c2p-cmd/Good-Quotes-Authors huggingface dataset:
Poetry is the lighthouse of lifeGuiding the lost from a stormy sea.Without it's presence darkness prevailsKeeping us from all we can be.People write poetry because they have no choiceAnswering to the call of their gift.Where some tend to pull their readers downOthers compose to give them a lift.excerpts from The Power of Poetry by Tom Zart
— Zart, Tom
I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.
— Avijeet Das
She day-dreams just as I do. She is addicted to her solitude just as I am. She loves watching the rain-drops fall slowly on to the green leaves of an old guava tree just as I do. She loves drifting in time and time travel just as I do. She loves looking at the waves dashing against the rocks just as I do.
— Avijeet Das
A strange feeling of lonelinessAdrift near the blue canvasYou may stare long and listen deepYet not know whether sea-shore or sea-snore!
— Avijeet Das
I am trying to both be happy and pay attention to the world around me. I do not know if it is possible to do both at the same time.
— Blythe Baird
Don’t you dare say these times are hollowJust because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillow,Close your eyes and say goodbyeTo the world that you lived in today.Let your dreams carry you away;You lived a nightmare all through the day,It is time to dream, so don’t delay.You searched for a reason to live,Yes darling, you searched everywhere.You had to push, you had to strive,It is time now to get some air.You searched in all that is outside,It is time now to look inside,Cause that is where you’ll findA reason worth keeping in your mind.These dreams are not an escape, darling,You need time to see past the lies that blind you.It is time for you to start runningTo those things that are true.So, don’t you dare say these nights are hollow,Just because there are storms raging by.Just lay low on your pillowAnd lose yourself in this lullaby.
— Melita Tessy, Battle of the Spheres: Crust, Mantle and Core
& besides, I don’tdesign my smiles to be nets because I’m not fishing
— Roseanna Boswell, Ladybug Girl & Other Poems
Truth is everywhere, and easily seen.Believing one’s eyesIs the difficulty.
— Jean Monahan
Cover mine eyes, O my Love! Mine eyes that are weary of bliss As of light that is poignant and strong O silence my lips with a kiss, My lips that are weary of song! Shelter my soul, O my love! My soul is bent low with the pain And the burden of love, like the grace Of a flower that is smitten with rain: O shelter my soul from thy face!
— Sarojini Naidu, The Golden Threshold
Everything is connected. We see the signs every moment. There are miracles waiting to happen!
— Avijeet Das
If I could claw the words out of the back of my throat and give them, dripping of me, to you, we would talk of sticky hands, and the messes they make.
— Nicole  Lyons
You were the devil. Dressed in everything. I wanted.
— R H Sin
No one leaves home unless homes is the mouth of a shark.
— Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
I think you feel like, unless you're damagedyou're not deep enough or mysterious enoughor complicated enough to ever be appreciated by another.And that is deeply untrue.
— Stacy Morris
It took me a long time to realise that mothers are women who carry youAnd not necessarily in their womb.
— Stacy Morris, Notes to Self
Lift up your eyes unto mine air and see the love floating there for I am Paradise and I am everywhere.
— Allen Meece, The Abel Mutiny
These poems are cupsthat I pour my love into.Here, Drink!
— Kamand Kojouri
She is the light,at the end of this endless tunnel.
— Vivid Darkness
No misery ever so beautiful than the one this mind creates.
— Vivid Darkness
You burn like a candleinside my soul,showing me a waythrough this darkness.
— Vivid Darkness
Amidst a crowd of strangers,I still remain unknownto myself.
— Vivid Darkness
Tingling fingers, morning birds, rain splatters on window pane, journals of fading escapades and laughter...
— Val Uchendu
Never be an artist that starts worshiping yourself or believe your little group is better than anyone outside of it. For, you are nothing more than a grain of sand on a hillside in this world of ours. Even Da Vinci’s work is only glanced at then scrolled past on a phone or computer these days. Climb down off your throne and become humble once more.
— Jason E. Hodges, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave
The mind is a poetic meadow for reification, where dark and light things are created
— Val Uchendu
We all have our state of mind-		happy or sad,sources of both are so relatable.Despite showing someone’s faults & flaws we need to cherish them. cause, we all are into an 	e n d l e s s l o o p.
— Ayushi Jain
Cactus AndanteIn the desert of Peru grows a cactus with legs.This plant from the Cactus family is the only highly developed flowering plant that has been noticed walking. Cactus Andante is also known as “the crawling devil.” It has a snake-like body branching out in all directions.
— Христина Мирчева, Ускорени пейзажи
no one tells you rome is ending until you're the last one standing alone in a coliseum where a city had been.
— Brandon Thomas DiSabatino, 6 weeks of white castle /n rust
Do tears not yet spilledwait in small lakes?Or are they invisible riversthat run toward sadness?
— Pablo Neruda, The Book of Questions
That woman wants to hear all my wishes,For already a thousand years,And each my thought knows to read,Even if I don't utter it aloud.
