What Is Poetry Quotes

Faith has answers that the ears can't always hear.

FaithWALK~When I tell you to walk, run like the wind for your guaranteed to fly...

Your poetry is lonely. And yet, you write to feel less alone

I get a little poetic sometimes. The moonlight does that to me.

I am so brave with love and yet, so weak.

A coward is a servant of his fears.A hero enslaves his fears.

It seems only yesterday I used to believethere was nothing under my skin but light.If you cut me I could shine.But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.

Am I kin to Sorrow, That so oftFalls the knocker of my door—Neither loud nor soft, But as long accustomed—Under Sorrow’s hand?

Yet this thou art alive, but if ye soar, My poor frail heart will have beat out its cryAnd sadly miss thy sweet form all the moreWhile helplessly I stand and watch you die.

They say the truth will set you free, but what they neglect to mention is what happens when the truth isn't what you want to hear.

Yet you stand, too ashamed to run, too fearful to embrace. God I see so much ofwhat I love in that face.

I'll enjoy today while it's here, using the time wisely. Each day is a gift that soon becomes a memory.

Lesson learned: If you’re already resorting to writing shitty poetry (not the lovey-dovey kind) to get your guys attention within one month of meeting him, he is not the one.

It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.

You said we can't happen, but darling, we started happening the very first day we met.

No baby, you didn't hurt me. You wrecked me. Know the difference.

We left dents on each other. Mine was in her heart, and hers was on my car.

I'll gladly settle for amnesia if I had to live in a world where I couldn't remember how much you mean to me.

I'll stop loving you the day my shadow stops following me around. Because on that day, nothing will make sense.

The first time I saw your face, my lips said, "hello" and my heart said, "that's your wife.

How do poems grow? They begin deep down in the pit of the soul as a seedling of a thought …

I read somewhere that dedications are like coded love letters, but I always seem to lay us out bare.Sorry for the poems.

The fatal problem with poetry: poems.

LOVE the hideous in order to find the sublime core of it.

Poetry": What kind of art assumes the dislike of its audience and what kind of artist aligns herself with that dislike, even encourages it? An art hated from without and within.

The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.

One must speak in such a way that although someone else, or many others, or an infinite number of people have said it before, it seems as though you said it first.

Love- if not reciprocated, comes with an expiry date, no matter how strongly we beg to differ.

A poem is an event, like a wedding or birth.

Reading a stranger's words and finding yourself in them.

Following dark winter's strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I'm 56 and I often want to write like a child.

Most of the poems I write take 5 minutes, but the words can give a lifetime of relief. Many people that have read my book say it helped them with their grief.

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match, we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic... convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.

2.07 WALK OF LIFELife but like a cycle that you be riding, You will fall if you ever stop peddling, Life not of good cards you be holding, But those held and how you be playing.[68] - 4

True poetry is embarrassing.

Poems are lenses, mirrors, and X-ray machines.

The burning off and the gathering together are one.

[poems are] crystals deposited after the effervescent contact of the spirit with reality.(cristaux deposes apres l'effervescent contact de l'esprit avec la realite)

The rat isthe mous-tacheinthetrache.the wrong-doerinthesoer.

a politician is an arse uponwhich everyone has sat except a man

The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move & breathe.

You must make love to him like his touch is your salvation.

All mothers breed dead children.

Your job is to abide in my pastureEating sweet grass and drinking pure water, And sharing both with others—That is a lamb’s business.

Friend who has fired the kingfishers and flamed the dragonflies – they catch your light however they move and beam it out of their eyes.

Tranquil breeze Glittering beach Dancing water Bluest skyMy mind flies high with joyful laughter.

Do not feel alone.You are connected to everyoneyesterday, today, and for days to come connected with a threadless garlandthat is love.

To heal, love.To understand, feel.To let go, forgive.To care, be kind.