What Is Poetry Quotes

I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds, where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.

kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.

i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

The edge of the sea masks a clock that marks the waves.

Loving you is kissing the night, exposing the scars, words in flames, for every drop and for every life.

Your smile is poetry to my soul igniting flames of old

Give mea moon-blanket nightto keep me warma long-gone smileto comfort mea pair of rain-blue eyesto haunt mea simple soul...to love me.

let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver...overflowing with stars.

I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks

Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.

when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.

the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.

the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

some poems frothand foam and rise...out of my morning cup ofmist-sweetened coffee.

Do not eat of this world, she warned as I left, unless you are willing to suffer.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, so what happens when the person's eyes are unavailable to look into? You read their words.

this life has been a landscape of painand still, flowersbloom in it.

...and so many colorsI will have seen...the menacing greysand pine greensthe soft pink and purplesof springand summer blueand so many otherswithout you.

I do not want to sleepfor fear I might miss the twinkle of the brightest starfor fear I may never knowhow the moon glimmers, in the darkest hour.

the moon is just another kind of clock

If you believe it, it is.

Dead tree branches rattled, the cold wind seethed, it prattled of abominations about to unfold.A lone wolf howled, the full moon it prowled, ready for evils untold.

Look, moonI turned silver for you.

someday i will walk under the soul-blossom tree with my hand eternally woven in yours.

I am just like you, Destined to play my part.And leave, In the nature of my departure at least, Some kind of sweet message behindIn the fathomless pattern I make.

there have been morningsso quiet and tenderlike a poem, on Thursday's lipsthat I wonderedif I'd been kissed at all...

We keep asking where they have gonethose years we remember and wereach for them like hands in the night

I wonder at the starry pattern in the skyAre they little pieces of moon which want to fly..?

She was the unlucky lover, who loved everyone but herself

Poetry is –raw feelings as sunny summer, fiery turmoil as vibrant autumn, daunting revelation as stormy winter, intrepid hope as blooming spring.

Poetry is the royal essence of beauty.

may my faith always beat the end of the daylike a hummingbird...returningto its favorite flower.

i will forever be collidingwith a billion unnamedundiscovered stars, each of uson our own orbital paths.

love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.

when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.

it's springand the goat-footedballoonMan whistlesfarandwee

We wear many things,    but that with greatest import     is our expression.

The tongues of hell are dull.

To truly understand poetry one must understand themselves from within one’s self.

The most racket time of the year for those that don't know, is the warmest of the four seasons and the winter as it is so cold and felt in your heart.

You touched my heart...ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been...merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.

Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.

We met last fall, and dreamt of summer days together. Winter came, and when you left, Winter stayed.

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing.

...make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came." Wendell Berry

We will spend the rest of the day inventing a kind of love that no longer exists in the world, a kind of love no army can pillage at the outposts, no rumor could bring to its knees like a traitor.

Maybe I should just lie quietly inside you while our old selves slip in and out of the back rooms of the soul.

There are things that are not sayable. That's why we have words.

You think her innocent/ Your little lost girl/ Caped in Inquisition red/ Yet when she leads you hunting Hyde/ Mind don't slay Jekyll in his stead

Whenever life is getting tough hold on.Don't let it get the best of you stay strong.