— Stjepan Varesevac Cobets, When the Moon Takes Over the Dream: "Love Poetry"
i asked him why he carried a flask."because the bottle pours too fucking slow
— Brandon Thomas DiSabatino, 6 weeks of white castle /n rust
Life provides the substance for poetry we just have to put it to paper
— Sondra Tinnin
Do not forget about the thorns on the roseswhen you say that love is like a red red rose.
— Isabel Quintero, Gabi, a Girl in Pieces
I have wished a bird would fly away,And not sing by my house all day;Have clapped my hands at him from the doorWhen it seemed as if I could bear no more.The fault must partly have been in me.The bird was not to blame for his keys.And of course there must be something wrongIn waiting to silence any song.
— Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken and Other Poems
But the sun will rise the day after tomorrowA millennium without us silences our last echoTo tiny fragments even our plastics are reducedIn Eden Reincarnate all life but ours is renewed
— A.A. Patawaran
Love is like a white geranium.It grows like a weedoverpowering the ground–if you don’t take care of itprune itshape itit climbs wallsand hidesinsectsthat slowly eat at itmaking it die.Easily grownand easily withered.
— Isabel Quintero, Gabi, a Girl in Pieces
Poetry is an attempt to penetrate the dense reality to find a place where the simplest things look as new as through the eyes of a child.
— Czesław Miłosz
Desire is a powerful boat herding anchors and chains in the middle of the night.
— Rosabetty Muñoz
I only live to love so manyFig trees but could neverSleep under one. One is tooLittle in one lifetime.
— Al Mamoon Mohit, Word Prism
We all knew she needed help.But none of us knew how.And none of us could swallow our pride and just ask her what she needed.I don’t know why.Maybe we were too ashamed we didn’t know how to approach our own mother.So we let the years slip unhappily past us and hoped we would never inherit the misery embedded in her soul.But I did.And I didn’t know how to say it aloud. And I still don’t.
— Stacy Morris, Notes to Self
I can’t pinpoint the moment this all happened. The moment we broke. But we did.And it feels like acid in my throat.
— Stacy Morris
It always felt as though there were a shaken beehive living in my chest. I could never rest.
— Stacy Morris
I felt torn Between living and dying Between sleeping and surviving.
— Stacy Morris
At times poems can be like riddles, too difficult to decipher or comprehend. But how else does one come to understand what can only be felt but not said?
— Raneem Kayyali
You should be more carefulwhen you move, my dearwhat with you...spilling moonlightinto my poem, with a mereflick of your hand.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
With wine beside a gently flowing brook - this is the best
— Withdrawn from sorrow in some quiet nook - this is the best
Someone will remember us I sayEven in another time
— Sappho, If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho
I'm two days away from day after tomorrowCounting the hours to my upcoming sorrow Suddenly I lookinto the eyes of my childThen all sadness goneas I smile the way she smiled
— Munia Khan
Silence. First it’s a cloud of apricot trees in flower, yellow or ivory, like a thousand little butterflies sown in the fresh grass, moving in the glow of lamplight when night ascends. Fragments of dreams. You can see the red sun setting on the foliage, like an enormous mass of incandescent steel.Then there were the trees a little farther off, straightening their fragile frames, the woolen blue pincushion flower like an eye and that tumult of milk in the deep stone, and finally the moan of the air beaten by a flock of blue woodpigeons– a silken challenge perhaps, or one of crackled leather.
— Deborah Heissler, Comme un morceau de nuit, découpé dans son étoffe
Latefor the present, I supposeaccentuated each timeyou see, quick enoughthis fraction of earthunderfootthat upright speechimprints,like the whole of beingresumesWe’ve hit on something like lightning strikes
— Deborah Heissler, Près d’eux, la nuit sous la neige
And thenwe no longer distinguish far nor nearThey sleepdreamgather branchesfor this firethe cloud brewsagainst the powerless day —Long line of fugitivesbeneath the snow
— Deborah Heissler, Près d’eux, la nuit sous la neige
Everything had become song. The curve of the road beneath the clouds here, and there the strokes of dark earth, the green and the gray, the torn pink of clay and gravel under fingertips. The consonance was above all that of the muffled shadow and grass to the depths of sky, where a flutter of cheerful feathers quivered.In these dreams there are also black walnut trees, and then a forest that opens in a breeze. Nothing. Nothing more than the obstinate sound of wind.
— Deborah Heissler, Comme un morceau de nuit, découpé dans son étoffe
I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue
— A.A. Patawaran, HAI[NA]KU and other poems
Poems arrive. They hide in feelings and images, in weeds and delivery vans, daring us to notice and give them form with our words. They take us to an invisible world where light and dark, inside and outside meet.
— Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words
The Veil of Consciousness is a thin sheath thatI wear to view the transparency of the life thatSurrounds me.
— Sandra Proto, Sketches: An Ekphrasic Journey
I crouch in cornersThe infection is widespreadLove epidemic
— A.A. Patawaran, HAI[NA]KU and other poems
Does my soul sufferWhen my body breaks downWhen I feel mortalWhen my body is weakDoes the soul rejoiceThe end is near
— A.A. Patawaran
No music in the raindropsNo clouds with silver liningTorrents of sorrowsHorror in streams
— A.A. Patawaran, HAI[NA]KU and other poems
heopened me uplike a book& poured thepoetryback i
— Amanda Lovelace, The Princess Saves Herself in this One
May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
The mere ambition to write a poem is enough to kill it.
