Poems Quotes

give mea pillow of strongever-dependable shouldersthat i can bury my head in.

I call you my soulmate because I lost myself in you and then found myself through you. Sure, when you are gone, I will be a fraction but the common denominator has always been me.

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

Pages burnt, memories buried, I wakeor think I'm awake. Or dreaming still?

What I want to know is how you go on when you look aroundand don’t see anywhere you want to go without the only personyou can’t have.

Death wins nothing here, gnawing wings that amputate––then spread, lift up, fly.

This rose of pearl-coated infinity transformsthe diseased slums of a broken heartinto a palace made of psalms and gold.

I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)

oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)

...gripping the rim of the sink you claw your way to stand and cling there, quaking with will, on heron legs, and still the hot muck pours out of you. (p. 27)

Once we merge with the CoreTrusting the efficiencyOf our Soul’s intentThe Flow becomesThe only possible direction

… and now and then we could look up and give each other a thought, because I think he could have beautiful thoughts, and we could just let each other be less lonely in our loneliness.

I am stone and steel of your sleeping numbers

Devil’s WishA bowl of spellsSwirls a mixSmoke and bubblesSeek the fixYoung boy's eyeAnd fever fewWitches grassSome mandrake root

PeterSwirling dreamsDragons knewTouching life to winDeep inside many other worldsWhere should we begin?

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it, we go nowhere - Carl Sagan

I’m looking for youin the bare corridor where my shadow is the only passerbyharmonizing an unsettling whisper: echoed through my chiming thoughtsFrom the poem 'Looking For You

Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high Around its sigh, no more alone the sky Other birds remain away, clouds pass byBetween shrouds of life and haze sun rays die

...you hold a poemthat functions half as personalnote and half as telescopeto the heightsawaiting us all.

Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness's song.

I write small poems— the kind that fit on a postcard… and still can break your heart

It is not given to each of usTo be desired.

Scent of old books a mystery

Rejoice with glitters of ashes tonightSparkling for moon's spiced silver biteUpon skin of darkness, loving night moreStorm begins unlocking cold wind's door

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

and everyone wants to read the poem we’re afraid to write.

my poetry is merely a body.you are the soul in my words.

A book is a place where my reality, escapism, hope, despair, love and death lie.

My only wish is to be buried with my books.

Great writers experience their dreams. They put them on paper, where others can read about them.

I started to think about the abyss that separates the poet from the reader and the next thing I knew I was deeply depressed.

A little bump in the road is just a bump. There's more ahead until you reach your destination.

The attention was flattering. For the first five minutes. Now I know how poems feel.

One must speak in such a way that although someone else, or many others, or an infinite number of people have said it before, it seems as though you said it first.

It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me.

Love- if not reciprocated, comes with an expiry date, no matter how strongly we beg to differ.

A poem is an event, like a wedding or birth.

What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Oh, poems, no less! Poems, everybody!

Reading a stranger's words and finding yourself in them.

Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

Love knows not from where you came, what religion you are, or even your name. Discover it and you will be whole, for when you do you have found your soul.

Following dark winter's strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.

The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic... convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.

It's physics. Pure physics, I'm falling fast and faster still.So fall with me. Fall down with me.And stay.

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match, we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

Most of the poems I write take 5 minutes, but the words can give a lifetime of relief. Many people that have read my book say it helped them with their grief.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I'm 56 and I often want to write like a child.

Reckless of my mortality, Strengthen me to behold a face, To know the spirit of a beloved oneYet to endure, yet to dare!

In Damascus:poems become diaphanousThey’re neither sensualnor intellectualthey are what echo saysto echo . . .

Remove the computer chipslodged in your brain before they convince youthat you’ve gone insane…Take a bite out of realityinstead of becominga reality byte.