Total found: 229
Aberjhani
In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spirituality is usurped by the divisive politics of religious organizations, and when broken hearts bleed pain in darkness without the relief of compassion, the voice of an exceptional poet producing exceptional work is not something the world can afford to dismiss.
Alexander Pope
Music resembles poetry, in eachAre nameless graces which no methods teach,And which a master hand alone can reach.
Allen Ginsberg
Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
Allen Ginsberg
If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction
Alysha Speer
When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn't get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do?
Ana Claudia Antunes
Pay to go inside Neruda's homeA body lies there with no dome.But right there in the front hallLean a fairy against the icy wall.Oh Endless enigmas had the bard!Nice and large and calm backyardEnds In the middle of a rare roomRare portrait of revelishing gloom.Up climbing at the weird snail stairDoes make you grasp for some air.And there's a room with bric-a-brac:Old and precious books all in a pack.Dare saying what I liked most of all?Enjoyed seeing visitors having a ball!
Ana Claudia Antunes
Let it shine, the light in you. Oh, and that's delighting me! Various colors shining through. Elated, it fills my soul with ecstasy.
Anjum Choudhary
Destruction wasn't when you chose to destroy me.It was when i let you.
Anjum Choudhary
I stopped losing my sleep over you...Now i lie awakein search of me!!
Anjum Choudhary
I was lost for too longbut when i found you,i could feel it in my bones.You were my home.
Anjum Choudhary
It's okay darling,creative people are called crazyall the time.
Anjum Choudhary
Take me to your darkest cornersand watch your demonssurrender to mine..
Anjum Choudhary
Master the art of selfloveand you will never have to seekvalidationever again.
Anjum Choudhary
You cannot free someonewho is caged intheir own self.
Anjum Choudhary
I am no one's to be claimed,I belong to me.
Annie Dillard
Yes, it's tough, it's tough, that goes without saying. But isn't waiting itself and longing a wonder, being played on by wind, sun, and shade?
Annie Dillard
Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery. The surface of mystery is not smooth, any more than the planet is smooth; not even a single hydrogen atom is smooth, let alone a pine. Nor does it fit together; not even the chlorophyll and hemoglobin molecules are a perfect match, for, even after the atom of iron replaces the magnesium, long streamers of disparate atoms trail disjointedly from the rims of the molecule's loops. Freedom cuts both ways. Mystery itself is as fringed and intricate at the shape of the air at times. Forays into mystery cut bays and fine fjords, but the forested mainland itself is implacable both in its bulk and in its most filigreed fringe of detail.
Annie Dillard
I have often noticed that these things, which obsess me, neither bother nor impress other people even slightly. I am horribly apt to approach some innocent at a gathering, and like the ancient mariner, fix him with a wild, glitt'ring eye and say, Do you know that in the head of the caterpillar of the ordinary goat moth there are two hundred twenty-eight separate muscles? The poor wretch flees. I am not making chatter; I mean to change his life.
Annie Dillard
Shadow is the blue patch where the light doesn't hit. It is mystery itself, and mystery is the ancients' ultima Thule, the modern explorer's Point of Relative Inaccessibility, that boreal point most distant from all known lands. There the twin oceans of beauty and horror meet. The great glaciers are calving. Ice that sifted to earth as snow in the time of Christ shears from the pack with a roar and crumbles to water. It could be that our instruments have not looked deeply enough. The RNA deep in the mantis's jaw is a beautiful ribbon. Did the crawling Polyphemus moth have in its watery heart one cell, and in that cell one special molecule, and that molecule one hydrogen atom, and round that atom's nucleus one wild, distant electron that split showed a forest, swaying?