— Henri Michaux
This is hell, but I planned it. I sawed it,I nailed it, and I will live in it until it kills me.I can nail my left palm to the left-hand crosspiece butI can’t do everything myself. I need a hand to nail the right,a help, a love, a you, a wife.
— Alan Dugan, Poems
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.I knew that there were crimes and evil men,Misery and hate; nor did I hope to passUntouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.In mine own heart I saw as in a glassThe hearts of others ... And whenI went among my kind, with triple brassOf calm endurance my weak breast I armed,To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woeful mass!
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Complete Poems
No Brasil não há outonomas as folhas caem- In Brazil there is no autumnbut the leaves fall
— Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Alguma Poesia
Poetry is not only to write but to express our feelings.
— Nupur rane
God’s justice in the one, and his goodness in the other, is exercised for evermore, as the everlasting subjects of his reward and punishment.
— Sir Walter Raleigh.
Poetry is not for poets, poetry lovers or perceived poetic persons only. Poetry is in yourself, others and everything of nature and man-made.Poetry may not be a solution, yet it can reveal or ease challenges faced.Poetry is capable of affecting any heart.
— Gloria D. Gonsalves
Sorrows of Werther William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–63) WERTHER had a love for Charlotte  Such as words could never utter; Would you know how first he met her?  She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, 5  And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies  Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sigh’d and pin’d and ogled,  And his passion boil’d and bubbled, 10 Till he blew his silly brains out,  And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body  Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, 15  Went on cutting bread and butter.
— William Makepeace Thackeray
Love me...with all the abandonof a sudden wild rain.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
I have woken up…quite sloshedfrom night-mingled rainsa little drugged, by mountain fogsI have been kidnappedfor years....by a mere kiss.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
Did you tell people that songs weren’t the same as a warm body, a soft mouth?
— Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
the time will come, my dearwhen I will hold you closeand all will beright againin the world.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
His Kiss:He has me at his every whim
—   everything starts with him. To all the boys I used to kiss—  everything stops with his.
A town loved with bitter love.
— Anna Akhmatova, Poems of Akhmatova
Terence, this is stupid stuff:You eat your victuals fast enough;There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,To see the rate you drink your beer.
— A.E. Housman
I've been told by many the art of poetry's dead, I believe it's alive on pages they haven't read
— Stanley Victor Paskavich, Stantasyland: Stantasyland: Quips, Quotes & Quandaries
Oh, let what I am keep on existing and ceasing to exist,and let my obedience align itself with such iron      conditionsthat the quaking of deaths and of births doesn't shakethe deep place I want to reserve for myself eternally.
— Mark Eisner, The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems
I'm not worried about plagiarism, I don't care if every person between here and Hell's creation put their name on my work as long as it ends up in the eyes of someone that found peace in the words
— Stanley Victor Paskavich, Stantasyland: Quips Quotes and Quandaries
Hatred begets One with eyes Closed,The wiser's love cannot be sourced.
— Shouvik N. Hore
Beneath her thinnest skin and light, a fuse leads way to dynamite.
— Mie Hansson
When the last leaf falls,what will die within us?
— Sheniz Janmohamed, Firesmoke
In my heart, poetry screams, “I exist!
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
Moonlight drifts from overA hundred thousand milesTo fall upon a cemeteryIt reads a hundred epitaphsAnd then smiles at a nest ofBaby owls
— Richard Brautigan
Poets are Prisoners8-29-2015Poets are prisonersPractitioners, commissioners &conditioners of the spoken word Caged by their own mindsWords are shackles
— Debbie Tosun Kilday
This poem inspired me to write my eBook.The Miller's Daughter by Alfred Lord TennysonAnd I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp’d at night.
— Ellen Read, Love The Gift
Poetry is not a mere expression of a poet's self, but an enchantment, a spell of the muse, the inspiration. Poetry is thus magic and magic is poetry.
— Shilpa Sandesh, I Do
No matter how many times I break...I will repair.No matter how many times I tear...I will sew." -From "Towards Peace in a More Natural Order
— Isabel Marcheselli, Heart's Eye - Selected Poems and Songs by Isabel Marcheselli
This poem inspired me to write my eBook.The Miller's Daughter by Alfred Lord TennysonIt is the miller’s daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear,That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear; For hid in ringlets day and night I’d touch her neck so warm and white.
— Ellen Read, Love The Gift
Drink in the moon as though you might die of thirst.
— Sanober  Khan
Look athow deeply flawedwe areand yet capable of lovingso perfectly.
— Sanober  Khan
When we were kids I begged cupid to come and shoot me.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
As a way of getting in touch with my originsevery night I set the alarm clockfor the time I was born so that waking upbecomes a historical reenactment...
— David Berman, Actual Air
Poetry fights against the injustice of this world. Poetry's truths are ageless.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
the dolphins stitch sky to sea.
