Poetry Quotes - Page 16

He lived to near the things he loved to seem poetical.

One thing work gives
is the joy of not working,
a minute here or there
when I stand and only breathe,
receiving the good of the air.
It comes back. Good work done
comes back into the mind,
a free breath drawn.

poetry’s favourite moment is when one loses one’s footing because of a landslide or seismic shaking of thought

Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels because if he advances another foot the pain of his love will kill him.

...the imagination works not so much through inspiration as through perseverance. One must slog through the false starts, spot the wrong words and hold out for the right ones, and above all, be vigilant about staying on the path of revision, no matter how uncomfortable or even painful the journey might become.

Discovery's friend is creativity

Envy won't make you a better poet.

I fought for you, I fought for us
I fought for the memories and the laughter that came upon us,
Now here we are, we have become unknown people to each other,
Worlds apart in an instant, for what once was is now gone
So tell me what your secret is to letting go like you did.

Why are you so scared and creeping around,
taking photographs all over town,
pictures in the dark that live in the light,
the world is my playground too and I’ll do what I like.

My favorite place in the world is next to you.

My pond life with hydra is over; now I’m into the ocean world of poetry to dive deeper..

you cross the field in the snow leaving tracks in perfect whiteness ...disturbing my placid universe...marking the landscape within me ...

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean-
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!
Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops.

It seems to me now that the plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don't need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone.

I would love to say
that you
make me
weak in the knees
but
to be quite upfront
and completely
truthful
you
make my body
forget
it has knees
at all.