What Is Poetry Quotes

life's not a paragraphAnd death i think is no parenthesis

It was at that agethat poetry came in search of me.

I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise, Revealing to my charmed sightWhat may not bless my waking eyes.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of beauty.

You fit into melike a hook into an eyea fish hookan open eye

I wanted all thingsTo seem to make some sense, So we could all be happy, yes, Instead of tense.And I made up liesSo that they all fit nice, And I made this sad worldA par-a-dise.

So dawn goes down today... Nothing gold can stay.-- Robert Frost

Like a sculptor, if necessary, carve a friend out of stone.Realize that your inner sight is blindand try to see a treasure in everyone.

Once in a golden hour I cast to earth a seed. Up there came a flower, The people said, a weed.

Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

I give you this to take with you:Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you canbegin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.

All this timeI drank you like the cure when maybeyou were the poison.

If we surrenderedto earth's intelligencewe could rise up rooted, like trees.

Poems are a hotline to our hearts, and we forget this emotional power at our peril.

in a worldfull oftemporary thingsyou area perpetual feeling.

You had this expression on your face, like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth.

A poet's work . . . to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep.

i found god in myselfand i loved heri loved her fiercely

since the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid

when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because

To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the music the words make.

the saddest thing is to bea minute to someone, when you've made them your eternity.

My battered heart will always be where the ocean meets the sand, I will break over and overEvery day. That is the best andworst part of me.

Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your flounderingDrowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.

We sit and talk, quietly, with long lapses of silenceand I am aware of the streamthat has no language, coursingbeneath the quiet heaven ofyour eyeswhich has no speech

Time present and time pastAre both perhaps present in time futureAnd time future contained in time past.

I bring you with reverent handsThe books of my numberless dreams.

first of all nothing will happen and a little laternothing will happen again

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflectionsOr the beauty of innuendosThe blackbird whistlingOr just after.

Never cry because you have mountains of problem in your hands to solve. Always smile because each problems will someday resolve.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.I'll meet you there.

I will soothe you and heal you, I will bring you roses.I too have been covered with thorns.

We would rather be ruined than changedWe would rather die in our dreadThan climb the cross of the momentAnd let our illusions die.

If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction

I remainMistress of mine own self and mine own soul

Winter solitude-in a world of one colourthe sound of the wind.

HereI'm here-the snow falling.

You will recognize your own path when you come upon it because you will suddenly have all the energy and imagination you will ever need.

The purpose of poetry is to remind ushow difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.

never trust anyone who says they do not see color. this means to them, you are invisible.

[Poetry] is the liquid voice that can wear through stone.

And the most beautiful words ever spoken, I have not yet said to you.

So runs my dream, but what am I?An infant crying in the nightAn infant crying for the lightAnd with no language but a cry.

If I never meet you In this lifeLet me feel the lackA glance from your eyesThen my life Will be yours

So many things I had thought forgottenReturn to my mind with stranger pain:Like letters that arrive addressed to someoneWho left the house so many years ago.

their heart grew coldthey let their wings down

Pity me that the heart is slow to learnWhat the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Safety isn't always safe. You can find one on every gun.

A billion stars go spinning through the night, glittering above your head, But in you is the presence that will bewhen all the stars are dead.