What Is Poetry Quotes

The wind went mute and the trees in the forest stood still. It was time for the last tale.

Forever, if she promises to never part the ocean where the river sings.

All writers are manipulative liars." Jack O. Savage, The Poet

She told me there was a place on my face she wanted to inhale.

He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.

Nothing conceivable is so petty, so insipid, so crowded with paltry interests, in one word, so anti-poetic, as the life of a man in the United States.

The glamorous life is a facade, a frauda farce of frivolous triteThe storybook is blank insideChivalry has died

To live day by dayIs not to live at all.

To be alone was my best interest because needing myself was looking for you

From our solitudewe shall create, forge songs, pour in the reflectionof the stars and refresh the mindabout the silk-ridden roads that wait for them who have forgotten to feel.

I hate the very noise of troublous man Who did and does me all the harm he can. Free from the world I would a prisoner be And my own shadow all my company.

I told her it takesa lot of solitude to write a poem.She told me it takes a lot of solitudeto die.

There is a charm in Solitude that cheersA feeling that the world knows nothing ofA green delight the wounded mind endearsAfter the hustling world is broken off

I choose solitude over cold kisses. If it isn't love, it is poison.

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough.

Lay a golden egg.After you built a nest, You wait for a leg.And you land next. Now you hope and pray.Expect for the best. Go on with no delay. Get it right at last.

The weight of wait.

Deb and I were married on a snowy night - wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church...

When I was achild my worldwasn’t blackand white, it was grey, until I gotbeat upenough timesto realizemy skin wasbeige, anddifferent

And tonight the stars again ask me your name?And I just smile, playing the guessing game!

Some days I’mtrying to forcea smile sohard it feelslike I mightshit my pants

I am skin, but underneath livesfire and stars and wild!

I would rather dance alone under the stars than spend a lifetime hiding behind the moon.

I am made of poetry and other things that people don't really care about at all.

You have constellationsgrowing under your skin.starlight in the blood spilledwhen they stole your feathers

I am the eye that beholds... And I am the dreamer that paints the stars in the night sky... For I am the one they call artist, and you call Love.

....my sacred landscape is the foothills of the stars - I go there often to sleep ...

Walk and loveWe're walking in loveFor the walk of love

Walking with the projected chestFeeling like you just won The race has been toughBut the joy of winning is too good

And they can’t understand, what hurts more— Missing the other person, or pretending not to.

I become a horn to be heard over whistles.

This is how you explain how you feel: broken words and hard truths.

My anxiety house a house and a fence and a deer in the yard. A zip code. A plague of starlings.

No wires tender even as nervescan transmit the impact ofour seasons, our catastropheswhile we are closed inside them

I will always kiss you like it is our first and last kiss. Always.

Everything on earth has happened before, nothing is new, but woe to the loverswho fail to discover a fresh blossomin every future kiss.

I danced with my shadows until they became part of my light.

Though the body is itsgenesis, a poem is the vision of a p

Be Visionary ...

A wounded heart that loves even more is immortal, it only survives and blooms time after time. If you happen to live in it, there's no safer place in the world than its beating.

I am a ghost, Living in ethereal thoughts.

A hallowed frequency withinThat, even in your darkest hour, You can always turn to.

I touched curiosity, I kissed sin, I felt regret, And I was forgiven.But life won't let me forget.

We are all a little broken, looking for something whole to hang on to. But sometimes, what seems whole is even more broken than we are.

I rest in ease, knowing there are others out there, whispering themselves to sleep, just like me.

...at dawn, the grains of sleep turn to floating black spots, then out of focus the world tilts, and the cat scratches at the door...

Does one really have to fretAbout enlightenment?No matter what road I travel, I’m going home.

We're shadows! of naught - living, dying! for what's not.

When a man has many women in his life to cater to, one of them is bound to come last.

Not a scar just psychological, But as material as roaches, Street corners and billy clubs. A wound reopened systematically, Inflicted with economic anarchy And "No Help Wanted" signs.