What Is Poetry Quotes

Shall I compare thee to a barrel of apples?Though art more hairy, but sweeter inside.Rough winds couldn't keep me from taking you to chapel, Where finally a horse could take a bride...

For all the ghosts and corpses that shall never know the breath of our childrenso longfor the sacrifice and endurance of our mothers and the sustained breath of our fatherswe live

Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would noteIn me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line....

My Muse sits forlornShe wishes she had not been bornShe sits in the coldNo word she says is ever told.

This dewdrop world Is but a dewdrop worldAnd yet —

depth and substance.the two most exquisite qualities. be it in a poemor a person.

For it is up to you and meto take solacein nostalgia's armsand our abilityto create the everlastingfrom fleeting moments.

I rhymeTo see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

Had we but world enough, and time

A poem should not meanBut be.

How can I find the words? Poets have taken them all and left me with nothing to say or do""Except to teach me for the first time what they meant.

Be there a picnic for the devil, an orgy for the satyr, and a wedding for the bride.

Las lágrimas que no se lloranesperan en pequeños lagos?O serán ríos invisiblesque corren hacia la tristeza?

July 4th fireworks exhale over the Hudson sadly.It is beautiful that they have to disappear.It's like the time you said I love you madly.That was an hour ago. It's been a fervent year.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.

Cuando vayamos al maryo te diré mi secreto:Me envuelve, pero no es ola...Me amarga..., pero no es sal...

So much dependsupona blue carsplattered with mudspeeding down the road.

Crystal ball and candle light, I want your dance tonight. Show me the power of love as we stand together in the middle of the night.

We may kill each other someday.

Only in books the flat and final happens, Only in dreams we meet and interlock....

Again I resume the longlesson: how small a thingcan be pleasing, how littlein this hard world it takesto satisfy the mindand bring it to its rest.

More or Less Love Poems #11:No babeWe'd neverSwing together butthe syncopationwould be something wild

After the leaves have fallen, we returnTo a plain sense of things. It is as ifWe had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

Stars in the night, ' he said. 'Something something something something, some delight

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On termsLike these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

Give a poet a pen

E andando nel sole che abbagliasentire con triste meravigliacom'è tutta la vita e il suo travaglioin questo seguitare una muragliache ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.

O Stunden in der Kindheit, da hinter den Figuren mehr als nurVergangnes war und vor uns nicht die Zukunft.

When someone offers you lines like that, he must be Mephistopheles and you must be Faust. You know you shouldn't succumb to such language, but you succumb.

How far away the stars seem, and how farIs our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bedAnd sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Once in a while i am struckall over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

I think here I will leave you. It has come to seemthere is no perfect ending.Indeed, there are infinite endings.Or perhaps, once one begins, there are only endings.

Xs and OsLove is a gameof tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting, for the next x or o.

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.No time to stand beneath the boughsAnd stare as long as sheep or cows...

So this is what I amPondering his eyes that could notConceive that I was a creature to run fromI who have always believed too much in words

I shivered in thosesolitudeswhen I heardthe voiceofthe saltin the desert.

Your politics are so far right, They're wrong.

Language has not the power to speak what love inditesThe soul lies buried in the Ink that writes

When wounds are healed by love, The scars are beautiful.

The Apache don't have a word for love, " he said. "Know what they both say at the marriage? The squaw-taking ceremony?""Tell me.""Varlebena. It means forever. That's all they say.

How you die out in me:down to the lastworn-out knot of breathyou're there, with a splinter of life.

Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.

The way through the worldIs more difficult to find than the way beyond it.

Only poetry isn't shit.

Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.

These Songs are not meant to be understood, you understand.They are only meant to terrify & comfort.

The townspeople took the prince for deadWhen he never returned with the dragon’s headWhen with her, he stayedShe thought he’d be too afraidBut he loved her too much instead.

from my chair i can see the street and it seems depressing