Poem Quotes

and angle of vision, dust, gravity, solitude, and the part of the law which is the world's waitingand the part of the law which is my waiting,and the part which is my impatience—now; now?—though there are, there really arethings in the world, you must believe me.

~ Jorie Graham

The age old question, what is Love?Isn't it the greatest gift from the holy one Above?Is it pure and white like a new born Dove?Does it cuddle you up,Like a hand in a Glove?Answer this hard question that what is LOVE??the force that propels you ,through pain and despair,the benevolence,the blessings,from the heavens above, the ray of sunshine that pierces the clouds, a perennial hope, that's what is love;Its the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel,Its the mirth that ends melancholy's reign, A fountain of glee,the elixir of life,Its the drug that heals,and cures all the pain; Its an eternal promise, never meant to be broken,Its the bond that adheres two hearts together, People may die and their stories may end,But their love is immortal,it lives on forever; Its the river that cuts through boulders and rocks,and the stream that flows through our barren lives,And on its long course,it leaves behind a trail Of vivid fragrant flowers,and clear blue skies; Love is felt by the heart,relished by the soul,Blissful like the divine touch of the Gods, I yearn for more ballads and more metaphors,But i fall short of verses, can't bind love in words.

~ Anamika Mishra

Blinking, twinkling, burning brightAre all the stars that light the night.Dippers, Ursa's and Orion too,But don't forget the star in you.

~ Paul The Astronaut

The atmospheric intensity of two electric lovers is the most righteous place I need to rediscover.

~ Steven Storm

More than loud acclaim, I loveBooks, silence, thought, my alcove.Pangur BánPoem by Anon Irish Monk, Translated by Seamus Heaney

~ Seamus Heaney

You are to me,what wind is to dry leaves.The reason for me to fall,the reason for me to fly.

~ Seekerohan

Would it be enough to rock on a stormless sea with each our separate memories tuned to the state of the sinking sun?

~ Kristen Henderson

BucketI feel so dreamydreamy lazy, crazy sleepylike I want to be therein the doorway, the doorwayor the porch cornerbe sitting, be emptynotdoing not goingan old bucket left therein the porch corner is like I aman old empty bucket somebody left there.

~ Ursula K. Le Guin

At childhood’s end, the houses petered outinto playing fields, the factory, allotmentskept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men, the silent railway line, the hermit’s caravan, till you came at last to the edge of the woods. It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf. He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw, red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big earshe had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me, sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink, my first. You might ask why. Here’s why. Poetry.The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods,away from home, to a dark tangled thorny placelit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake,my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazersnagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoesbut got there, wolf’s lair, better beware. Lesson one that night, breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem.I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, forwhat little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?Then I slid from between his heavy matted pawsand went in search of a living bird – white dove –which flew, straight, from my hands to his hope mouth.One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said,licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the backof the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.But then I was young – and it took ten years in the woods to tell that a mushroomstoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birdsare the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolfhowls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out,season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axeto a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmonto see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolfas he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw the glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.I filled his old belly with stones. I stitched him up.Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all

~ Carol Ann Duffy

To the Bullock RoserootWhat's the thought you thinkall your life long?It must be a great one,a solemn one, to make you gazethrough the world at it,all your life long.When you have to look aside from ityour eyes roll, you bellowin anger, anxiousto return to it, steadilyto gaze at it, think itall your life long.

~ Ursula K. Le Guin

We live a moment at a time and this is unique.

~ Eduardo Medina Frías

You are to me,what wind is to dry leaves. The reason for me to fall,the reason for me to fly.

~ Seekerohan

The Butcher’s ShopThe pigs are strung in rows, open-mouthed,dignified in martyrs’ deaths. They hangstiff as Sunday manners, their porky headsvoting Tory all their lives, their blue rosettesdiscarded now. The butcher smiles a meaty smile,white apron stained with who knows what,fingers fat as sausages. Smug, woolly cattleand snowy sheep prance on tiles, grazingon eternity, cute illustrations in a children’s book.What does the sheep say now?Tacky sawdust clogs your shoes.Little plastic hedges divide the trays of meat, playing farms. playing farms. All the way homeyour cold and soggy paper parcel bleeds.