Annie Dillard
It looked as though the leaves of the autumn forest had taken flight, and were pouring down the valley like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, all the leaves of the hardwoods from here to Hudson's Bay. It was as if the season's colors were draining away like lifeblood, as if the year were molting and shedding. The year was rolling down, and a vital curve had been reached, the tilt that gives way to headlong rush. And when the monarch butterflies had passed and were gone, the skies were vacant, the air poised. The dark night into which the year was plunging was not a sleep but an awakening, a new and necessary austerity, the sparer climate for which I longed. The shed trees were brittle and still, the creek light and cold, and my spirit holding its breath.
Annie Dillard
I want to think about trees. Trees have a curious relationship to the subject of the present moment. There are many created things in the universe that outlive us, that outlive the sun, even, but I can't think about them. I live with trees. There are creatures under our feet, creatures that live over our heads, but trees live quite convincingly in the same filament of air we inhabit, and in addition, they extend impressively in both directions, up and down, shearing rock and fanning air, doing their real business just out of reach.
Annie Dillard
I was in no tent under leaves, sleepless and glad. There was no moon at all; along the world's coasts the sea tides would be springing strong. The air itself also has lunar tides; I lay still. Could I feel in the air an invisible sweep and surge, and an answering knock in the lungs? Or could I feel the starlight? Every minute on a square mile of this land one ten thousandth of an ounce of starlight spatters to earth. What percentage of an ounce did that make on my eyes and cheeks and arms, tapping and nudging as particles, pulsing and stroking as waves?
Annie Dillard
This is what I had come for, just this, and nothing more. A fling of leafy motion on the cliffs, the assault of real things, living and still, with shapes and powers under the sky- this is my city, my culture, and all the world I need.
Annie Dillard
Those people who shoot endless time-lapse films of unfurling roses and tulips have the wrong idea. They should train their cameras instead on the melting of pack ice, the green filling of ponds, the tidal swings…They should film the glaciers of Greenland, some of which creak along at such a fast clip that even the dogs bark at them. They should film the invasion of the southernmost Canadian tundra by the northernmost spruce-fir forest, which is happening right now at the rate of a mile every 10 years. When the last ice sheet receded from the North American continent, the earth rebounded 10 feet. Wouldn't that have been a sight to see?
Annie Dillard
If you ask a twenty-one-year-old poet whose poetry he likes, he might say, unblushing, Nobody's, In his youth, he has not yet understood that poets like poetry, and novelists like novels; he himself likes only the role, the thought of himself in a hat.
Archibald MacLeish
And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth's noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night
Arti Honrao
I do not write poetry; I take words and dip them in feelings.
Arzum Uzun
In this storyI am the poetYou're the poetry.
Avijeet Das
And then it dawned on me that the greatest love stories in the world never have happy endings.
Avijeet Das
What do you do when you cannot see any light? Where do you go when you cannot see any path? So I became the wanderer and wandering became my destiny!
Avijeet Das
I get into beatific cornucopia when I delve into books, coffee, and wanderings!
Avijeet Das
You call me at 12am or 3am I will pick up your call. Once I make a commitment, I don't go back!
Avijeet Das
I wake up in strange beds and in unknown rooms. I wander in dark alleys and crooked roads. Some days I don't even see the sun. Some nights the moon hides from me. I am the wanderer and wandering is my destiny!
Avijeet Das
You made a poet fall in love with the world.
Avijeet Das
She asks me silly questions. Like how much do I love her?I smile and look at the sky for how do I tell her that it is she who gives me my existence...
Bernard Jan
Passion in every word I wrote, passion in every single thought.
C.S. Lewis
To see things as the poet sees them I must share his consciousness and not attend to it; I must look where he looks and not turn round to face him; I must make of him not a spectacle but a pair of spectacles; in fine, as Professor Alexander would say, I must enjoy him and not contemplate him.
Caryll Houselander
The Child Christ lives on from generation to generation in the poets, very often the frailest of men but men whose frailty is redeemed by a child's unworldliness, by a child's delight in loveliness, by the spirit of wonder.Christ was a poet, and all through His life the Child remains perfect in Him. It was the poet, the unworldly poet, who was King of the invisible kingdom; the priests and rulers could not understand that. The poets understand it, and they, too, are kings of the invisible kingdom, vassal kings of the Lord of Love, and their crowns are crowns of thorns indeed.
