She loves watching the rain-drops fall slowly on to the green leaves of an old guava tree just as I do. She loves drifting in time and time travel just as I do. She loves looking at the waves dashing against the rocks just as I do.

I take this continent with me into the grave.

She's my pride, my winning prize, always a surprise, to look into her eyes, see her free soul, as soap that slips from the grip of control; a stroll through the park on a dark night with stars to spark the sky, heaven with no price tag I realize, love is the same: endless, priceless, full bliss; to have this princess I pinch myself thinking this is a dream, but to my reprise, I can only say I am now, at last, alive.

Visitors come and go.Daily I read tea leaves for signsof the approaching century:a raven perched on a crossa sword piercing a cloud--A Victorian Life

Sleepless nightsSpent looking at the ceilingSearching in those etched patternsFor some sort of adhesiveTo glue together the broken piecesOf a soul crushedBy the weight of the fact thatLife is profoundly sad.

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough.

Stars are out and there is seaenough beneath the glistening earthto bear me toward the futurewhich is not so dark. I see.

I have learned to thank God for what I cannot see, I have learned to trust God with what I cannot.

O that our dreamings all, of sleep or wake, Would all their colours from the sunset take.

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

On the shining yards of heavenSee a wider dawn unfurled. . . . The eternal slaves of beautyAre the masters of the world.

If we go on in this way, we shall have a new art of poetry, of which one of the first rules will be: To remember to forget that there are any such things as sunshine and music in the world.

You are not disposable. I know you feel that way when people choose to walk out of your life, but their emptiness causes space. And that vacant area of your life is desperately crying out for the one meant to take up residence. Let the angry tenant go. You don't want someone staying because you've begged and pleaded for their occupancy. You want the one who sees your quaking heart and says: "Honey I'm home".

Calligraphy of geeseagainst the sky-the moon seals it.

And there you sit.My eyes burning a hole on the side of your face while the stars are being captured in your eyes from the prolonged, there's-plenty-of-time, full attention you're giving each one.And there you sit.And I'm wishing I could give you every ounce of what you give the stars.

Act correctly. Incorrect action cannot be justified by incorrect action. An incorrect action taken to cover an incorrect action is doubly incorrect.

Free diving is not entirely free: to go down you leave behind

Most people do not believe in anything very much and our greatest poetry is given to us by those that do.

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

And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shallot.

I love you just the way you arebut you don't see you like I do.You shouldn't try so hard to be perfect.Trust me, perfect should try to be you.

But you hate poetry!Yes, but you make me want to write it.

Poetry doesn’t pay. But I need it. And so do you.

I came to pen another poem for you, but even every unwritten poem is you.

THE KEY TO A WONDERFUL LIFEThe key to a wonderful lifeIs to never stop wandering into wonder.Because to live a predictable life,Only fills a person with strife,And such a person will always be wondering:'What a limitless life could be lived beyond the lines?'Such is a question a curious spirit would never sit and ponder.So always pursue new ventures in your life,And be willing to open doors to different light;This is the only way to keep it magical and always filled with wonder.Days will feel shorter, but your happiness will grow stronger --Because living a life without curiosity and adventure,Is a stale life where days only feel longer andLonger.Poetry by Suzy Kassem

The morning slathers its whateveracross the thing.

At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.And the trees in the Shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

Poems have ideas. The ideas of poems come out of their emotions and their emotions are carried on images.

Sleeping AtlantisSilent cool watersdancing upon her skin ~silent cool waterushering dreams within...

A thing is never untold, It is always misperceived.

Spring, spring! Bytuene Mershe ant Averil, when spray biginneth to spring! When shaws be sheene and swards full fayre, and leaves both large and longe! When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces, in the spring time, the only pretty ring time, when the birds do sing, hey-ding-a-ding ding, cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, ta-witta-woo! And so on and so on and so on. See almost any poet between the Bronze Age and 1805.

if you eat menand still feel like you’re starving, you’re craving something that they cannot give.

Stani walks in later, glaring at them both.“Bloody bastards. One minute punching each other, next minute reading poetry. What’s wrong with everyone this week?”Tom can tell that

Poetry listens to me when I am silent and understands me when no one else seems to be able to.

Who was this girl alone so late at nightin search of a faded cassette illusion to disembowel the clocks of time’s intrusion? Those eyes belonged to the most beautiful maniac I’ve ever met. Our love is a vine of entrails that can follow any coffin anywhere, no matter how deep any gravedigger might travel.

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!

To me and the rest of the world your poetry is a gift.

I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I'll never be sane.

I keep telling myselfThat you’rejust a girl.Another leaf blown across my pathDestined to pass onAnd shrivel into yourselfLike all the others.Yet despite my venomYou refuse to witherOr fade.You remain golden throughout,And in your gaze I am left to wonder if it is me aloneWho feels the fall.

Alma, para llegar al infinito,da un impulso más firme a tu vuelo;sufre más!... ¡sufre más!... Tiene tu gritoalas, para elevarte sobre el suelo...

I did what I could,I tried to stay away,I told myself that I don't need you,I don't need to feel this way,But soon I realized that I am just a fishAlways falling as you're prey

It is our fate to give ourselves most lavishlyto those who'd rather not be burdened with the gift

There is no hope for the hopeless but there is always some love for the loveless.

Flutter like a hummingbird, Dive like an eagle, Ain't no bird that's my equal. - Twilight

don't think you can ever forget her don't even try she's not going to budgeno choice but to grant her spacecrown her with skyfor she is one of the manyand she is each of us

Give me a moment I am preparing to drawback to screamLouder than a train overhead below a railroad bridge