~ Angela Topping

I am happy Because, IFound someoneTo BlameFor mistakesThank God &You mate,You endedMy suffocation.Amen

~ Rajesh Nanoo

imagine the desertmothers, with hair tangledtighter than their theologyand breasts that flowed milkand mystic wisdom. theyknew how to draw the singingsigils in the sand, how to digrough and bitten fingersinto desiccated dirt for waterto wet the lips of their young.women of hips and heft, wholearned how to burnbeneath the wild and searingsun, who made loud loveagainst the star-flecked threatof night, who knew that strengthis not always a matter of muscle.imagine your ancestresses,the prophetesses of the aridlands, before these starchedtraditions and pews too hardto pray from, who bled trueritual and birthed their own fiercesouls at creation's crowning --

~ Beth Morey

Sitting on couch, lying legs apart Dark dirty naked. Smiling at me, Wicked lazy lusty eyes. I moaned, When saw movement inside his silent, The thick forest of pubic hair.

~ Delicious David

we have forgotten what night tastes like, salted by full moon silver rupturingthe dark. we have forgotten how the skin sings when the lunar fervor unfurls across its follicles.

~ Beth Morey

we have forgotten how to press our fingers to the tilting planet's jugular and measure her pulse. we have forgotten symbiosis, that she is our mother.we have forgotten that when we rape our world we rape ourselves.

~ Beth Morey

Every poem is unique to each person who reads it.

~ Salil Jha

To paint an image and to write a poem, is to reclaim the dignity and personal joy...it is an invitation for my creative contemplation of an opened mind...it is a storytelling venture on a blank page of paper and white canvases...it is reclaiming my life.

~ Isabella Koldras

Read a poem at a time, or two, or all, but give them time to sink into your heart. Read them again, read a portion, and stop and ponder. Visualize. Take it slow; let the poem show you what lies in your own heart. Let it fuel the words from within.

~ Salil Jha

what is poetry if not seeing and feeling, and feeling, feelings running deepand okay – do I see, notice the gray pigeon feathers that heave by on drafts of passing cars reeking, leaking gasoline fumesand okay – do I feel?

~ Beth Morey

Perhaps it was the way he'd look at me and smile,Perhaps it was the sound of his voice after being utterly defeated,Perhaps it was the warmth of his touch,Perhaps I've always been in love with you

~ Tanzy Sayadi

I'm not your blue-eyed Czech,I'm just a brown-eyed girl, A little mix of rock your world,And now you'll never be the same. You grabbed me by the hand,I grabbed you by the neck. I changed the game, and your convictions.So is it criminal to steal a heart or two?I keep them on the shelf, Like only hunters do. I like it hardI like you highI love your mouthWhen it's on mine.I wanna hear you make that sound, Cause it's the greatest thing around. Take it off now,Take from here.Watch your head spin When I come near,And you will lose every time,Cause I won't stop until your mine.And they say who the hell is she?They either love me or they hate me. But still they never look away,This vixen's gonna give you everything.

~ Crystal Woods

One has to commit a painting,' said Degas,'the way one commits a crime.

~ Elizabeth Bishop

How can you say you love mewhen you’ve never seen me cry?when you’ve never heard the pieces that keep breaking up insideOr when the sky is dark and I’m restless in my bed will you be the one to whisper that the sun will rise ahead?You’ve never seen the battle scarsthat lay across my skin the price I paid for love, and a joy that grew withinSometimes the weight I carry isn't always feather light will you pick it up and stand up straight, brave against the fight?There's always room for fun and laughs and a beauty to keep warm but I'd never sail away with you if you can’t survive the storm.

