Poetry Quotes

I do not just want you at your best.I almost do not carewhere your Happiness lives,but please,let me visit your pain?Take me to the placewhere your sadness goes,and show me the tragedythat no one knows.

~ Meraaqi

He thought of what his mother always said whenever he cut himself, “Dimka, scars are time’s alphabet.” If so, his body was covered in poetry, his soul contained an entire encyclopedia of pain and loss... Kelly Oliver, WOLF: A Jessica James Mystery

~ Kelly Oliver

To make love is to give birth to death.

~ Stephanie M. Wytovich

You didn’t understand the poem, but that was because it wasn’t for you. It was for me to understand the pain you put me through.

~ Dominic Riccitello

This empty shell holds nothing but the echoes of what was.

~ Jenim Dibie

You see herand ascend into love. You become enchanted, a found madman. In your love,you lose yourself and become her. You were once without her, now with her. You still feel her and descend into love. You become enraptured, a lost madman. In your love,you lost yourself and her. You were once with her, nowwithout her.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Soaked in painmy suits remain standingwhen I take them off - hollow men beside the closet,a museum of days.

~ Chad Sweeney

She wore her scarsas her best attire.A stunning dressmade of hellfire.

~ Daniel Saint

MOTHER IS WATERI wish I couldShower your head with flowersAnd anoint your feet with my tears,For I know I have caused youSo much heartache, frustration and despair –Throughout my youthful years.I wish I could give youThe remainder of my lifeTo add to yours,Or simply eraseThe lines on your face,And mend all that has been torn.For next to God,You are the fireThat has given lightTo the flame in each of my eyes.You are the fountainThat nourished my growth,And from your chalice –Gave me life.Without the wetness of your love,The fragrance of your water,Or the trickling sounds ofYour voice,I shall always feelthirsty.

~ Suzy Kassem

From attraction and affectionCover of perfectionFailure beyond texture to a painful lessonEverything that was from the start wasn't from the heart

~ Criss Jami

I have these knives in my chest that can't become words.

~ Jenim Dibie

You are alone,So alone,You speak back to silence.People call it loneliness,You call it solitude,Different words,Meaning the same pain.

~ Jenim Dibie

You ask me to write you a poem,I pen you an empty ocean,You run away.You ask me who I am,I paint you a breaking sky,You weep in the rain.

~ Jenim Dibie

2a.m and a ceiling stained with question marks.

~ Jenim Dibie

Weeping WidowsThere is a river that cuts ThroughThe heart of EveAnd flows throughParadise's back window.It streams into A bottomless wellThat rolls down to hellWith the tears of theWeeping widows.The women stand along the well,And cryWhile singing gray lullabiesAs orphaned childrenLight up candles to put on palm leavesTo push into the streamWith petals of jasmine And pieces of tangerine,Then sit back and wait for their fatherTo show up over the horizon Where his heart still beatsIn their dreams.

~ Suzy Kassem

Stretched and skewedTap of the 8-ball and the cueScratches fall throughThey are the scars of you

~ Criss Jami

When someone comes around at that dreary moment, when all hope was lost, and thorns emerged. And that fellow, walks on that thorn just to cross to your side, to bear the pains for your sake, to bleed, to self-destroy himself, just to protect you. He places you above his priorities, and doesn't give a damn whatsoever taunt he receives, his foremost desire is to make sure you are save, feel loved and cared for, and that's the true definition of love.

~ Michael Bassey Johnson

Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes,” I say,“I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks.“Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?”“Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.

~ Charles Bukowski

You are afraid to let anyone in, but you still leave the door open, hoping someone good will shut the door behind him and throw away the keys.

~ Jenim Dibie

I write, write and write but I can't find words that define what I feel inside.

~ Azereth Skivel

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

~ Criss Jami

All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.

~ Kamand Kojouri

A poetess is not as selfishas you assume.After months of agonising over her marriage of words—the bride—and spaces—the groom,she knows that as soonas she has penned the poem,it’s yours to consume.So, without giving it a think,she blows on the inkand the letters fly awaylike dandelions on a windy day,landing on hands and lips, on hearts and hips.But more often than not,you can easily spotthem trodden and forgotten,becoming sodden and rotten.Yet, she will continue to makewhat’s others to takebecause selfishness is not the mark of a poetess.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Whenever you keep score in love, you lose.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn’t you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.

~ Kamand Kojouri

Like a pair of old slippers,I feel comfort andwarmth as I slip into you.No, that is too crude.Like the match to the wick,I ignite when we touch.My counterpart andlife's purpose.Yes, as though I've known you my whole life.Every scar, every failurehas become an affirmationof what should be:You.Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.

~ Kamand Kojouri

I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here’s another one for you.But really, for me.These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me.I place this candle here and another thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me.Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us?Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect?I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

~ Kamand Kojouri

I couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because I didn’t even know I needed you. You must have been sent to me.

~ Kamand Kojouri

And while she was fire,So fierce and so wild,I could only hope to be for her;The forests and the winds to carry her flame.

~ Morris R. Gates

The SleepingI have imagined all this:In 1940 my parents were in loveAnd living in the loft on West 10thAbove Mark Rothko who painted cabbage rosesOn their bedroom walls the night they got married.I can guess why he did it.My mother’s hair was the color of yellow applesAnd she wore a velvet hat with her pajamas.I was not born yet. I was remote as starlight.It is hard for me to imagine thatMy parents made love in a roomful of rosesAnd I wasn’t there.But now I am. My mother is blushing.This is the wonderful thing about art.It can bring back the dead. It can wake the sleepingAs it might have late that nightWhen my father and mother made love above RothkoWho lay in the dark thinking Roses, Roses, Roses.

~ Lynn Emanuel

indelible waitingl'art poetique..I will wait for the night to chase me...I sit on a rock and watch children playingin the park belowThey don't see meOr know my thoughtsOr that you haven't calledBut I forgive them their indifference todayAbove me a crow cawsPerhaps he smells the crumbs on my dressOr my angerBut he flits away over the treesProbably has a homeProbably has a wifeProbably knew to callThe children leaveThe coffee in my can turns coldThe wind nips at meSome street lights flicker onBut I won't moveNot yetI will wait for the night to chase meBack where I came fromUp the empty streetTo a quiet house

~ Adelheid Manefeldt

I sit on a rock and watch children playingin the park belowThey don't see meOr know my thoughtsOr that you haven't calledBut I forgive them their indifference todayAbove me a crow cawsPerhaps he smells the crumbs on my dressOr my angerBut he flits away over the treesProbably has a homeProbably has a wifeProbably knew to callThe children leaveThe coffee in my can turns coldThe wind nips at meSome street lights flicker onBut I won't moveNot yetI will wait for the night to chase meBack where I came fromUp the empty streetTo a quiet house

~ Adelheid Manefeldt

My husband says spring will be early.He says this every year,And every year I disagree.He needs me, the dark side of the planetary equation.Together we make the equinox.

~ Lisel Mueller

Lorenzo: In such a night stood Dido with a willow in her hand upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love to come again to Carthage Jessica: In such a night Medea gathered the enchanted herbs that did renew old Aeson. Lorenzo: In such a night did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, and with an unthrift love did run from Venice, as far as Belmont. Jessica: In such a night did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well, stealing her soul with many vows of faith, and ne'er a true one. Lorenzo: In such a night did pretty Jessica (like a little shrow) slander her love, and he forgave it her. Jessica: I would out-night you, did nobody come; but hark, I hear the footing of a man.

~ William Shakespeare

Come, said my SoulSuch verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)That should I after death invisibly return,Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,There to some group of mates the chants resuming,(Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)Ever with pleas’d smiles I may keep on,Ever and ever yet the verses owning — as, first, I here and now,Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name

~ Walt Whitman

Great souls encouraged us to be great.

~ Lailah Gifty Akita

Poetry is prose bewitched, a music made of visual thoughts, the sound of an idea.

~ Mina Loy

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into light.

~ Dejan Stojanovic

PEOPLE WITH THE SMARTEST MOUTHSHAVE THE DUMBEST BRAINS

~ Qwana Reynolds-Frasier

MOST DAYS MY LIFE CAN BE SUMMED UP IN MOVIE QUOTESANDHIP HOP AND R&B LYRICS

~ Qwana Reynolds-Frasier