Charles Bukowski
I wait on my fix:I am a poetry junkie.
Charles Bukowski
Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?
Christina Strigas
The only way to find art is to lose touch with reality.
Christina Strigas
I loved you for a thousand years and missed you in all of them.
Christina Strigas
You can't break up with a soul mate.
Coco J. Ginger
A POCKET-SIZED GIRLHe keeps me in his pocket for a rainy day; he swears I'm not an object as he yo-yo's me away.A friend is what we'll call it,but my friend, he does not know,each time it rains I love him
Coco J. Ginger
MY MOONI'll always wonder what time it is there; if you're dreaming, or awake. My moon is your sun; my darkness, your light. I'm in the future, you'd jokingly say.And I know where you are, because I'm watching you from the past.
Criss Jami
If I knew what to doI'd do more than write a song for you
Criss Jami
Because there are hundreds of different ways to say one thing, I, being a writer, songwriter, and poet, speak childishly and incoherently. In speech there is so much to decide in so little time.
Criss Jami
When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side enlightened.
Criss Jami
It starts off like climbing a tree or solving a puzzle - poetry, if nothing else, is just fun to write. But deeper into each and every piece, you no longer hesitate to call it work. It's passion. A poet's sense of lyrical accomplishment is then his food and water, his means of survival.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
A poet is someone whose words can grasp & pull the thread of a person's soul & make them unravel with delight.
D. Antoinette Foy
There are no lungs like the ones that breathe poetry.
David Jackson
My wife is a thief...She takes the last cookieTakes forever to get readyShe takes her time in the showerTakes all of the hot waterShe takes my favorite seat on the couchTakes the high road when I lose controlMy wife is a thief...She took my last nameTook the time to get to know me, love meShe took the back seat and let me leadTook on motherhood and the emotional toll that it bringsShe took care of me the many times that I've gotten sickTook on the pain of pregnancy so that the Jackson legacy would live onMy wife takes, and takes, and takes...I'm so proud of my perpetual thief who stole my heart and won't give it back.
Debasish Mridha
A poet is a silent singer; he sings the deep songs of the soul silently.
Debasish Mridha
A poet is not an inventor. A poet is a player that plays with words on the field of human imagination to excite a reader's mind with the colors of emotion.
Debasish Mridha
A poet often lives in an enchanted land where he sees things not with his eyes but with his feelings.
Debasish Mridha
A poet adds the awe factor to our ordinary perceptions.
Debasish Mridha
A poet is an artist that paints pictures by mixing thought, imagination, and emotion with words.
Delano Johnson
You can run from the truth. You can run and hide from the truth.You can deny and avoid the truth. But you cannot destroy the truth. Nor can you make the lie true. You must know that love will always uncover the truth.
Delano Johnson
Poetry keeps my heart neat, even when incomplete, I find peace.
Dorianne Laux
We aren't suggesting that mental instability or unhappiness makes one a better poet, or a poet at all; and contrary to the romantic notion of the artist suffering for his or her work, we think these writers achieved brilliance in spite of their suffering, not because of it.
Dorianne Laux
Every good poem asks a question, and every good poet asks every question.
E.B. White
A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer... He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.
Edmond Rostand
Tu comprends... ce billet, - c'était très émouvant: Je me suis fait pleurer moi-même en l'écrivant.
Elizabeth Blade
They say copying is a form of flattery, I say it's lack of originality.
G.K. Chesterton
An artist is identical with an anarchist,' he cried. 'You might transpose the words anywhere. An anarchist is an artist. The man who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment to everything. He sees how much more valuable is one burst of blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common bodies of a few shapeless policemen. An artist disregards all governments, abolishes all conventions. The poet delights in disorder only. If it were not so, the most poetical thing in the world would be the Underground Railway.''So it is,' said Mr. Syme.'Nonsense!' said Gregory, who was very rational when any one else attempted paradox.
