Poetry Quotes

You said: "Wait for the moon with me."I stayed. I waited. The moon never came.

The ocean cradles the bloodied moon in its aquatic arms like a mother holds her crying babe.

The taste of moon's song.

...winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird...

I make wishes, but she says never be afraid to take chances.

Wondered to see, these luscious Flowers'' ''Blossoming everywhere, like drops of Shower'' ''WISH! My ecstasy would has that Power'' ''Days come true! those for me, are so Far'' ~Samar Sudha

Sewn together patterns, like many clashing moods, She wears what No others dare

Every attempt to fix eternity is an escape from reality. I will be plaguing my days with moments and minutes. For ever is too far!

I swearwe'd lose ourhearts ifthey weren'twith elasticand butterflypinclasped safelyin.

I'd rather die fighting over great poets than over gods.

What's not there is.

If you don't look before the dusk and beyond the dawn, you won't be able to see the sun. (Soar)

Let only the young come, Says the sea. Let them kiss my face And hear me. I am the last word And I tell Where storms and stars come from.

If I stay close to the sea, I will go on well.

Now I’msober and Irealize, Ididn’t drink toescape the world, I drank to escapemyself

Learn to use your third eye and you’ll be able to see beyond the sky. There is no limit, except that which you impose upon yourself.

Photography is my other kind of music.

30 cents, two transfers, loveThinking hard about you I got on the bus and paid 30 cents car fare and asked the driver for two transfers before discovering that I was alone.

It is poetic and lyrical

He lived to near the things he loved to seem poetical.

What do you do when the alienating silence deafens your 'bootless cries'?

willow trees, willow trees they remind me of DesdemonaI'm so damned literaryand at the same time the waters rushing past remindme of nothing

It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how.

...I'm constantly agitated, restless - I work moments like worry beads until I see your face...

Not many get to see this side of him. So, if you do, know that you’re lucky.

You might plan how to sleep but you can't plan how you wake up. He who plans how to sleep is a Planer, he who plans out to wake up is a Dreamer.

There is a reasonthat the worldis not black and white, for chaosdemands color.

In most poetic expressions of patriotism, it is impossible to distinguish what is one of the greatest human virtues from the worst human vice, collective egotism.

There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

Victories turned inside outBut no surrenderCemeteries of remorseThe beaten champion sobbingGhosts move in to shield his tears

Dear friend, I have searched all nightthrough each burnt paper, but I fear I will never findthe formula to let you die

This is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.

All paths lead to death, our premature sacrifice for future spawn(from Elixir)

[It is not] the poet's business to use verse as an advanced form of rhetoric, nor to give to political statements the aura of eternal truth.

Because who hasn't tried to pull their arms from the sleeves of gravity's lead coat?Who doesn't have at least one pair of wax wings out in the garage?

We say God and the imagination are one . . .How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Poetry is a finikin thing of airThat lives uncertainly and not for longYet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.

. . . Orpheus struck dumb with hindsight.

Evening came, a paw, to the gray hut by the river.

The bats inebriate the sky . . .

A single wire hanger on a nail by itselfIsn't bad though a stack of them on a floorIs too gloomy for words.

All we’re trying to do is word the world. Detail is one way we do that. We enumerate, notate, name the things seen.

A poet is a feeling, sentient being, not a word machine.

Whenever I write a dramatic poem I can't understand why the characters should ever want to be anything but poets themselves.

That is why they have poets—to classify all the degrees of love. It is for scientists to classify the maladies arising from the want of it.

On a small table beside his chair were other haphazardly stacked volumes by such poets as Emerson, Whitman, and Wallace Stevens, a dangerous crew to let into your head.

The poet must be more useful than any other member if his tribe.

There are good reasons to learn how to read. Poetry isn't one of them... Why can't poets just say what they want to say and then shut up?

What’s the use of writing poetry for your peers? I don’t think I should sell my poetry to other poets. If that’s who my audience is, I’m dead, I’m not going to make any money.

You are the sick prince of my cerise innovations and in your drowning caresses I walk the sea