c2p-cmd/Good-Quotes-Authors huggingface dataset:
Everything I do you are here to give me an assurance that I will succeed. What an awesome Father you are.
— Euginia Herlihy
My heart is crushed, my knees are weakened. My tears drench my pillow, my tears flood my bed every night. Do you know how much I miss you father of my children.
— Euginia Herlihy
Give winter nothing; hold; and let the flake Poise or dissolve along your upheld arms. All flawless hexagons may melt and break; While you must feel the summer's rage of fire, Beyond this frigid season's empty storms. Banished to bloom, and bear the birds' desire.
— James Wright
NowNow is the time…Now is the time – Make a changeNow is the time – All is strangeNow is the time – Start life anewNow is the time – Cannot stewHeartbreak, loss, pain, and challenges paleNow is the time – Sharp as a nailNow is the time – Take a chanceNow is the time – Sing and danceNow is the time – Make a changeNow is the time – engageNow is the time…
— Christopher Earle
And now it is said of meThat my love is nothing because I have borne no children, Or because I have fathered none;That I twisted the twig in my handsAnd cut the blossom free too soon from the seed;That I lay across the fire,And snuffed it dead sooner than draft or rain.But I have turned away, and drawn myself Upright to walk along the room alone. Across the dark the spines of cactus plants Remind me how I go—aloof, obscure, Indifferent to the words the children chalk Against my house and down the garden walls. They cannot tear the garden out of me,Nor smear my love with names. Love is a cliff, A clear, cold curve of stone, mottled by stars, smirched by the morning, carved by the dark sea Till stars and dawn and waves can slash no more, Till the rock’s heart is found and shaped again.I keep the house and say no words, the evening Falls like a petal down the shawl of trees. I light the fire and see the blossom dance On air alone; I will not douse that flame, That searing flower; I will burn in it.I will not banish love to empty rain.For I know that I am asked to hate myself For their sweet sakeWho sow the world with child.I am given to burn on the dark fire they make With their sly voices.But I have burned already down to bone. There is a fire that burns beyond the namesOf sludge and filth of which this world is made. Agony sears the dark flesh of the body,And lifts me higher than the smoke, to rise Above the earth, above the sacrifice;Until my soul flares outward like a blue Blossom of gas fire dancing in mid-air:Free of the body’s work of twisted iron.
— James Wright
Did we not look out together upon the dark waters of the lakeAnd behold there the constellationsOf both hemispheres at once?-Love Songs of the Cinnamon Wastes
— Ian C. Esslemont, Orb Sceptre Throne
when Whitman wrote, “I sing the body electric”I know what hemeantI know what hewanted:to be completely alive every momentin spite of the inevitable.we can’t cheat death but we can make itwork so hardthat when it does takeusit will have known a victory just asperfect asours
— Charles Bukowski
You may shoot me with your words,You may cut me with your eyes,You may kill me with your hatefulness,But still, like air, I’ll rise.
— Maya Angelou, And Still I Rise
I love your round head,the brilliant green,the watching blue,these letters,this world, you.I am very, very hungry.
— Kate DiCamillo, Flora and Ulysses: The Illuminated Adventures
Ultimately, we will lose each otherto something. I would hope for grandcircumstance—death or disaster.But it might not be that way at all.It might be that you walk outone morning after making loveto buy cigarettes, and never return,or I fall in love with another …It might be a slow drift into indifference.Either way, we’ll have to learnto bear the weight of the eventualitythat we will lose each other to something.So why not begin now, while your headrests like a perfect moon in my lap …?Why not reach for the seam in this …night and tear it, just a little, so the fallingcan begin? Because later, when we crosseach other on the streets, and are forcedto look away, when we’ve thrownthe disregarded pieces of our togethernessinto bedroom drawers and the smellof our bodies is disappearing like the sweetdecay of lilies—what will we call it,when it’s no longer love?