Gayle Forman
That happens a lot with Shakespeare. The women go after what they want; the men wind up suckered into things.
George Eliot
To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern, that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely-ordered variety on the chords of emotion--a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge.
Harley King
If I woke up one morning and realized that all I ever was going to be was a business man, I'd probably die. All my dreams would be shattered. Early in life I had many dreams. I dreamed of being a great basketball star. I dreamed of being a preacher. I dreamed of saving the world from war and racism. And I dreamed of being a great poet. Today, I dream only of writing.
Henry Johnson Jr
Education is liberation, knowledge is power.
Israelmore Ayivor
Break out to go out:The birds dare to break the egg shellIt does so in order to get out of that HellWhen it finally succeeds, it'll then flyTo its comfort zone it'll say byeAre you being confined in a small spaceHow long will you remain at that place?Before you can explore more territories,Break away from the former glories.Yesterday's excellence is today's averageYou must strive to be better age after ageNever accept the available mediocrityAs the only preferable opportunityDecide to grow from below to heroAnd make it a point to vacate level zeroReach out and arise with powerGod's blessings on you, will showerAgree to grow, never attempt to be slowBe not afraid. Never doubt. You'll flowThe grace of God will be your guideTaking you along, side by side.
Israelmore Ayivor
Don't pack out!To some people, you make life brightWhen you decide to dim your lightTheir lives will be full of darknessDo shine your light in kindnessTo some people, you bring out a joyWith their emotions, never ever toyWith your smiles, grease them with oilAnd make them glad when their lives boilTo other people, you are the warmthThat kills coldness and brings strengthDon't do it; don't pack outElse, they will have blackoutYou're on earth to do two things hereWake up and do them now; this yearFirst, dare to grow and become betterSecond, help others to also become greaterNever in any of the four seasonsShould you neglect your gifts for any reasonsThe world needs you to make it a better placeDon't pack out; run your race.
J.A. ANUM
I don't write about you because you don't deserve to be immortalised in my words.I'll leave you to float around in my mind until forgetfulness comes to take you away.
J.A. ANUM
When she bites my lips,I see stars dancing right next to the sun.
J.A. ANUM
Do you see how the sky holds the sun?In a powerful but effortless way that shows off her beauty and strength?That's how a King holds his Queen.
J.A.ANUM
I am nothing but a ripped fabric stitched together by God's grace.
J.G. Ballard
Maybe you are a poet and a dreamer, but don't you realize that those two species are extinct now?
Jason E. Hodges
Humans have the ability to rewrite history. Within a few decades it is not even questioned. Stories of the past become as real as the world you walk through today. Wars are waged over false history. Sins are denied. All for mankind to move forward and feel comfortable about its past. Your true history is written in the stars. Look up, breathe in, and be humbled by the ones who came before you. The ones who have suffered, who have endured, who have overcome. Their blood is alive in you. Their spirits roam freely in the heavens above.
Jenim Dibie
This empty shell holds nothing but the echoes of what was.
Jenim Dibie
As I read you I fell in love with the holes between your words and I loved you most on the days you could not love yourself.
Jenim Dibie
Poetry is a storm asking peace to dance with her.
Jenim Dibie
I have these knives in my chest that can't become words.
Jenim Dibie
You ask me to write you a poem,I pen you an empty ocean,You run away.You ask me who I am,I paint you a breaking sky,You weep in the rain.
Jess C. Scott
Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we'll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.
Juan Ramón Jiménez
Life. This morning the sun made me adore it. It had, behind the dripping pine trees, the oriental brightness, orange and crimson, of a living being, a rose and an apple, in the physical and ideal fusion of a true and daily paradise.
