John J. Geddes Quotes

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

I'm shy in person - so afraid to confess my love - I need a go-between - our mutual friend, the Moon.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

I pray this winter be gentle and kind - a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.

When I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears.

Some people won't even own a dog for fear it will die - you can't bubble-wrap your heart.

I have found, beauty is the illumination of the mind.

And not out of fear or loneliness, but only to find myself again... for we have come too far my Life, to turn back now.

A sensual life is a ghostly existence where you live on the surface and your soul passes through everything, touching nothing.

That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

The abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror - we all have it - that shadow self - that dark heart.

Summer softens lines that winter cruelly shows.

You can be angry and silent, but it's no use - there's no distance in the spirit - besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands.

Poetry is paying attention to life when all the world seems asleep to its beauties and truths.

The religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky.

I'm not afraid of the opinions of others - but of being needed and coming up short.

If you want your own distinctive voice, you first have to become someone.

I see myself at crossroads in my life, mapless, lacking bits of knowledge - then, the Moon breaks through, lights up the path before me.

We fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves.

I make no apology about stirring the depths - every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath

Ambition or contentment? This simple question led me back to a more balanced view of life and put me in touch with the Me I used to know.

Authority is the unmistakeable tone in the voice of a true writer.

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.

...glass words for you, Beloved—rain beads from an abacus of pain...

had almost forgotten the wet brush of your kisses… soft as April snowflakes

children need calm—they’re artists

a rainy walk through leaves will cure almost anything

I get mixed up with the life we led and the life I imagined

deprived of magic, wonder wanes

my heart, sometimes singing in the afternoon, the most haunting song of solitude

I’m mad with loneliness and you’ve been haunting me all day

...within invisible walls of dreams, we live a life that might have been...

the same—on this page, or the end of your fingertips—always the same

Be careful—my heart is broken—and you could fall in

I covet solitude and storms…and rain, with its geography of dark silence and distance

I took you to that windy hill where stars on every side fall away

I live in a house of secrets, but I’ve unlocked a few rooms for you

You are perfect and have no synonym

only the gentlest hands can brush away tears

summer is in me—clouds and lakes of shadows, rippling under the trees