— Tishani Doshi
Her touch is like doing simple mathWhen she sleeps in the bed, subtracting clothesThere is a red ink, like a sparkling red wine, adding colorsDividing body, remembering gods, without multiplying
— Santosh Kalwar
I will always know the glory of the beautiful and rare, as they will know security from labour and prayer. As they will hear the laughter of the children they gave life, I will know the torments of the song born under knife.And to their girls, they will give,while with their sons they'll share;where I will bear a song—a son! The wife of despair.
— Roman Payne
Strephon kissed me in the spring,Robin in the fall,But Colin only looked at me,And never kissed at all.Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,Robin's lost in play,But the kiss in Colin's eyesHaunts me night and day.
— Sarah Teasdale
They tell me to be quietWhen I’d rather cause a riotAnd have everyone screamingOut their eccentric meaning.
— Initially NO, Err and Grr
A poet is somebody who has written a poem.
— Wallace Stegner, Crossing to Safety
Write it as easy as you think about the difficulty
— Cucuk Espe
After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A poem isn't selfish. It speaks to people.
— Wallace Stegner, Crossing to Safety
We are only allowed to livedue to some colossal misunderstanding.
— Jeramy Dodds, Crabwise to the Hounds
she wanted because art
— Nicole Brossard, White Piano
Many CastlesOn My Travels i have been A guest in Many castles Yet the Monument Which i Find Divine Is the oasis Where the heart And the silence Intertwine.
— silent lotus
Must always try to be out thereGetting everything out thereTake what is inside yourselfAnd place it out there.
— Initially NO, Weird Stuff Happening
Furthermore, he had beautiful eyes.
— Jeramy Dodds, Crabwise to the Hounds
O youcan’t tell someone just how lonely he is
— Jeramy Dodds, Crabwise to the Hounds
I wrought me a lyric of fire and fear,And called on the world to heed —Till strong men blenched at my haggard faceAnd shuddered, but would not read.So I stole me the gold of the mines of JoyAnd fashioned a conscious lie —And they gave me the wreath of the kings of SongAnd prayed that I might not die!(For the lie that I wrought was as old as the worldAnd dear as the vision of Heaven —Of the crimson lure of a maiden's lipsAnd the myth of a sin forgiven!)But my heart was sick, and my soul grew less, With the light of my failing days,Because I had lied to my Knowledge-GodFor the pottage of human praise.O I clung to the rim of the cliffs of HellAnd called on an empty Name —Till there dropped the tears of a weeping TruthAnd saved my soul from the flame.So I hid my soul in a maiden's hair,And climbed to a clearer view —And I found I had lied to a lying God,And the myth I had sung - was true!
— Kenneth Rand
But then you left exactly how all the sad songs said you would
— Andrew Faulkner, Need Machine
In trials of ir'n and silver fain“The dead will rise and walk again“The blesséd few that touch the light“Will aid the war against the night.“But one by one they all will die“Without a cause to rule them by“As Darkness spreads across the land“He'll wield the oceans in his hand.“Five warriors will oppose his reign“And overthrow the Shadow Thane“They come from sides both dark and light“The realm the mortals call “twilight.”“A magus crowned with boughs of fire“Will rise like Phoenix from his pyre“A beast of shadows touched with sight“Will claim a Dark One as her knight“The next, a prophet doomed to fail“Will find her powers to avail“The final: one mere mortal man“Who bears the mark upon his hand“The circle closes round these few“Made sacred by the bonds they hew“But if one fails then so shall all“Bring death to those of Evenfall.
— Nenia Campbell, Black Beast
...when the petals fallSay it is beautiful and good, say it is well
— May Sarton, Selected Poems
It is time I came back to my real lifeAfter this voyage to an island with no name,Where I lay down at sunrise drunk with light.
— May Sarton, Selected Poems
I can tell you that solitudeIs not all exaltation, inner spaceWhere the soul breaths and work can be done.Solitude exposes the nerve,Raises up ghosts.The past, never at rest, flows through it.
