What Is Poetry Quotes

Imagination makes the worldand all the wonders in it.The seed of every dream unfurlsas you with love begin it!

Do not judge a woman on her knees_you never know how tall she is when she stands!

I have hunger for your mouth, for your voice, for your hair

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

In the Light of your Wisdom, You Shine. In the Midst of your Truth, Your Faith is Evident. From inside your Spirit, You are Love.

I think poetry without metaphor is like husband and wife living in separate bedrooms.

Ultimately not one amongst usWill ever be denied that, The glimmer of a chance to shine.

In this life at least, Our fate is rarely epic.Maybe just as well, Impervious heroes we are not…

If freedom is free and none need worry, then what blood drops for thee?

You exalt me Bati, This is the message to the society, Brightest day demands struggling, suffering and sacrifice, heroic labor would suffice.

When the lyrical muse sings the creative pen dances.

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

Your words... I hold them deeplike ancient skinshold wrinkles.

If you cannot be a sun that illuminates the light, be a moon that never tires of reflecting the light.

Real poetry is art at its purest sense. It is never a commodity, but a breath of eternity.

Paint me perfect poetry.

A Writer in Love.I was just a word weaverWhat did I know of love?Only thatSome days when the words weren’t enough, I knewI was in love.

A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.

how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.

Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.

some words bring warmthjust bybeing next to each other.

Maybe tranquility is the dirt under my nails. I know it's there but I never feel like digging it out.

In an age of bombsguzzling blood, skylarks merge peacewith thought and action.

Unless you are silent, you will notknow your urgent heart, how it beatsbetween the thin skin of yes and no.

A mystical symphony permeates my senses and a holy lullaby embraces me.

The searing light of morningAsks unwelcome questions, Fragile hopes soon blistered by daylight.

I'd Drown For YouI opened my heart to youA complete immersionI offered my soul to youA heavenly diversion

Since it has quietly began to snow, new distances have awakened within me.

most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.

Life is like facing two mirrors at each other: There is no beginning... no end.Just the beauty within the reflected infinity

Poetry happens when there is nothing to say but you have a volcano hidden inside you waiting to erupt.

To get lost, all you need is poetry.

Everyone calls him BlockheadNo one sings his praisesOr takes him to heart...That is the kind of personI want to be

Poetry has saved me on occasions when people couldn't.

You bothered yourself and changed the season. I was left behind with your awful sounds.

even in death, his last breath was poetryexisting in the wind and on the breeze of"it used to be likes" forever remembering, yet never relivinghis lifewill never be what it used to be like.

And in the ocean I will fly to the bottomless pit of darkness

Fruition-Think of writing as a harvest.You till the ground.Plant.Water.Wait.Apple trees take years to bear fruit.Harvest.Clean.Process.Then you have apple pie.

This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

How....will I ever truly depict you?You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.

I was born one thousand times and all the while it was you I met again to only meet again under the thousand stars that divide us and connect us.

Understand the poem not the poet.

To write you into poems, and make you unerasable.

A rain like melting pillows…a rain so beautifulI could neverhave let go ofif not certainthat someday...it would find its wayinto my poem.

Mislaid flame of tender emotionsRekindled.Together we live to the point of tears, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

YOUR WORDS ARE MADE OF THE AIR I BREATHE.

Amy King is a true bard.

The touched heart madly stirs, your laughter is water hurrying over pebbles - every gesture is a proclamation, every sound is speech...