Poem Quotes

It's okay darling,creative people are called crazyall the time.

~ Anjum Choudhary

..Breaking yet budding,dying yet living - standingamongst ruins and rage,reaching for possibilitiesplaying hard to get.

~ Meraaqi

You think I'm giving up. I'm not. I'm giving in.

~ Kamand Kojouri

I celebrate myself, I paint and dance and sing myself, and what I assume you will assume, for every atom as of me as good belongs to dreamy You. I am a song. I am a poem. I am the soil and a gem. I am a stargate and a voyage. I am the ocean and your soul.

~ Oksana Rus

If we learn to love someone for their imperfections that reflect our own, we eventually appreciate the thought that even the most beautiful things are damaged

~ Nicola An

When you get to find love, make sure it's because you get to find yourself

~ Nicola An

Look for mein sleepless nights,among the stars,I’ll be your guiding star...Look for mein the moments of happiness,on a green field,I’ll be your joy....

~ Zorica Savron

If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.

~ Kamand Kojouri

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

~ Christina Strigas

Like a child who saves their favourite food on the plate for last, I try to save all thoughts of you for the end of the day so I can dream with the taste of you on my tongue.

~ Kamand Kojouri

I fell in loveand then I became love.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Every morningbefore the birds starttrilling me their stories,I give birth to a new lovethrough my same old heartwhen a lake’s placidityfinds life in the swans breathOnly for you...From the poem 'Only For You

~ Munia Khan

I was mistaken when I said you live in my heart. How absurd I was when you live in my fingertips so that everything I touch is you. How foolish I was when you live in my toes so that everywhere I go there's you. How senseless of me to say you live in my heart when you breathe in my lungs, walk on my mind, and drink in my mouth. I came to pen another poem for you, but even every unwritten poem is you.

~ Kamand Kojouri

I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities — as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place,because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.

~ Kamand Kojouri

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

~ Kamand Kojouri

If you wake with a change of direction, deciding you hate who you've been,Remember, I loved you every yesterday as I will continue to love you then.Whomever person you become I shall worship and whatever path you pave I will follow,Because I loved you every yesterday and I will love you every tomorrow.

~ Taylor Patton

Be still my hand and let the words write themselves upon my heart. Be still my heart and let your pages be filled in silence.

~ Cristen Rodgers

Night after night on starry wingsNight lovers soared so highMiles apart, across the oceansTheir love forgot to sighIn heavenly flight’s timelessnessThat highest height treasuredInto the deepest of all bluesTheir depth of love measured.From the poem 'The Ballad of Night Lovers

~ Munia Khan

Let our love chase all clouds awayHold my hand and feel the dayYour footsteps guide my steps all alongBeneath my skin your veins belong.

~ Munia Khan

Flowers wither knowing that you exist.

~ Timothy Joshua

There isn’t a word for walking out of the grocery storewith a gallon jug of milk in a plastic sackthat should have been bagged in double layers—so that before you are even out the dooryou feel the weight of the jug draggingthe bag down, stretching the thinplastic handles longer and longerand you know it’s only a matter of time untilbottom suddenly splits.There is no single, unimpeachable wordfor that vague sensation of somethingmoving away from youas it exceeds its elastic capacity —which is too bad, because that is the wordI would like to use to describe standing on the streetchatting with an old friendas the awareness grows in me that he isno longer a friend, but only an acquaintance,a person with whom I never made the effort—until this moment, when as we say goodbyeI think we share a feeling of relief, a recognition that we have reachedthe end of a pretense, though to tell the truthwhat I already am thinking aboutis my gratitude for language—how it will stretch just so much and no farther;how there are some holes it will not cover up;how it will move, if not inside, thenaround the circumference of almost anything—how, over the years, it has given meback all the hours and days, all theplodding love and faith, all themisunderstandings and secretsI have willingly poured into it.

~ Tony Hoagland

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.

~ Israelmore Ayivor

My heart and my soul are best of friends.And their friendship startedthe day you and I first met.

~ Frederick Espiritu

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!

~ Ana Claudia Antunes

Don’t pack out______________To some people, you make life brightWhen you decide to dim your lightTheir lives will be full of darknessDo shine your light in kindnessTo some people, you bring out a joyWith their emotions, never ever toyWith your smiles, grease them with oilAnd make them glad when their lives boilTo other people, you are the warmthThat kills coldness and brings strengthDon’t do it; don’t pack outElse, they will have blackoutYou’re on earth to do two things hereWake up and do them now; this yearFirst, dare to grow and become betterSecond, help others to also become greaterNever in any of the four seasonsShould you neglect your gifts for any reasonsThe world needs you to make it a better placeDon’t pack out; run your race

~ Israelmore Ayivor

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, — knowing that better men would come,And greater wars: when each proud fighter bragsHe wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