— Ellen Bass, Like a Beggar
I wanted to explore more of us and lose myself, I wanted it to be you and no one else" AP
— Alexis Pettway, Journey Thru Love
As a way of getting in touch with my originsevery night I set the alarm clockfor the time I was born so that waking upbecomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do
— David Berman
Poetry listens to me when I am silent and understands me when no one else seems to be able to.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
I love poetry, but I often wonder how poetry feels about me.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
As I string, a swift rhythm is played out with my hands, a cadence known only to those who have strung tobacco. To many of the poor workers, the meter and rhythm of stringing tobacco is the only poetry they’ve ever known.
— Brenda Sutton Rose
To me and the rest of the world your poetry is a gift.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
With Other Wordsby George G. AsztalosWith Other Words we do not see things as they areBecause simple as that we only see things as we areWe see as they are the sick ambitionsTo idolize and define about everythingWith The Same Damn WordsBut only with Other Words we see as we really areWith Other Words everything is in the hands minds and our heartsEverything is Here and NowAnd There or Then Is really nothingThere and Then everything Was or Will BeThere and Then Is Nowhere and NeverMy heart is shamelessly steering at the world with Other WordsMy heart is a bitch unveiling you’re intimal beautiful partsAnd if she does not see them she fantasizes shameless with Other WordsWith The Same intimal beautiful Words is really nothing There and ThenGo figure that all that shameless beauty is only in my eyesGo figure that all that shameless beauty is Here and NowYesterday is dead and tomorrow could be in the course of CreationWell me from Now on I stay to kill myself with a lively joyBecause simply as this I am Here and Now with Other WordsBecause everything Is and goes to hellWith a wonder of sickening of shameless of beauty
— George G. Asztalos
A rebel to what’s cool, I don't follow trends, maybe that’s why I don't have many friends, but I know my destination.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
Be yourself. Trust me, you don’t want to be anyone else because they are not you and you are special.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
If only I had wings, I would not hesitate to fly away from my mistakes.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
The dictionary feeds me daily, thesaurus always adds the gravy, big words I bite, so very tasty.
— Delano Johnson
Stop the tape, cut the paper! I will just write another poem and grab a microphone and push record again!
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
Miracles happen, lyrical inhalation of poetry, you will not stop my words from breathing.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
Only God and His angels can hear our hearts duet.
— Delano Johnson, Rare Images of Love
The poet drafts his work as a writer but edits it as a sculptor, with his pen as a chisel and his mind a hammer.
— Agona Apell, The Success Genome Unravelled: Turning Men from Rot to Rock
She dances in a ring of fire and throws off the challenge with a shrug.
— Jim Morrison, Wilderness: The Lost Writings, Vol. 1
Mountains clothed in snowRobed in white against blue skiesMirrored in the lake.
— Timothy Salter, Reflections in Short Poetry
his abusemakes her an anvilwithout spark
— Munia Khan
To them, eternal life beginsAnd God Himself shall wipe away all tears.
— Timothy Salter, Reflections in Short Poetry
In every garden grows one single rose so perfect that once the frost takes it, no other can grow there again. My rose is and will ever be my Edilyn. And I shall never stop mourning her." Illarion's Tattoo
— Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dragonbane
She dances in a ring of fire and throws of the challenge with a shrug.
— Jim Morrison
O Weep No More ForMe When I Am Gone!
— Timothy Salter, Reflections in Short Poetry
Some want to be writers when life permits it. There is no part-time in being a writer. It’s an all-in way of living your life through words and feelings scratched out with a pen.
— Jason E. Hodges, Your Words Will Sharpen
Karibu, dada wangu. Hapa, wewe ni nyumbani. Welcome, my sister. Here, you are home. Home. And to this home, may you always return.
— Jen Lynn Anderson, off the page
Springtimeand I wish I knew you
— Ralph Fletcher, Room Enough For Love: The Complete Poems From I Am Wings And Buried Alive
Those who eat porridge and those who drink gruel live and die.Even though the faces change,porridge eaters and gruel drinkers continue to manifest.
— Santosh Lamichhane, Porridge Eaters and Gruel Drinkers: A Nepali Poetry Collection
Failure has a hacksaw to my anklesand right now there is nothingI want more than to learnhow to walk on my hands.
— Jen Lynn Anderson, off the page
I am a poem in progresswith no clear beginning or endingjust a middleuntended, unintended,unfinished, hanging therelike the breath before a question
— Jen Lynn Anderson, off the page
The same things that make you unique in this world, make you a target for the archers consumed by fear and jealousy.
— Jason E. Hodges, Your Words Will Sharpen
Digging deep inside you as a writer will damn near kill you at times. But in the end, your words will be true and undeniable for the reader, and that is all that ever really matters in writing.
— Jason E. Hodges, Your Words Will Sharpen
Perfection, my dear being,is what you are.Let not your mindobscure your view.Be still and be aware,right where you are,you cannot miss it.
— Santosh Lamichhane, Porridge Eaters and Gruel Drinkers: A Nepali Poetry Collection
I wouldn't mindif life left me...winglessburnt to cindersripped by stormsscattered...like weedscelestially woundedwithout cherry blossomsto perish withbut I would crywith head held in my handsif it left me...unfulfilled.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
for all I can really do isstand herein September’s rainsavoring…soaking it all inslipping..and simplyholding on to poetryfor dear life.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
Had I only known my lettersWould be of such importanceI’d empty myself on paperEvery single morning’And it was for such reason,as she read his little stanza,that she decided to stamponefinalletter:‘Every single morningI’d empty myself on paperYou were my greater importanceThat’s why I wrote you letters.