~ M.j. Abraham

You were just another stranger in the room,In a room full of bodies, I was attracted to you,I became your tiny dancer,I became everything to you,Little did you know,That I'm just a dancer, Not your fool.

~ Tanzy Sayadi

Cold stars reflected in the waterAbyss beckons us his dark distance.Our world, only one of hundreds,In which we can not see the sun.In this world, I am uneasy,I want to touch another planets.Because there is dark and cramped,That spirit is calling me to run.Wander through the world I'm tired,And every day to meet the dawn,For me this world has closed its doors.I want to go to other worlds,To know all mysteries of their,And here never to return.

~ Arthur Tomaszewicz

I am at the gates of my own destruction.(Or so I'm told.)

~ Beth Morey

Some of us die long before our last breath. We perish in the fire of love, reduced to ashes in the consuming blaze. No, we do not die when our hearts cease to beat, but when they start beating the first timefor someone else.

~ Shakieb Orgunwall

Deep down,I lay dormant inside her head,Deep down,I lay the rules inside her head,Deep down,I lay inside inside her heart,Deep down,I know she will never move onBecause deep down, I am always there

~ Tanzy Sayadi

she prays to feel as powerful as she might if God sang silentwords into her ear and answeredall the rattling questions , now

~ Beth Morey

How—I didn't know anyword for it—how unlikely. . .How had I come to be here,like them, and overheara cry of pain that could havegot loud and worse but hadn't?

~ Elizabeth Bishop

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

~ Tanzy Sayadi

Language is rich, and malleable. It is a living, vibrant material, and every part of a poem works in conjunction with every other part - the content, the place, the diction, the rhythm, the tone-as well as the very sliding, floating, thumping, rapping sounds of it.

~ Mary Oliver

The first stanza of Eyes In Moonlight Drown, a poem from DeadVerse.With your face framed in a halo of stars,your hair melts into trailing clouds,and your eyes in moonlight drown.A man could lose himselfin those freckled irises,reflecting the galaxies above;surely he could fall into their promiseof eternity, of Heaven, of love.Your lips glisten, part, and beckon,a smile of warm invitation,a suggestion of sweet intensity,a loss of self in addictive agony.For we translate these aestheticsinto something mystical;ideas of fantasy, of fiction,obscuring the clinical truthof chemical reactions,electric sparks, responsesas sure as gravity,measurable yet beyond cold,above philosophy and below truth.

~ Scott Kaelen

Mathematics is a wonderful common sense,To understand the harmony in nature magnificent; The wondrous language, & popular in terms of @ financeIts’ unique, and abundantly rich in terms of substance

~ Priyavrat Thareja

Determined, I riseand face the dawn with resolve.This time I will win.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Everything is temporary, almost like a passing fase, some of laughter Some of pain. What we would do, If we had the chance to explore What we had taken for Granted the very day before, Some would say I'm selfish, To hold a little sadness in my eyes, But they don't feel the sorrow When I can't do, all that helps me feel alive. I can express my emotions, but I can't run wild and free, My mind and soul would handle it but hell upon my hip, ankle and knees, This disorder came about,as a friendship said its last goodbyes, Soooo this is what I got given for all the years I stood by? I finally stand still to question it, life it is in fact? What the fuck is the purpose of it all if you get stabbed in the back? And after the anger fills the air, the regret takes it places, I never wanted to be that girl, Horrid, sad and faded... So I took with a grain of salt, my new found reality, I am not of my pain,the disability doesnt define me. I find away to adjust, also with the absence of my friend,I trust the choices I make, allow my heart to mend. I pick up the piecesI retrain my leg, I find where I left off And I start all over again, You see what happens... When a warrior gets tested; They grow from the ashes Powerful and invested. So I thank all this heartache,As I put it to a rest, I move forward with my life And I'll build a damn good nest.

~ Nikki Rowe

The sweetest melody that playson starry nights and wintry days,most soothing to my listening earsand calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air―the song of sweet, still silence rare.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich