Poems Quotes

...in that rich earth a richer dust concealed.(I'm flogging a dead horse w/ this one but this is the 1st time I've even seen this quotes feature! I just wanted to post something.)

Is stuffed, de world, wif feeding girls.

Poems are not often simply emotions butOne has enough emotions -- they're experienceExperience themselves are not important....

There are anonymous poems and poets without poems.

I rushed through the door.You had bitten a way for me.

It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.

Names sound nice because no one peeks behind the cover to see the sad face of a poem crying for meaning, while the name of the creator proudly smiles from the title.

A poem is its own name and cover.

I believe that poems die the moment they are outwardly expressed.

You said we can't happen, but darling, we started happening the very first day we met.

No baby, you didn't hurt me. You wrecked me. Know the difference.

We left dents on each other. Mine was in her heart, and hers was on my car.

I'll gladly settle for amnesia if I had to live in a world where I couldn't remember how much you mean to me.

I'll stop loving you the day my shadow stops following me around. Because on that day, nothing will make sense.

The first time I saw your face, my lips said, "hello" and my heart said, "that's your wife.

poetry is not—except in a very limited sense—a form of self-expression. Who on earth supposes that the pearl expresses the oyster?

How do poems grow? They begin deep down in the pit of the soul as a seedling of a thought …

No poet can stay alive solely in his/her poetry etched in papers, it is the reader audience in whom the poets breath forever.......

I read somewhere that dedications are like coded love letters, but I always seem to lay us out bare.Sorry for the poems.

Thoughtful symmetry in a maze of tortuous confusion, Loving me is a battle, wrought with pain and illusion

The fatal problem with poetry: poems.

A wise old owl once told me, One time when he was out of his tree, That nothing in this world is for free.I agree!

LOVE the hideous in order to find the sublime core of it.

Poetry": What kind of art assumes the dislike of its audience and what kind of artist aligns herself with that dislike, even encourages it? An art hated from without and within.

A little bump in the road is just a bump. There's more ahead until you reach your destination.

The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.

One must speak in such a way that although someone else, or many others, or an infinite number of people have said it before, it seems as though you said it first.

It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me.

Love- if not reciprocated, comes with an expiry date, no matter how strongly we beg to differ.

A poem is an event, like a wedding or birth.

What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Oh, poems, no less! Poems, everybody!

Reading a stranger's words and finding yourself in them.

Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

Love knows not from where you came, what religion you are, or even your name. Discover it and you will be whole, for when you do you have found your soul.

I started to think about the abyss that separates the poet from the reader and the next thing I knew I was deeply depressed.

In Damascus:poems become diaphanousThey’re neither sensualnor intellectualthey are what echo saysto echo . . .

Remove the computer chipslodged in your brain before they convince youthat you’ve gone insane…Take a bite out of realityinstead of becominga reality byte.

Reckless of my mortality, Strengthen me to behold a face, To know the spirit of a beloved oneYet to endure, yet to dare!

Home will always be where comfort is, even if that comfort is pain

Following dark winter's strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I'm 56 and I often want to write like a child.

Most of the poems I write take 5 minutes, but the words can give a lifetime of relief. Many people that have read my book say it helped them with their grief.

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match, we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

It's physics. Pure physics, I'm falling fast and faster still.So fall with me. Fall down with me.And stay.

The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic... convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.

2.07 WALK OF LIFELife but like a cycle that you be riding, You will fall if you ever stop peddling, Life not of good cards you be holding, But those held and how you be playing.[68] - 4

But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both

William tell, William tell, Take your arrow, grip it well, There’s the apple– – aim for the middle– –Oh well … you just missed by a little.

You will not know all about the firesimply because you asked.When she speaks of the forestthis is what she is teaching you, you who thought you were her master.

True poetry is embarrassing.