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
We quenched the bulging flame, amongst the ashes embers of fire remain
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
The match I struck shall not run deadYou’re my first inhale, my last cigarette.
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
Lonely you linger in a league above poetry.
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
love is always moving towards you
— Sondra Faye, Play Infinity
No man has the courage to approach her or initiate questions she herself rise, for all men fear a fascist and she can very well be a fascist’s wife.
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
It was not Death, for I stood up,And all the Dead, lie down—It was not Night, for all the BellsPut out their Tongues, for Noon.
— Emily Dickinson
Wake up, wake up!' He said to me'No, I'm still sleepy,do not disturb me'Wake up me child, see the beautyDon't cry, wipe your tears, He said to me'No, I'm so lonely, Nobody understands me'Don't cry my child, embrace the beautyDon't panic, be calm, He said to me'No, you don't understand,I need to earn money'Don't struggle my child, connect to the beautyDon't blame or attach, He said to me'How can I be loving,When they hurt me?'Don't retaliate my child, show them the beautyDon't withhold your love, He said to me'How can I give FatherWhen they only take from me?'Don't fear my child, I replenish the beauty
— Elise Icten, Reign in My World
I AM 27 YEARS OLD"If as a baby you can remain,Then in my bosom you’d always stay.And my need to love and care,Will only grow stronger without shadow or fear.By no one could my love be taken away, For you'd be the reason why I live today.And my Love; for this my life will stay, If my baby you'd forever remain.
— Anonymous
It is very good, Wisehammer, it's very well written, but it's too-too-political. It will be considered provocative.""You don't want me to say it.""Not tonight. We have many people against us.""I could tone it down. I could omit 'We left our country for our country's good.'""That's the best line.
— Timberlake Wertenbaker
How can I blame the cherry blossomsFor rejecting this floating world And drifting away as the wind calls them
— Shunzei's daughter
I am going to hurt you.You are going to hurt me.But we will do it with practiced fingersand passionate mouthsand I swear to godit will be worth something.
— Trista Mateer
At the end of the day all we ever need is something that helped pass the time and something that keeps time from passing.
— Sanober  Khan
Like a speeding trainI am passing by...I don’t knowwhere I’m headingwith whom or whyall I know is thatI will never, everpass from here againall I know is I’m skidding forwardon this track of life.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
Some find freedom in comfortothers find comfort in freedom
— Mie Hansson
What differentiated us was our perception of our mutual reality, which made no difference.
— Mie Hansson, Where Pain Thrives
Pray that the summer mornings are many when with such pleasure, with such joy you will enter ports seen for the first time
— Constantinos P. Cavafis
Authority forgets a dying king
— Alfred Tennyson
As a writer, a poet, you’re not alone in wanting to be alone. Your work is a friendship that never leaves you.
— Jason E. Hodges
I was a poet. I had no expectations other than creating a world of art with words that would live on long after I was gone.
— Jason E. Hodges
The gristle of the underneath stings in the air of responsibility.
— Mark    Ryan, Ghosts by proxy: A Collection
They say, poetry is dead. I say, was there ever a time they had a clue of what the state of poetry is?
— Jason E. Hodges
As I have no form now, I will be recreated;into unknown new shapes, colours and forms distorted.the 'I' in me has faded, and passed on, to a distant land,
— Drunken Mystic
Poets, with no sponsors, no agenda, are the truest form of freedom today, bleeding out every drop of themselves for the world to either hate or devour.
— Jason E. Hodges
Each morning the winds of the city moan and weep with lost souls clinging to hope of reliving the memories of yesterday.
— Jason E. Hodges
Poetry is not difficult. If you possess one of the five senses, poetry is in it. If you can compose text message, tweet or Facebook status, you can write poetry. If you can rap a song, you can rhyme poetry. If you can memorise a prayer, you can recite poetry. If you struggle to make sense of formatted text, poetry is your call.
— Gloria D. Gonsalves
The vertical manThough we value noneBut the horizontal one.
— John le Carré
I live in the first drop of ink that touches every blank page.
— Margie Curcio
I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eyeI am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.
— Sanober  Khan
leave me a smilejust warm enough...to spend a milliongolden afternoons in.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
I want you to crave the crisp ocean breezeas much as I do.I want your soul to beas rain-swept as mine.
— Sanober  Khan
As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feetinto the night’s velvet slippersI settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag,of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
There is a Moment in each Day that Satan cannot find
— William Blake
kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
The edge of the sea masks a clock that marks the waves.
— Gwen Calvo, Cocaine Masks: Cocaine Masks
I am a baby, I am a child, I am the innocent wonder in my eyes I am a glimpse, I am a sign, of someone I can be, someone I might I am not one, I am not two, but I am a million things entwined I am a piece, I am a slice, strung together by the yarns of time.
— Sanober  Khan
Loving you is kissing the night, exposing the scars, words in flames, for every drop and for every life.