~ Wilfred Owen

From the bonny bells of heather,They brewed a drink long syne,Was sweeter far than honey,Was stronger far than wine.They brewed it and they drank it,And lay in blessed swound,For days and days together,In their dwellings underground.There rose a King in Scotland,A fell man to his foes,He smote the Picts in battle,He hunted them like roes.Over miles of the red mountainHe hunted as they fled,And strewed the dwarfish bodiesOf the dying and the dead.Summer came in the country,Red was the heather bell,But the manner of the brewing,Was none alive to tell.In graves that were like children’sOn many a mountain’s head,The Brewsters of the HeatherLay numbered with the dead.The king in the red moorlandRode on a summer’s day;And the bees hummed and the curlewsCried beside the way.The King rode and was angry,Black was his brow and pale,To rule in a land of heather,And lack the Heather Ale.It fortuned that his vassals,Riding free upon the heath,Came on a stone that was fallenAnd vermin hid beneath.Roughly plucked from their hiding,Never a word they spoke:A son and his aged father –Last of the dwarfish folk.The king sat high on his charger,He looked down on the little men;And the dwarfish and swarthy coupleLooked at the king again.Down by the shore he had them:And there on the giddy brink –“I will give thee life ye vermin,For the secret of the drink.”There stood the son and fatherAnd they looked high and low;The heather was red around them,The sea rumbled below.And up spoke the father,Shrill was his voice to hear:“I have a word in private,A word for the royal ear.“Life is dear to the aged,And honour a little thing;I would gladly sell the secret”,Quoth the Pict to the King.His voice was small as a sparrow’s,And shrill and wonderful clear:“I would gladly sell my secret,Only my son I fear.“For life is a little matter,And death is nought to the young;And I dare not sell my honour,Under the eye of my son.Take him, O king, and bind him,And cast him far in the deep;And it’s I will tell the secretThat I have sworn to keep.”They took the son and bound him,Neck and heels in a thong,And a lad took him and swung him,And flung him far and strongAnd the sea swallowed his body,Like that of a child of ten;And there on the cliff stood the father,Last of the dwarfish men.“True was the word I told you:Only my son I feared;For I doubt the sapling courage,That goes without the beard.But now in vain is the torture,Fire shall not avail:Here dies in my bosomThe secret of the Heather Ale.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

We march through snow and we march through rain With naught to lose and naught to gain Sun and moon and sun again One day’s dawn is another day’s end   We come by day and we go by night We fall and rise again to fight Sword and spear and bow the same One man’s life is another man’s game   They fell like lightning and they raged like fire They lit the blaze on the funeral pyre Picked and chose the paths they trod One man’s will is another man’s blood  We live forever and we die todayWe’ve seen the end of eternity Time and fate outwit us all One man’s rise is another man’s fall

~ Sarah Delena White

Let my silence grow with noise as pregnant mothers grow with life. Let my silence permeate these walls as sunlight permeates a home. Let the silence rise from unwatered graves and craters left by bombs. Let the silence rise from empty bellies and surge from broken hearts. The silence of the hidden and forgotten. The silence of the abused and tortured. The silence of the persecuted and imprisoned. The silence of the hanged and massacred. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so the hungry may eat my words and the poor may wear my words. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so I may resurrect the dead and give voice to the oppressed. My silence speaks.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breathNo spine to shiver, no heart talks At life’s craving poverty mocksFrom the poem 'Exhumation

~ Munia Khan

For all these stars,nothing is new.They’ve seen all kinds of warsand miracles, too.They know the messengers with their holy bookswill smile and wash their hands in blood.They know the politicians with their good lookswill make the poor eat pies of mud.They’ve seen the Earth freeze and then burn with greed.They’ve seen the treesand the seas emptied.Yet, you won’t hear their sneerswhen a man arrivesand, having experienced a number of years,proclaims: 'I have lived!'Because nothing is new under these stars:the lies, the love, the memories and scars, the ruin, the revolution, the fakes and true,the families, the friends, none of it is new.All of it—even the me and you.

~ Kamand Kojouri

And the pebbles fight each other as rocks/And my father bends among them/Two hands outstretching up to me/Not that I can hear.

~ Joe Strummer

With the rumble of the waterfall in the distance, I slipped into sleep and dreamed of a red-haired girl holding a posy of white flowers. The words of Mr. Noyes's poem crept from the pages of my picture book and tiptoed into my mind. Then you blow your magic vial, / Shape it like a crescent moon, / Set it up and make your trial, / Singing, 'Fairies, ah, come soon!

~ Hazel Gaynor

Let us keep enough money to enjoy each breath we take, but definitely not too much, if we don’t want to spoil the fragrance of our dreams and the poem of life.