Kamand Kojouri
Now is not the time for bigots and racists. No time for sexists and homophobes. Now, more than ever, is the time for ARTISTS. It's time for us to rise above and to create. To show humanity. To spread hope. We must prevent society from destroying itself, from losing its way. Now is the time for love.
Kamand Kojouri
I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities
Kamand Kojouri
I spent all nightweaving a poem for you to wear. You look so beautifulwhen you wear my light.
Kamand Kojouri
I don't want to be remembered for my work. I want to be remembered for my love.
Kamand Kojouri
We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.
Kamand Kojouri
This poem was meant to be unwritten. But I am writing it now and have thereby changed destiny.
Kamand Kojouri
There is no revelation in my words. I am merely stating what others have forgotten to write down.
Kamand Kojouri
Sometimes, when inspiration runs dry, I drink classical music until my words spill out.
Kamand Kojouri
I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities
Kamand Kojouri
Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...
Kamand Kojouri
All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.
Kamand Kojouri
I became an artist because I wanted to be an active participant in the conversation about art.
Kamand Kojouri
Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words have the ability to change our lives simply by being next to each other.
Kamand Kojouri
It is a dangerous thing to substitute reading or writing for living. Live first, then write.
Kamand Kojouri
I only wrote prose before I met you. My musings were superfluous and serious as well. But now the words dance with me. I sing with them and we create poetry.
Kamand Kojouri
Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.
Kamand Kojouri
A poetess is not as selfishas you assume.After months of agonising over her marriage of words
Kamand Kojouri
She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.
Kamand Kojouri
I wonderif you ever read my poemsand wish they were writtenfor you.
Kamand Kojouri
Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.
Kamand Kojouri
Writing poems is simply an excuse to remember You.
Kamand Kojouri
For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something
Kamand Kojouri
I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here's another one for you.But really, for me.These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me.I place this candle here and another thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me.Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us?Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect?I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.
Kamand Kojouri
If you write then you are reborn because by writing about the moment, you can relive it for a second time.
Kamand Kojouri
Poetry isn't an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn't a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn't swimming. Poetry is water.
Kamand Kojouri
I write to understand what I know.
Kamand Kojouri
You just wait.Soon, lovers all over the worldwill be reciting poems dedicated to you.This is my promise.
Kamand Kojouri
These poems are cupsthat I pour my life into.Here, Drink!
Karen Tei Yamashita
Then you are a poet?' she asked, fingering the flyer in her pocket.'No not at all,' he waved his hand. 'I am merely a character in a poem.
Krista Tippett
John O'Donohue gave voice to the connection between beauty and those edges of life
Kristen Henderson
I wonder what became of you, your JohnnyRotten skin, no Emerald City eyes.You'd have been a beauty if you let inferiority steam your glasses with its candor, sans laughter.
Lailah Gifty Akita
When in love, every soul becomes a poet.
Lailah Gifty Akita
The history of time is captured by poet, artist, writer, photographer…!
Lang Leav
She lends her pen,to thoughts of him,that flow from it,in her solitary.For she is his poet,And he is her poetry.
Langston Hughes
Good morning, daddy!Ain't you heardThe boogie-woogie rumbleOf a dream deferred?Listen closely:You'll hear their feetBeating out and beating out a -You thinkIt's a happy beat?Listen to it closely:Ain't you heardsomething underneathlike a -What did I say?Sure,I'm happy!Take it away!Dream BoogieHey, pop!Re-bop!Mop!Y-e-a-h!
Laura Goode
Use all the ugliness you're feeling to make something beautiful
Laura Goode
If I'm writing, at least I don't feel as paralyzed.
Ljupka Cvetanova
Poets, you always write about women worth dying for. Write, for a change, something about the ones worth living for!
Luke Davies
I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act.We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin.-In the yellow time of pollen
Mary Karr
it was dawning on me how uphill a poet's path was, and I confessed to her that if I had to be the choice between being happy or being a poet, I'd choose to be happy.
Melissa Lee-Houghton
ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink.
Melissa Lee-Houghton
I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.
