Quotes Tagged "poetry"

Open the fridge and put My heart on a plate. I'm just as you left me, and I taste even better leftover.

Love is the only bow on Life’s dark cloud. It is the morning and the evening star. It shines upon the babe, and sheds its radiance on the quiet tomb. It is the mother of art, inspirer of poet, patriot and philosopher. It is the air and light of every heart – builder of every home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It was the first to dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody – for music is the voice of love. Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to Joy, and makes royal kings and queens of common clay. It is the perfume of that wondrous flower, the heart, and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are less than beasts; but with it, earth is heaven, and we are gods.

There's in my mind a... turbulent moon-ridden girl or old woman, or both, dressed in opals and rags, feathers and torn taffeta, who knows strange songs but she is not kind.

World is suddener than we fancy it.

I couldn't tell fact from fiction, Or if the dream was true My only sure prediction In this world was you. I'd touch your features inchly. Beard love and dared the cost, The sented spiel reeled me unreal And I found my senses lost.

When Hitler marched across the Rhine To take the land of France, La dame de fer decided, ‘Let’s make the tyrant dance.’ Let him take the land and city, The hills and every flower, One thing he will never have, The elegant Eiffel Tower. The French cut the cables, The elevators stood still, ‘If he wants to reach the top, Let him walk it, if he will.’ The invaders hung a swastika The largest ever seen. But a fresh breeze blew And away it flew, Never more to be seen. They hung up a second mark, Smaller than the first, But a patriot climbed With a thought in mind: ‘Never your duty shirk.’ Up the iron lady He stealthily made his way, Hanging the bright tricolour, He heroically saved the day. Then, for some strange reason, A mystery to this day, Hitler never climbed the tower, On the ground he had to stay. At last he ordered she be razed Down to a twisted pile. A futile attack, for still she stands Beaming her metallic smile.

Sully suffers from a stutter, simple syllables will clutter, stalling speeches up on beaches like a sunken sailboat rudder. Sully strains to say his phrases, sickened by the sounds he raises, strings of thoughts come out in knots, he solves his sentences like mazes. At night, he writes his thoughts instead and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.

I kept loving and loving and loving. Every waking hour, I marveled on how these moments would make made me feel. I wanted to love the world and be the change it so deliciously craved.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

For our generation walks as in Hades, without the divine.

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

Ξέρω: κηρύγματα καὶ ρητορεῖες πάλι, θὰ πεῖς. Ἔ ναὶ λοιπόν! Κηρύγματα καὶ ρητορεῖες. Σὰν πρόκες πρέπει νὰ καρφώνονται οἱ λέξεις Νὰ μὴν τὶς παίρνει ὁ ἄνεμος.

Don’t write with a pen. Ink tends to give the impression the words shouldn’t be changed. Write with what gives you the most sensual satisfaction. Write in a hard-covered notebook with green lined pages. Green is easy on the eyes. Blank white pages seems to challenge you to create the world before you start writing. It may be true that you, the modern poet, must make the world as you go, but why be reminded of it before you even have one word on the page? Don’t erase. Cross out rapidly and violently, never with slow consideration if you can help it. Start, as some smarty once said, in the middle of things. Play with syntax. Never want to say anything so strongly that you have to give up the option of finding something better – if you have to say it, you will. Read your poem aloud many times. If you don’t enjoy it every time, something may be wrong. If you ask a question, don’t answer it, or answer a question not asked, or defer. (If you can answer the question, to ask it is to waste time). Maximum sentence length: seventeen words. Minimum: One. Don’t be afraid to take emotional possession of words. If you don’t love a few words enough to own them, you will have to be very clever to write a good poem.

Άλλα ζητεί η ψυχή σου, γι’ άλλα κλαίει·

আগুন পোড়ালে তবু কিছু রাখে কিছু থাকে, হোক না তা ধূসর শ্যামল রঙ ছাই, মানুষে পোড়ালে আর কিছুই রাখে না কিচ্ছু থাকে না, খাঁ খাঁ বিরান..

I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold

a woman will tell you every home she has ever inhabited has been broken into starting with her body

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

I notice you have the assault proof vest - So it's my fault I guess. So apparently I didn't say 'no' as loud as my clothes could say 'yes.' You see I didn't know that my ‘no’ wasn't enough - I didn't understand that my body became less precious because certain dresses make me look hot. And I guess if I'm wearing the wrong top then my ‘yes’ is the same as ‘stop.’ And you shouldn't have to, just because I begged you to. I'm begging you - Tell me the magic outfit and I'll buy it. Apparently my ‘no’ wasn't heard, even when I screamed. So I need my clothes to be quiet.

All the new thinking is about loss. In this it resembles all the old thinking