~ Erik Pevernagie

I don’t know why we fight.It takes much too effort to stay mad at you.To dodge your skin in the hallwayand leave the kitchen without bringing you a treat.It takes much too effort to stare at the sinkso my eyes don’t smile at you in the mirror.It takes much too effort to look away as we undressand lie apart in the now bigger bed.It takes much too effort to stiffen my bodybecause sleepy limbs forget fightsand pride is always lost in dreams.It takes much too effort to awaken every hour to make sure we are islands with a gulf of white sheets separating us.I dread the light peeking through the parted curtainsand empathise with your groans —I didn’t get any sleep either.I really don’t know why we fight.It takes much too effort to stay mad at one anotherwhen it’s so easy for us to love.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Standing on the roof at night, beside the golden shipI look across the city and I dream a wild trip.The waves are high, the wind is strong, the moon is white and full.I smell the salt upon the sea, a strong magnetic pull.I shout into the endless dark, awaiting the reply:'Away! Away' It says: 'Away! Now spread your wings and fly.

~ Brian Selznick

A fleeting second on someone's news feed,No dearth of meanings for those who read,Not my stories but 'tis what I think,I say I don't write poems, I just write dreams.

~ Sanhita Baruah

I've heard you say so many a timeThat I know just the right words to say, just the right lines to rhyme...Today it's been 7 years since we last metI have learnt to say just the wrong words, just the lines you hate....

~ Sanhita Baruah

She was an echo masquerading as a shadow and she followed me just the same. The night and its moon were her favor while the sunrise and sunlight the daggers that sliced her to ribbons. She looked through half closed eyes at a blind world filled with wide eyes staring at walls. She felt pity with no care while around here steamed a burden too dense to bear. In the hours before dawn her tears slide to her jaw as a soft song escapes from between her cracked lips. A barbed song of glory and woe that hugs her tight and steals her breath, each line a quiver, every word a bind. A cage in her image meant to be broken. Destroy and recreate, scar after scar shallow and deep, her dreams were her life and the nightmares her sleep. Dark circles under eyes that truly see, time while awake moves more slowly. It trickles past her, eroding her being and pulling on her delicate seams. She unravels a little each day, tucking the threads back in every which way. In the night she is flawless and clear, the moonlight dancing in swirls, throwing half formed monograms against her wall. She traces these curves and whispers her story, an imprint in an ocean of churning shadows. Her imagination plays a scene of a teary-eyed embrace on the shores of a former dream, where droplets of her soul fell wildly below, where they and her became a part of a much larger whole. A smile rips her taunt and clenched face, the memory of the feeling of an unreal embrace. She holds herself tightly in a corner with no light and shudders with every pinprick of the downpour of night. Though muffled by the glass of her self imposed flask, she hears the birds singing their song, the natural alarm of impending light. She waits patiently for the sun, counting the half seconds and making time slow, her grey eyes less than aimless and staring at the clouds. With half closed eyes now shining a golden haloed blue, she watches the sky change colors from soft to brilliant hue. The flood of life and color takes her by surprise every day and which way. The rip cuts a little more, her restless thoughts take note and pause. She just wants to scream. To swallow the vibrant light and flood her veins with all the color ever seen, a strange desire to fix what is broken and yet wanting to break. She loses count of the seconds in the wrinkles of her palms, mere dust to wind, ashes to gale. She recites the deadly seven and stops at lust, how different from love while still the same in a twisted way. Her knees press against the worn, wooden floor with no intent to pray, she just wants the numbness and the pain. There are some things right and a few that are wrong, feeling the breath of freedom tapered against the need to belong, The sun now vomits its light across the cragged horizon, illuminating manmade lines and verdurous fuzz, her rip widens in distaste and her mind frowns in disgust. Her heart hangs limp as a shattered mirror reflecting its own cracks, each inaudible beat a glimmer of a glimpse of something more than her created deceit. This is hope. In a fragile and faceted way, the reflects are abyss and ascension portrayed intertwined with no ties holding them together. She is the half second of the transition of the beat, the moment her heart begins to flex and show more than bones and maneuverable meat. She wonders about the subtle difference between spirit and soul and whether she needs only one or both to be whole. Shaking her head as if to dislodge her thoughts, they steer from the tracks and tumble and crash, destruction and turmoil birthing creation and a new path. She thinks about the way she thinks and comes full triangle, it feels right to be so jagged rather than unburdened as a circle. With a sigh and a breath, she stands against the weight of her shoulders and the unbalance of her feet. Her half closed eyes slowly fade to grey as the light and color in the sky changes and decays. She is the moments before the sun rises and sets-1-2-3

~ Hubert Martin

...4-5-6: when time escapes the day in its most beautiful way. She starves for that beauty, she longs to quench her limitless thirst, but those moments are so fleeting and their limit is her unrest. Her bones are hollow and heavy as she takes a single step, and in that instant she is gone, blinded by the flash of a stray ray of light, her eyes close in that moment and stars flood her night. She falls forward slow, counting the half seconds of her descent. Her eyes stay closed, her thoughts are spent.

~ Hubert Martin