What Is Poetry Quotes
Here is a greedy man who keeps to himselfThe beautiful pears ripe in his garden.
too much explanation can take the pleasure out of any poetry.(Preface, vii)
Our fate liesin the handsof the things we loveand sometimesthe things we loveare the thingsthat lead usto the fatal destructionof ourselves.
She was the death of me, the beginning and the end.And I never understood her, for how could someoneSo beautiful be the causeof so much destructionafter all.
Fate is the cruelest of masters, takingLife when it pleases or at random, handingRigged decks to whom it pleases, cheatingAll alike and none the wiser, takingEverything away from those with nothing.
I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoonsWithout tempering my amazementKnowing all beauty eventually dies.
But glad to have sat underThunder and rain with you, And grateful tooFor sunlight on the garden.
...dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...
Pain is an old friend who left briefly and has now returned. Starvation without sustenance, I had grown acquaint. Satiety was a stranger who invaded my deepest being, and now I cannot live without.
It’s sadthat burnt marshmallowsmake me think ofmethamphetamine, when theyshould bringback childhoodmemories ofs’mores
...these vignettes I sketch for you - what are they? watercolors ..yes and dreams blurred with tears ...
Hidden by diaphanous clouds of mist and fog floating gracefully over vales of heather and flowing runnels, she began to dance.
Love songs or poetry?Ambrose: Love songs–you get the best of both, poetry set to music.And you can't dance to poetry.
Show me slowly what I onlyknow the limits ofDance me to the end of love
Some men are born to be good some born to be badAs for me I only came with just a pen ‘n’ a pad.
I know one thing for sho Heaven’s gotta have a ghettoCuz where else in death do I get to go?
What the theologian shrinks from, the poet grasps intuitively.
Sturdy swimmers afloat on water-couch Beneath the heavy bill their treasured pouchFishes pray for them to fly far away Inland lakes toast to the Pelican’s day
Some can't handle the fiery poet, how she rips into souls burning words into prose.
Read the lines as if they were unknown to you, and you will feel in your inmost self how very much they are yours.
I should think a poet president would be able to create a delectable confluence of various spaces. A poet is most political.
It is almost as thoughsomething else is breathingquite close by, invisibly.The mystery of the names…Albizzia. Gleditsia.Aucuba japonica. AndI am listening, seeing. Seeing, like someone twice alive.
A poetess is a collection of unfinished thoughts. She is a tormented phantom, a harbinger of life and death. Those who peer deep inside her catacombs will learn that even madness is a virtue.
When the hatred stops will the love begin? When there is no more greed will there then be peace?
...the Moon, the enemy of poets...("Merchant's Two Sons")
Good or bad, positive or negative, there is no comment more insulting to a poet than one displaying that you have not properly read and considered the things they wrote.
One does not become a poet by uttering beautiful words. One becomes a poet by pouring their soul as wine into the Cup of Love.
Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.
Being a star is depressing.It twinkles but is distant and cold.I'd rather be the moon, Shine in your glory and go around you forever!
Man has reached the moon, but twenty centuries ago a poet knew the enchantments that would make the moon come down to earth.