What Is Poetry Quotes

I am a complicated person with a simple life.

life is other, always there, further off, beyond you andbeyond me, always on the horizon, life which unlives us and makes us strangers, that invents our face and wears it away

There’s plenty of room for strangeness, mystery, originality, wildness, etc. in poems that also invite the reader into the human and alive center about which the poem circles.

We live longerbut less preciselyand in shorter sentences.

All that really matters isto feel alive, if only for a single moment –to feel in Intense Sensationthat our existence is not an endless repetitionof sleeping, eating, drinking, and dressing.

Let me live my final days whole.Let my memory remain that I might know love's face.Life don't unwrap me to be fed to scavengers.I want to escape into light - not exist in darkness.

...you fantasize about me reading my poems to you - it doesn't work that way - I write down everything later - living is not an after-thought...

Find mebeneath your tongue, but not with other lipsnor by another tongueFind melet your yearning run wild as thirst seeks wateras silence seeks the soundFind meand I will be on my way...

Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, wishes. Who looks inside, finds infinite wisdom.

Whenever a time arises where clarity is desired, it is always wise to reflect on the sage within.

Sweep my dreams not beneath my feet. Be somewhere that my steps won't meet. Breaking the broom isn't a must. Don't mistake unmoved dreams for dust

We knock upon silence for an answering music.

The artistic methods of poetry, painting, photography, and writing share certain commonalities of deep composition: spirit, rhythm, thought, and scenery.

The journey of life, creates my art!!!

I write because there are things in me that cannot die.

A Poet never denies creativity entrance.

That tingle in the brain is called a word.It bats itself against its fleshy bounds.

poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

poetry’s favourite moment is when one loses one’s footing because of a landslide or seismic shaking of thought

Giving these students, teenagers, any form of power over the use of their own words, allowing them to turn everyday raw material into some form of beauty, is a gift beyond measure.

Discovery's friend is creativity

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Purgatory surpasses heaven and hell in poetry, because it represents a future and the others do not.

Stars are out and there is seaenough beneath the glistening earthto bear me toward the futurewhich is not so dark. I see.

MotherHushed and sacred silencefills the dawning skyI ponder in this momentof our journey which is nigh...

The greatest Americans have not been born yet they are waiting patiently for the past to die.

If you want money more than anything, you will be bought and sold.If you have a greed for food, you will become a loaf of bread.This is a subtle truth.Whatever you love, you are.

The things you struggle with today are the things you choose to struggle with.Because you believe that what you want to accomplish, is worth struggling for.

Nothingness...there in this placewhere nothingness takesbut for the glimmera steadfast shimmerall would be consumed...

You might say “no, you will never do that, that’s not you, not who I know, not who I thought you were”, and I will say "watch me".

The ribboned gallons that rule us like beliefs rooted in single experiences.

We can sum up the surrealist distinction between 'literature' and 'poetry' by saying where the former is artificial, fictive and elusive, the latter is natural, real, direct and spontaneous.

Everything is still everything.The Poem Remains.

Of everythingI have ever endured, YOUareMy Favourite Tragedy.

Starving artist: starving for affection, starving for attention

We dreamt of a crappy apartment somewhereMaking love while we let the midnight airFlow through the open window, into our closed heartsLeft bitter from heartbreak and too much time apart

Will I ever see the mountains or am I doomed to roam the flatlands?

True love finds its own waysTo spread goodness, always.

And I, a twister, love, what I abhor.

Moon is the light from a lantern in heaven

A chronic poet should always be an inveterate nature-lover.

InsomniaI wonderIf those talks matterFew done in the clarity of dayOr the manyDone at 3 a.m. in the morning

I grow weary of the loveThat lasts for a nightWhen it should be thereThe next sunrise

everything that is scatteredcomes together in wordseverything that is lostcomes back in poetry.

[Y]ou, one day, will knock lips with Turkish-coffee-clad veils whose beds our kin must tuck in misty-eyed.

Even the new things thatI less than know, I keep trying, did againuntil perfect.

I am no longer a writer. Just an emotion. An emotion that is unable to stay within its own body, and is therefore, trying to make its way into yours.

Well-wrought poems and works of imaginative literature can do for us what stone-cold prose can never do. They can help us grasp the full dimension of ways of life other than our own.

The poet is a faker / Who's so good at his act / He even fakes the pain / Of pain he feels in fact.

As Borges has taught us, all the books in the library are contemporary. Great poems are like granaries: they are always ready to enlarge their store.