— May Sarton, Selected Poems
you want to be angry but you can’t stop looking and when you look you love and when you love the entire world unfolds around you
— Sina Queyras
The greatest relationships are those in which love is not treated as a noun, but as a verb; with romance not viewed as a burden, but lived as a poem.
— Steve Maraboli
Sometimes a name seems our most arbitrary possession,and sometimes it seems like the grain in a rocklike a sculptor's hunk of Italian marble: Whack itand you might get either your first glimpse of a saintor a pile of rubble.
— Lucia Perillo, Inseminating the Elephant
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen:Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.And there lay the rider distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Shut lips, sleeping faces,Every stopped machine,The dumb and littered placesWhere crowds have been:.All silences rejoice,Weep (loudly or low),Speak-but with the voiceOf whom, I do not know.
— Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
I chase the wind and get lost in the clouds. I'm sweep into darkness in my search for the light.
— Sherman Kennon, Chase the Wind: A Book of Poetry
if I finally do catch you and put my mouth to yours you will taste that summer.
— Sina Queyras, MxT
It’s the end of man and I can do whatever I want.
— Brecken Hancock, Broom Broom
I forced myself out of a love that I knew would only end fatally.I forced myself into the dark, until I could no longer remember how to feel with my eyes. I forced my mind to believethat someone would hold youbetter than I ever could. But the worst part was selling my soulfor a price I know I'll never repay, and forcing myself into lovewith someone who wasn't you
— jl
My love, I have tried with all my beingto grasp a form comparable to thine own,but nothing seems worthy;I know now why Shakespeare could notcompare his love to a summer’s day.It would be a crime to denounce the beautyof such a creature as thee,to simply cast away the precisionGod had placed in forging you.Each facet of your beingwhether it physical or spiritualis an ensnarementfrom which there is no release.But I do not wish release.I wish to stay entrapped forever.With you for all eternity.Our hearts, always as one.
— Anthony Kolos
It wouldn't have to be sunny It wouldn't have to be anything else then just that It would really simplify my walk home at night, where every thought I think is some contrived line I repeat over and over to myself Words are always just replaced with new ones The pictures would never need to know otherwise
— Jackie Clark
We manufacture wonder where we can.
— Brecken Hancock, Broom Broom
And you’re a tall drink of water because we’re so fucking thirsty
— Andrew Faulkner, Need Machine
Belief In Self""If you quit while pursuing your dreams, you will never know how close you've come to success. It might have been hidden behind that next door you decided not to open, since the last fifty doors revealed little or nothing.
— Kamil Ali, Profound Vers-A-Tales
At sunset, on the river ban, KrishnaLoved her for the last time and left. . .That night in her husband's arms, Radha feltSo dead that he asked, What is wrong,Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,Not not at all, but thought, What is It to the corpse if the maggots nip?
— Kamala Suraiyya Das, The Descendants
Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light.
— Alli Condie
Stay away from the underground lake I implore,The Siren will see you are heard of no more.
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
True beauty lies not upon gilded veneers,But found in the soul within.
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
He offered his love ... she could not bother,She gives her love to the other! The other!
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Every time I watchLady and the TrampI think"SHE'S HAVING SOME OF YOUR PASTA!""QUICK! EAT IT ALL! EAT IT ALL, NOW!!!""GROWL! BARE YOUR TEETH! DO SOMETHING!"OH, DON'T GIVE HER THE MEATBALL!THERE'S MEAT IN IT!""IDIOT!"But then againI'm not the romantic type.
— Francesco Marciuliano, I Could Chew on This: And Other Poems by Dogs
Within my heart a garden grows,wild with violets and fragrant rose.Bright daffodils line the narrow path,my footsteps silent as I pass.Sweet tulips nod their heads in rest;I kneel in prayer to seek God's best.For round my garden a fence stands firmto guard my heart so I can learnwho should enter, and who should waiton the other side of my locked gate.I clasp the key around my neckand wonder if the time is yet.If I unlocked the gate today, would you come in? Or run away?