Melody Lee
Old soul. Poet's heart. Warriors mind.
Melody Lee
I'll always be the yearning poet bleeding ink chasing stars drunk on dreams.
Melody Lee
Kiss her gypsy soul and love her for the wild rose she is.
Melody Lee
Don't say it doesn't make sense then tell me you feel your spine curve and chill humps rise all over your skin. That's all the sense it needs to make. That's what it's supposed to do. That's poetry darling; you feel it in your noes, it chills your skin-- poetry speaks to your soul, it burns within.
Melody Lee
Don't be afraid of your struggles, they are making you dangerously strong and wise. They are preparing you for your superpowers. Let them happen, otherwise you'll stay in the same damn place you've always been, and until you know there is so much more awesomeness in the world and within you, you'll be content in your tiny cocoon, spinning the same circles day in and day out. Your struggles are transforming you.
Melody Lee
You'll find magic everywhere, even in dark, dusty corners, if you stop searching with your limited human eyes and instead feel with your naked soul.
Melody Lee
You have that faraway look in your eyes that makes me want to pull you into my dreams, bring you to your knees worshiping me - desperately. You, the nectar and the muse of my poetry.
Michele Brenton
Poetry is not an art, it's a symptom.
Mokokoma Mokhonoana
Some writers write to forget. Some forget to write.
Nate Spears
Live for everything, or die for nothing
Nate Spears
No thought is a stupid thought, those who are thoughtless are thought of as stupid.
Nate Spears
Any hand can condem, but it takes a helping hand to build.
Neel Preet
Till the time you realize your conquest you already reach that stage when you start losing the grip.
Neel Preet
Time is the real emperor and there is no space for any pride since time flies and blows away anything.
Neel Preet
One may never get to know how fast the time travels till the one gets in that position to race against the time.
Neel Preet
Go for it because for all those moments that you would make up your mind the other might have already rushed for it.
Nicola An
If we learn to love someone for their imperfections that reflect our own, we eventually appreciate the thought that even the most beautiful things are damaged
Nora Roberts
He wanted to be a poet,' someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. 'Said he'd only lacked the words to be one.
Oksana Rus
I celebrate myself, I paint and dance and sing myself, and what I assume you will assume, for every atom as of me as good belongs to dreamy You. I am a song. I am a poem. I am the soil and a gem. I am a stargate and a voyage. I am the ocean and your soul.
Oksana Rus
The serenity of the lulling ocean is a wondrous thing to behold..more precious than the gems coveted and covered in platinum or gold...
Oksana Rus
Be calm...calm as a calm lagoon, then you will look beautiful as a beautiful calm lagoon crowned by the Moon and sheltered by the brilliance of the stars reclaiming your royalty of regal life...
Omar Khayyám
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav'n,and strikesThe Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light
Oscar Sparrow
Poetry is the whispering of a truth by the shouting of the best possible lies
Oscar Wilde
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
Paul E. Miller
When confronted with suffering that won't go away or with even a minor problem, we instinctively focus on what is missing,...not on the Master's hand. Often when you think everything has gone wrong, it's just that you're in the middle of a story. If you watch the stories God is weaving in your life, you... will begin to see the patterns. You'll become a poet, sensitive to your Father's voice.
Philip Larkin
There is bad in all good authors: what a pity the converse isn't true!
Philip Larkin
Saki says that youth is like hors d'oeuvres: you are so busy thinking of the next courses you don't notice it. When you've had them, you wish you'd had more hors d'oeuvres.
Philip Larkin
I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.
Philip Larkin
Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.
Piet Hein
After all, what is art? Art is the creative process and it goes through all fields. Einstein's theory of relativity
Plato
A poet, you see, is a light thing, and winged and holy, and cannot compose before he gets inspiration and loses control of his senses and his reason has deserted him.
Rabih Alameddine
Fate would never permit happiness to a man of such talent-a content poet is a mediocre one, a happy poet is insufferable.
