On Poetry Quotes
And tonight the stars again ask me your name?And I just smile, playing the guessing game!
When I was achild my worldwasn’t blackand white, it was grey, until I gotbeat upenough timesto realizemy skin wasbeige, anddifferent
Deb and I were married on a snowy night - wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church...
Lay a golden egg.After you built a nest, You wait for a leg.And you land next. Now you hope and pray.Expect for the best. Go on with no delay. Get it right at last.
I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough.
There is a charm in Solitude that cheersA feeling that the world knows nothing ofA green delight the wounded mind endearsAfter the hustling world is broken off
I told her it takesa lot of solitude to write a poem.She told me it takes a lot of solitudeto die.
I hate the very noise of troublous man Who did and does me all the harm he can. Free from the world I would a prisoner be And my own shadow all my company.
From our solitudewe shall create, forge songs, pour in the reflectionof the stars and refresh the mindabout the silk-ridden roads that wait for them who have forgotten to feel.
Though I love your company, your instructions are wasted her. I will always choose the woman who caries me off, I will always sit with the family of loneliness.
To be alone was my best interest because needing myself was looking for you
The greatness of poetry comes from its struggle to express the rapture of the soul in the contemplation of beauty.
The glamorous life is a facade, a frauda farce of frivolous triteThe storybook is blank insideChivalry has died
Nothing conceivable is so petty, so insipid, so crowded with paltry interests, in one word, so anti-poetic, as the life of a man in the United States.
He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.
She told me there was a place on my face she wanted to inhale.
If I wouldn't of spent so much time shooting spit wads at my English teacher I'd know how to punctuate good thing I normally write poetry.
I'd rather write poetry than watch TV it allows me to share the wide screen in me.
The wind went mute and the trees in the forest stood still. It was time for the last tale.
you’ll find the buildings taller, thatthe halls are full of ghostsbut everything still here iswhat you remember most
The people need poetry that will be their own secretTo keep them awake forever, And bathe them in the bright-haired wave of its breathing.
Some poems are written great, some poems are written swell. But then there are poems that could win a prize in Hell.
Look! Why want anything more marvellous than what is.
The blue of daylightfades and chills as the sun sinksbeneath clouds of fire.
Because, " said a boy."Because why?" asked a young girl."Because I love you.
A whiff of fresh mintthat tastes like strawberry pie.Your kisses tempt me.
I have a book of poetry I believe many should read but in each verse you'll discover it wasn't written for greed.
Youth is as easily wasted as a fine wine consumed by a drunken man. There is no poetry in aging, and Javert lived out the process in its most hideous iteration.
Maybe I live in the gates that lead to outbound international flights. Maybe that is home.And do I feel more comfortable at the departures or at the arrivals?
I contemplate the impossible and achieve madness. This is my blessing. This is my curse. My heaven, my hell.
Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemptionFor the sins committed before revelation.
I miss you, I miss you at night, I can’t sleep without you anymore, I’m scared. Meet me in heaven.
The HurricaneThe tree lay downon the garage roof and stretched, You have your heaven, it said, go to it.
Love is a strange creature that no man can understand
I know you . . .That you hold insideVast possibilities and dreamsAnd limitless love.