— Gwen Calvo, Cocaine Masks: Cocaine Masks
Your smile is poetry to my soul igniting flames of old
— Micheline Jean Louis
Give mea moon-blanket nightto keep me warma long-gone smileto comfort mea pair of rain-blue eyesto haunt mea simple soul...to love me.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver...overflowing with stars.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
I live there...where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit's a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt's a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.
— Sanober  Khan
when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.
— Sanober  Khan
the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.
— Sanober  Khan
some poems frothand foam and rise...out of my morning cup ofmist-sweetened coffee.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
Hunger allows no choiceTo the citizen or the police
— We must love one another or die.
Do not eat of this world,she warned as I left,unless you are willing to suffer.
— Justen Ahren
They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, so what happens when the person's eyes are unavailable to look into? You read their words.
— La Kata E.K.
this life has been a landscape of painand still,flowersbloom in it.
— Sanober  Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
...and so many colorsI will have seen...the menacing greysand pine greensthe soft pink and purplesof springand summer blueand so many otherswithout you.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
I do not want to sleepfor fear I might miss the twinkle of the brightest starfor fear I may never knowhow the moon glimmers, in the darkest hour.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
the moon is just another kind of clock
— Kelli Russell Agodon, Hourglass Museum
If you believe it, it is.
— Adele Kenny, A Lightness, a Thirst, or Nothing at All: Poems
Dead tree branches rattled,the cold wind seethed, it prattled of abominations about to unfold.A lone wolf howled,the full moon it prowled,ready for evils untold.
— A. Lee Brock
Look, moonI turned silver for you.
— Sanober  Khan
I’m burning in despair Love which you distanced from me Return once again I’ll forgive you againReturn, Page 19
— Delicious David, Dark Desires: Beginning
someday i will walk under the soul-blossom tree with my hand eternally woven in yours.
— Sanober  Khan
I am just like you,Destined to play my part.And leave,In the nature of my departure at least,Some kind of sweet message behindIn the fathomless pattern I make.
— Scott Hastie
We are merely ghost flowers under the shade of the moonMany shades of secret sorrows blanket our eyesWe spend our lives and our soulsSearching-Longing-Waiting-For a little light to shine and heal our broken halo’s
— Steven A.  Williams, Black
Let bricks of truth fill the skies and send their walls of conformity crashing downAnd let the heavens echo with the blows of our liberation
— Steven A.  Williams, Black
there have been morningsso quiet and tenderlike a poem, on Thursday's lipsthat I wonderedif I'd been kissed at all...
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
We keep asking where they have gonethose years we remember and wereach for them like hands in the night
— W.S. Merwin
I wonder at the starry pattern in the skyAre they little pieces of moon which want to fly..?
— Munia Khan
She was the unlucky lover,who loved everyone but herself
— Mandeq Ahmed
Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it's the home of the extraordinary, the only home.
— Philip Levine
Poetry is –raw feelings as sunny summer,fiery turmoil as vibrant autumn,daunting revelation as stormy winter,intrepid hope as blooming spring.
— Gloria D. Gonsalves
Poetry is the royal essence of beauty.
— Kristian Goldmund Aumann
Poetry in the dark of the night you are my torch.Poetry makes you believe in the freedom in your own home.Poetry causes the increase of the human race.Poetry ennobles the spirit of man.Poetry is like a noble fragrance that caresses your soul.Poetry is the royal essence of beauty.
— Kristian Goldmund Aumann
may my faith always beat the end of the daylike a hummingbird...returningto its favorite flower.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
i will forever be collidingwith a billion unnamedundiscovered stars, each of uson our own orbital paths.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
Love, bemysticalas the flickering blue flameof nightas the fully-awokenmoonbeneath cobwebsof passing cloudsamidst chantinghigh-tidesfuzzy,as my blanketbig enough to illuminate a hundredthousand billion galaxiesand just small enough to fitinto my embrace.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.
— Sanober  Khan
it's springand the goat-footedballoonMan whistlesfarandwee
— E.E. Cummings, Selected Poems
We wear many things,   but that with greatest import     is our expression.
— J. Benson, Haiku to Live By: Life affirming messages, to hearten your day
The tongues of hell are dull.
— Sylvia Plath
A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.
— Sanober  Khan
My emotions have already spilled out on a canvas; I need you my king, to rescue me from the madness!
— Delano Johnson
To truly understand poetry one must understand themselves from within one’s self.
— Richard M. Knittle Jr.
Having experimented in both poetry and prose, I can say that the two are such loaded words. But neither are quite as weighted as the word “poet”. I think some people can write poetry their whole lives, and never truly BE a “poet”. Whereas I see poets in the wanderers I encounter, the baristas who serve me, and the truckers I, so, love to talk to.To be a poet in my humble opinion is to be a muse of the human experience. I love that I love the idea, that anything can be poetry, it can’t be defined. It’s a feeling, like punk rock. I’m not one for form or structure. I say if your words are visceral and honest, it’s poetry. If you see the beauty of the world and humanity, and you preach it, you’re a poet.
— Mallory Smart
When you find yourself writing, reading, or listening the delivery of words when spoken? You know the melody of wordplay. “& I love Wordplay
— Elijah Cainaan
The most racket time of the year for those that don't know, is the warmest of the four seasons and the winter as it is so cold and felt in your heart.