Rainer Maria Rilke
we want it visible to showwhen even the most visible joy will reveal itselfonly when we have transformed it within.there's nowhere, my love, the world can existexpect within.
Rainer Maria Rilke
For sometime now I have believed that it is our own force, all our own force that is still too great for us. It is true that we do not know it; but is it not just that which is most our own of which we know the least?
Ralph Waldo Emerson
There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all parts, that is, the poet.
Richelle E. Goodrich
A poet is simply an artist whose medium is human emotions.  A poet chisels away at our own sensibilities, shaping our vision while molding our hearts.  A poet wraps words around our own feelings and presents them as fresh gifts to humanity.
Richelle E. Goodrich
The moon is my fear.The sun is my heart afire.The stars, my love songs.
Rick Riordan
You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear thorough the search.
Robert Lowell
I saw the spiders marching through the air,Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed dayIn latter August when the hayCame creaking to the barn. But whereThe wind is westerly,Where gnarled November makes the spiders flyInto the apparitions of the sky,They purpose nothing but their ease and dieUrgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;
Sanhita Baruah
What broke your heart so badThat you had to close every door, That you say you have a dark soulAnd can't utter the word 'love' anymore?
Sanhita Baruah
You're back where you swore yourself you wouldn't beThe familiar shackles you can't tell from your own skinYour head's under water when you learned to swimOn a road to hell, congratulations, you're free...
Shah Asad Rizvi
Through synergy of intellect, artistry and grace came into existence the blessing of a dancer.
Shah Asad Rizvi
When the melody plays, footsteps move, heart sings and spirit begin to dance.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Spirit is a child, the tune of dancing feet its lullaby.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance and not breath.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Soar like an eagle beyond skies of heavens reach; as wings of dreams dance with winds of reality.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance like breath.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Dance resides within us all. Some find it when joy conquers sorrow, others express it through celebration of movements; and then there are those... whose existence is dance,
Shah Asad Rizvi
Don't breathe to survive; dance and feel alive.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Dance less in motion and more in spirit; awaken the dreamer within.
Shah Asad Rizvi
World seems like a void of silence every time footsteps are deprived of dancing shoes.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Music does not need language of words for it has movements of dance to do its translation.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Hearts shall dance once again; when canvas of ice is painted with the brush of skates.
Shirley Houston
In darkness, some flowers blossom!
Socrates
For the poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his senses, and the mind is no longer in him: when he has not attained to this state, he is powerless and is unable to utter his oracles.
Socrates
God takes away the minds of poets, and uses them as his ministers, as he also uses diviners and holy prophets, in order that we who hear them may know them to be speaking not of themselves who utter these priceless words in a state of unconsciousness, but that God himself is the speaker, and that through them he is conversing with us.
Socrates
God would seem to indicate to us and not allow us to doubt that these beautiful poems are not human, or the work of man, but divine and the work of God; and that the poets are only the interpreters of the Gods...
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
The world you are in
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
Without sound,There would be no music.And without music,There would be no life.And without a life force,There would be no matter.But it does not matter -Because what is matter,If there is no light?
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward
Suzy Kassem
True beauty is measured by the number of pearls within you, not those around your neck.
Suzy Kassem
Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward
Suzy Kassem
Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward
Suzy Kassem
The world you are in
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
THREE BASIC TRUTHSThree things have a limited threshold: Time, pain, and death.While truth, love, and knowledge
Suzy Kassem
O Heavenly Children, God's messengers are as limitless as the fish in the sea. They come in all colors, regions, languages and creeds. But their message is one and the same, don't you see? He only wishes to unite all His children under one family tree.
Suzy Kassem
UNDIVIDEDI am for One world undivided. One world without fear and corruption. One world ruled by Truth and Justice. I am forOne peaceful world for all,Where hate has been overcome by love,And everyone is guided only By their conscience.
Suzy Kassem
Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward