Poetry Quotes

Compliments land assoft and gentle on my earsas a butterfly.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

A finger beckons.My choice is to turn away.It is a mistake.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

A snake bites your ankle.Recoiling, you scream.Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream......where a man bites your ankle.Expecting no guile, 'Again' softly falls from your lips with a smile.Yet the man and the snake are the same.Your perception is only to blame.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Sometimes poets expect me to think far deeper than I'm willing to dig.

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain.

~ G.k. Chesterton

The best gift you can give today is the gift of LOVE!

~ Colishia S. Benjamin

On Hallows Eve, we witches meetto broil and bubble tasty treatslike goblin thumbs with venom dip,crisp bat wings, and fried fingertips.We bake the loudest cackle crunch,and brew the thickest quagmire punch.Delicious are the rotting flieswhen sprinkled over spider pies.And, my oh my, the ogre brainsall scrambled up with wolf remains!But what I love the most, it’s true,are festered boils mixed in stew.They cook up oh so tenderly.It goes quite well with mugwort tea.So, don’t be shy; the cauldron’s hot.Jump in! We witches eat a lot!

~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Look! Why want anything more marvellous than what is.

~ Diana Athill

The people need poetry that will be their own secretTo keep them awake forever,And bathe them in the bright-haired wave of its breathing.

~ Osip Mandelstam

you’ll find the buildings taller, thatthe halls are full of ghostsbut everything still here iswhat you remember most

~ Savannah Brown

In an instant he forgot Joe's poem about Japan except the part about 'you are the bell, and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,' and a new sound entered his life, like when he was a kid and he first heard the sound of horses clip-clopping and he asked his mother in wonder, What's that sound, because I've never heard it before?

~ Melina Marchetta

The most sublime labour of poetry is to give sense and passion to insensate things, and it is characteristic of children to take inanimate things in their hands and talk to them in play as if they were living persons... This philological-philosophical axiom proves to us that in the world's childhood men were by nature sublime poets...

~ Giambattista Vico

Writing is my passion. Words are the way to know ecstasy. Without them life is barren. The poet insists, language is a body of suffering and when you take up language you take up the suffering too. All my life I have been suffering for words. Words have been the source of the pain and the way to heal. Struck as a child for talking, for speaking out of turn, for being out of my place. Struck as a grown woman for not knowing when to shut up, for not being willing to sacrifice words for desire. Struck by writing a book that disrupts. There are many ways to be hit. Pain is the price we pay to speak the truth.

~ Bell Hooks

Her love of words is a private passion - one she would rather not share. In the house of her childhood though everything had to be shared. If she tried to hold anything back, they would search and find the hidden places. Her written words, discovered, read were just the source of more pain and punishment. This was why she loved poetry. They did not always understand it so they left it alone.

~ Bell Hooks

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when of Devils & Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it.

~ William Blake

Albeit nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republican Where every man is Kinglike and no manIs crowned above his fellows, yet I see,Spite of this modern fret for Liberty, Better the rule of One, whom all obey, Than to let clamorous demagogues betrayOur freedom with the kiss of anarchy.Wherefore I love them not whose hands profane Plant the red flag upon the piled-up street For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reignArts, Culture, Reverence, Honor, all things fade, Save Treason and the dagger of her trade, Or Murder with his silent bloody fee.

~ Oscar Wilde

Poetry is a never ending journey.

~ Subrat Saurabh

Your poetry--it doesn't deserve to be locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. And neither do you.

~ Tessa Emily Hall

The wind went mute and the trees in the forest stood still. It was time for the last tale.

~ Lawren Leo

Thus many a melody passed to and fro between the two nightingales, drunk with their passion. Those who heard them listened in delight, and so similar were the two voices that they sounded like a single chant. Born of pain and longing, their song had the power to break the unhappiness of the world.

~ Nizami Ganjavi

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my lifefor our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul.

~ Roman Payne

Forever, if she promises to never part the ocean where the river sings.

~ Delano Johnson

All writers are manipulative liars. Jack O. Savage, The Poet

~ Hunter S. Jones

We should’ve thrown fucking riots the first time they had us ring up and bag our owngroceries

~ Phil Volatile

We do not admire their president.We know why the White House is white.We do not find their children irresistible,We do not agree they should inherit the earth.

~ Alice Walker

Nothing conceivable is so petty, so insipid, so crowded with paltry interests, in one word, so anti-poetic, as the life of a man in the United States.

~ Alexis De Tocqueville

Blankly expressing oneself can be stronger than words.

~ Paul Morabito

The glamorous life is a facade, a frauda farce of frivolous triteThe storybook is blank insideChivalry has died

~ Donato Dicristino

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.

~ Georgia Douglas Johnson

To live day by dayIs not to live at all.

~ Conrad Kent Rivers

The world is full of poetry. ~ The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.

~ James Percival

The mass starts into a million suns;Earths round each sun with quick explosions burst,And second planets issue from the first.[The first concept of a 'big bang' theory of the universe.]

~ Erasmus Darwin

I want to be intoxicated by the darkened ether of midnight, running through my fingers as sparkling stardust. I crave the taste of the ocean's salty tears, as her temperamental tides crash and break against the rocks. I yearn for the sweet scent of sun on my skin and the earthy musk of dirt giving way under my bare feet. I want to lay naked in golden fields, as i gaze up at an endless sky, dreaming my dreams, as Mother Nature's love washes over me like spiritual sunshine.

~ Jaeda Dewalt

Long have I dwelt forgotten hereIn pining woe and dull despair,This place of solitude and gloomMust be my dungeon and my tomb.

~ Anne Brontë

For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer's unreturning track.

~ Christina Rossetti

To be alone was my best interest because needing myself was looking for you

~ Nicola An

Wrong solitude vinegars the soul, right solitude oils it.

~ Jane Hirshfield

I avoid the looming visitor,Flee him adroitly around corners,Hating him, wishing him well;Lest if he confront me I be forced to say what is in no wise true:That he is welcome; that I am unoccupied;And forced to sit while the potted roses wilt in the crate or the sonnet coolsBending a respectful nose above such dried philosophiesAs have hung in wreaths from the rafters of my house since I was a child.Some trace of kindliness in this, no doubt,There may be.But not enough to keep a bird alive.There is a flaw amounting to a fissureIn such behaviour.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

From our solitudewe shall create,forge songs ,pour in the reflectionof the stars and refresh the mindabout the silk-ridden roads that wait for them who have forgotten to feel.

~ Tara Estacaan

I hate the very noise of troublous man Who did and does me all the harm he can. Free from the world I would a prisoner be And my own shadow all my company.

~ John Clare