— Auliq Ice
You touched my heart...ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been...merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.
— Sanober  Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest
sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.
— Sanober  Khan
Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.
— Sanober  Khan
it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispereddream...in the mysteriousblue minutesbefore dawnlike a secretinfatuation.... like slowlanguorous sipsof green tea... like a lingeringglimpsea self-wrappedparadiselike his name upon my lips.
— Sanober  Khan, Turquoise Silence
The poet Mallarmé listened to the painter Degas complaining about his inability to write poems even though “he was full of ideas.” “My dear Degas,” Mallarmé responded, “poems are not made out of ideas. They’re made out of words.
— Stéphane Mallarmé
We met last fall, and dreamt of summer days together. Winter came, and when you left, Winter stayed.
— William C Hannan
Don't be afraid of Pain. Pain only comes down to a certain point... beyond that, it can't reach you and the love you have inside.
— Eeva Lancaster, In Loving You - A Journey of Love and Self Discovery
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing.
— Countee Cullen
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,In vain our fate in sighs deplore;Remembrance only can remain,But that, will make us weep the more.
— George Gordon Byron
Each oneFrom one’s little nooseCranes outYells and shoutsGroans aloudAnd grows stoutAnd the noose tightensLeaving no way to creap outTill at the endSwollenSpent outBecomes silent.I am also having my turn among all.
— Anuradha Bhattacharyya
...make a poem that does not disturb  the silence from which it came." Wendell Berry
— Wendell Berry
When the Brooklyn rain comes downhopefully it will be to fuckin' wake you up
— Julian Gallo, My Arrival is Marked by Illuminating Stains
We will spend the rest of the day inventing a kind of love that no longer exists in the world, a kind of love no army can pillage at the outposts, no rumor could bring to its knees like a traitor.
— Richard Jackson
Maybe I should just lie quietly inside you while our old selves slip in and out of the back rooms of the soul.
— Richard Jackson
In writing I try to pare down the descriptive bits. If I feel that I could say something in as few words as possible, then I would rather do it than to go on padding. One should describe sufficiently to give the reader a sense of what one feels, but not at the same time overwhelm the reader in any way. For example, I feel that if you use lots of adjectives they have a mutually cancelling effect. If you can describe a scene well enough, without having to use far too many words, I would rather do so.
— Arthur Yap
I had a theory; I’m not sure if it was my own but it worked for me. Public spaces, such as streets and subway stations, became inhabitable as I assigned them some value and imprinted an experience on them. If I recited a snatch of Paterson every time I walked along a certain avenue, eventually that avenue would sound like William Carlos Williams. The entrance to the subway at 116th Street was Emily Dickinson’s:Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawnIndicative that suns go down;The notice to the startled grassThat darkness is about to pass.
— Valeria Luiselli, Los ingrávidos
There are things that are not sayable. That's why we have words.
— Amy King, I Want to Make You Safe
You think her innocent/ Your little lost girl/ Caped in Inquisition red/ Yet when she leads you hunting Hyde/ Mind don't slay Jekyll in his stead
— Shannon Barnsley, Wolf Warriors: the National Wolfwatcher Coalition
DESPITE THE INVENTION OF TIME MACHINES, WE KEEP BEING LINEAR.
— Amy King, Slaves to Do These Things
THE AMPUTATED HEARTBEATS HARDER
— Amy King, I'm the Man Who Loves You
OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT'S CALLED "POETRY" - YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING'S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~
— Amy King, I'm the Man Who Loves You
SOME PEOPLE SIMPLY DO NOT EXIST ANYMORE. GET USED TO IT. QUESTION MARK.
— Amy King, The Good Campaign
WORDS SHLD BE FREE. RELEASE THEM FROM THEIR SENTENCES.
— Amy King, I'm the Man Who Loves You
HER BARBED-WIRE SMILELIFTED YOU TO HEAVENBUT I HAVE TO ASKDID GOD LOOK LIKE HER VOICE
— Amy King, This Opera of Peace
IT'S NOT THE HONEY WHISKEY IN A FRIDAY NIGHT - IT'S THE MANIC SHOW OF POETRY TWEETS THAT TURNS ME ON.
— Amy King, I Want to Make You Safe
LIFE IS NEVER OVER.
— Amy King, The Good Campaign
ERRORS ARE WHAT MAKE US HUMAN. PLOT TWIST: I'M A HORSE.
— Amy King, Slaves to Do These Things
YOU SAY "POET" LIKE THAT MEANS SOMETHING.
— Amy King, I Want to Make You Safe
I WISH YOU ALL THE REALITY YOU COULD EVER WANT. HANDLE. WANT.
— Amy King, I Want to Make You Safe
Go to the poets, they will speak to theeMore perfectly of purer creatures--
— William Wordsworth, The Prelude
Here's to adrenaline. Here's to dramatic abandon of protocol. Here's to treasured pain and purple rain. Here's to chasing our souls, burning across to sky. Here's to drinking the ash as it falls, and not asking why.
