Poetry Quotes
When I stand strong in youI can look beyond the cloudsWith your wordsThe sun will rise again
Letting goI can have a firm foundationTo honor youAnd hold you in my heart
These hands will never go awaythey will scoop you up at anytimeanytime that you want to be loved
You are my strength when I am weakYou are my shield when I am hurtingWhatever you say unto me LordI will do
Look upward to himLook to him for everythingLook to him for answersLook to him for a listening ear
Look upward to himLook upward on our goalKeep your eyes on himLook upward to him
Knowing that you knew everything about us before we were bornLord, your love is amazing
You said one day you would come back for usThe ones that believed in youThe ones that asked you into their heartsThe ones that served you
These hands are unlike any otherstrongbut gentlecaringlovingand understanding
In another land there is gloryIn another land there is happinessIn another land we all get alongIn another land we will stand with others
Today I want to leave the worldI want to leave the painLeave the heartacheI know where it is goingI want to see my Savior
To be held in his armsI long for that dayThe da that I get to seemore wonderful things
Look upward to himLook to him for everythingLook to him for helpLook to him for comfort
Starlight encased in flesh. Fire burning in so much water. Poetry living in hard spaces. oh, how the body loves
revenge was never my intention.-but it still tastes sweeter than honey
Being there doesn't mean I'm present. I exist only in words. I want to be transmuted fully to white page and ink.
Dream!Forge yourself and riseOut of your mind and into others.Men, be women.Fish, be flies.Girls, take beards.Sons, be your mothers.The future of the world now liesIn coral wombs behind our eyes.
Veins of ivy scale stones, find footholds butthe caretaker cuts earth short, peels creepers from Cotswold rock and props the deadhead to head so they won’ttopple like drunkson their moss-soft shadows.
Dying only means moving into a nicer house. We have only gone into the next room.We still are what we have always been.We aren’t far away. We are only on the other side of the pathway.
As joy dwindles with the yearsI wistfully recallWhen the christmas treeLooked ten feet tallAnd the presents under itSeemed endless And more Than mere wrapping paper.
It is true that a mathematician who is not somewhat of a poet, will never be a perfect mathematician.
They never say this, but it’s true, it was raining the first time I saw you.
It is not what a poem says with its mouth, it’s what a poem does with its eyes.
...who would have known the dark eyes staring into mine would become our children's eyes...?
My love, can't you seehow much i love theeFor i through your eyesshall seeOur great lovefor all eternity
Even through the smoke, you are still the most beautiful thingin this city and I, well, I am stillthe last thing you’d save in a fire.
Fire is calling my name. It is whispering words of encouragement, sweet things. It wants out, for me to fan the heat until it’s a vortex that can’t and won’t be stopped.
I think you should ignore Sara Teasdale (she’s a bit of a moper, to be honest.). Take Christina Rossetti’s advice and be fire.
The obscure, unexplainable aspect of the writing process is about how some rhymes appear in your head. It often feels more like tuning in to some kind of channel than composing words in your mind.
We hear the saints saying: Our brother the world. We hear the revolutionaries: Dare we win?
Expansion (both far and wide) is the order of the day
A scar on the heart will heal. Let your love remain pure as if it was never cut in the first place.
Note the lessons a broken heart has taught you but don't ever alter the love you can give. Don't let a broken heart hinder your kind of love.
Things change, time changes. People change, life changes. Time changes things, life changes people.
Not much more than a broke disgrace who's hooked on tonics, so excuse him if his poker face has puke on it.
Some, they didn't make it.The temptation just too strong.How can darkness cloud the mindTo what I know as wrong?
The world has never favored the experimental life. It despises poets, fanatics, prophets and lovers.
Emotional pain was the price I paid on the path to becoming a woman. So excuse me if I’m not clueless like a little girl.
I define influence simply as literary love, tempered by defense. The defenses vary from poet to poet. But the overwhelming presence of love is vital to understanding how great literature works.