— Virginia Petrucci
I don't analyze beautiful. I sit in its presence and love the wholeness of it--the sweet and sad and raw and bright together.Poetry is that, the weaving of light-shadow. Making words from the unwordable.
— Jacob Nordby
Whenever life is getting tough hold on.Don't let it get the best of you stay strong.
— Laqueisha Malone, A Walk In My Shoes
Laugh until you cry
— never let your eyes look dryThis is not a matter of joke
Cut lose your ties with expectation. Your dreams are charlatans, your memories, stalemating quarks. Listen only to the pull of your atoms and follow the discordant hum of your personal entropy.
— Virginia Petrucci
I like my thingshurried and haunted. Night teadarktime. Sacred geometry, secret geometrypetal-flame whisper: I am here, and you aren't.
— Virginia Petrucci
My mind: a thousand hungry daughters,my harlot heritage.Marbles: lost, no rescue search.Your heart: blooming thorns,and a stolen grocery cart.
— Virginia Petrucci
You crawled inside myribs to die. Giant becomes squirrelbecomes a dirt-wet girlfeverishly alive.
— Virginia Petrucci
You were, arecactus tourism. meeting you: granularfractals borrowed from oceans.
— Virginia Petrucci
My pond life with hydra is over
—  now I’m into the ocean world of poetry to dive deeper..
2 to 12 hearts 1 beat2 lips will meet2 birds 1 stone2 never b alone2 wills 1 goal2 haves 1 whole2 be in love2 be as One***©Clarissa O. ClemensThe Poetic Diary of Love and Change - Volume 1
— Clarissa Clemens
And perhaps, I'm a Tuesday night and you're a Wednesday morning the way we'll never even notice how we blend into each other.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
When he asks you whyyou chose alone all these years.Tell him that it’s becauseyou love with all claws and bared teeth.Apologize for the scratchesthat you will leave on his skin;ask forgiveness for the bite marks.Tell him you never ever mean to love so hard, but you do.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
Winning a love is just an outcome, keeping a love is a true accomplishment.
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
He loved me like thick molasses on a summer's day. Pure, sweet, sticky, warm, dark.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
Cultivate the distance. Nurture the silence. Let it grow until your fragile heart is as far and inaccessible as his marbled emotions. Don't talk. Don't move. Sit still. If he shows up, lie. Believe your own excuses.And if he tries to charm his way back in, punch him in the face.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
Falling in desire with truth and hope is enhancing our soul with a precious love...
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
… For everything precious and pure coming in our lives should be treated likewise.
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
There are things we do that the human mind doesn't understand, yet the same things are meant for the heart to fully comprehend.
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
Not every given chance deserves love, but every love deserves a given chance.
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
But when I think of us,in the quiet when I'm on my own,I think of Beauty and the Beast.I, being the beast, and you being the last beautiful thing in this city.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
To withstand the nothing, it really takes everything.But it can also take just one thing: a heartbeat in truth beside you; when the mask has been removed.(Soar)
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
Woman with known intentintending to exploreWoman with her senses on the edgeedging for some more..."From my poem, "Known Intent" - The Poetic Art of Seduction - Volume 1©Clarissa O. Clemens
— Clarissa Clemens
poetry is the tombstone of experience,nothing i write is my own.~from "the damned
— D.W.Metz
In dealing with many words and different cultures every day, I have come to realize that the essence of life can be reduced to the magic of three sentences, in the order of their strength: “I apologize”, “I love you”, “Hi”. The use and the meaning you replenish them with become the mirror of yourself, eventually of an entire humanity. (Soar)
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet... And she's going to write about how she's a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
~ Not every poem is meant for oral stimulation, some are better devoured mentally.
— Kiana Donae, Love and Ink
Break, break, break,On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me.O, well for the fisherman's boy,That he shouts with his sister at play!O, well for the sailor lad,That he sings in his boat on the bay!And the stately ships go onTo their haven under the hill;But O for the touch of a vanished hand,And the sound of a voice that is still!Break, break, break,At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.
— Alfred Tennyson
On sunny days of summer, I am indeed the butterfly;And like the ancient drummer,I rhythm straight towards the sky...
— Stephan Attia, The Rising Lines of Wonderment: Poetry
Thou therefore on these Herbs, and Fruits, and Flow'rsFeed first, on each Beast next, and Fish, and Fowl, No homely morsels, and whatever thingThe Scyth of Time mows down, devour unspar'd, Till I in Man residing through the Race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions all infect, And season him thy last and sweetest prey.
— John Milton, Paradise Lost
Eyes closed on an open soul...the world starts from within its core towards its final frontier: the end surface.
— Soar
When the shadows shroud the woods,And the mountains are empty and bare;I am flying with the crow...
— Stephan Attia, The Rising Lines of Wonderment: Poetry
I came to explore the wreck. / The words are purposes. / The words are maps. / I came to see the damage that was done / and the treasures that prevail.
— Adrienne Rich, Diving Into the Wreck
But he who feels too much,He soars in angels’ tears of joy...
— Stephan Attia, Equinox
When the Earth was just a child,He searched for his mother Venus;And for his father Mars,But they were not home;They were gone elsewhere,Out there, in the great expanse; Beyond the breathing universe.
— Stephan Attia, Mythopia