— Robin Jones Gunn, Christy Miller Collection, Vol. 4
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;She shines on thieves on the garden wall,On streets and fields and harbour quays,And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
— Robert Louis Stevenson
Yet, beauty cannot be forgotten,Eternal Wisdom can never die ...
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
The Scorpion?The Grasshopper?Which way will she go?
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
If Erik existed and lived life in despair,We wish him to know we are here and we care.
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Has father from HeavenSent the Angel to me?
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Have they known scorn like youFive cellars down?
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
No more can this Angel teach her,Yet, this guiding wing shall not forsake ...
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
On the Gallows OnceKofi AwoonorI crossed quite a fewof your rivers, my gods,into this plain where thirst reignsI heard the cry of mournersthe long cooing of the African wren at duskthe laughter of the children at dawnhad long ceasednight comes fast in our landwhere indeed are the promised vistasthe open fields, blue skies, the singing birdsand abiding love?History records actsof heroism, barbarismof some who had powerand abused it massivelyof some whose progenitorsplanned for themthe secure state of madnessfrom which no storm can shake them;of some who took the last shipsdisembarked on some far-off shores and forgotof some who simply laid down the loadand went home to the ancestors
— Kofi Awoonor
Now Leroux, what think youOf this twist to the story?
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
She reminded me that I could write stories,/could be struck by lightning & live.
— Jen Currin, School
Pity that child who was born near Rouen,His only crime, to arrive deformed.
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Music helps to forgetThis forsaken tomb,That is my abodeCellars downFar belowUnder the ground, ...
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Monsieur, you must be mad!Box Five can never be hadFor money, love or the world ...
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
The Waterfall and the Sea""Her love and passion are a waterfall, fed from the wellspring of her heart,gently tumbling into a pool, preparing herself to share her gifts.His passion and love are like the sea, deep and wide, waiting mysteriously,Patiently he awaits her, calling out through time and spaceShe hears his call, her pool overflowing.Her love and passion gushing over her banks she rushes toward himWinding and twisting she finds her way, destined to reach his shoresHe awaits her arrival as she opens her delta and his tide comes inTheir waters mingle every molecule of her river with his seaForever mixing and sharing their passion and love in that place betweenThe Waterfall and the Sea
— Christopher Earle
and love is a word usedtoo much andmuchtoo soon.
— Charles Bukowski, The Night Torn Mad With Footsteps
The dead do not needaspirin orsorrow,I suppose.but they might needrain.not shoesbut a place towalk.not cigarettes,they tell us,but a place to burn.or we're told:space and a place to flymight be thesame.the dead don't need me.nor do theliving.but the dead might needeachother.in fact, the dead might needeverything weneedandwe need so muchif we only knewwhat itwas.it isprobablyeverythingand we will allprobably dietrying to getitor diebecause wedon't getit.I hopeyou will understandwhen I am deadI got as muchaspossible.
— Charles Bukowski, The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966
She had blue skin. And so did he. He kept it hid, And so did she. They searched for blue Their whole life through, Then passed right by - And never knew.
— Shel Silverstein
No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon—No dawn— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue—No road—no street—no "t'other side the way"— No end to any Row— No indications where the Crescents go— No top to any steeple—No recognitions of familiar people— No courtesies for showing 'em— No knowing 'em!No traveling at all—no locomotion,No inkling of the way—no notion— "No go"—by land or ocean— No mail—no post— No news from any foreign coast—No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility—No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member—No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
— Thomas Hood
We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!
— Paul Laurence Dunbar
Four simple chambers.A thousand complicated doors.One of them is yours.
— Jill Alexander Essbaum
Random thoughts that fly away. Where words has no place to stay. Let it be right where they are. Let the work of art preserve its life.
— Diana Rose Morcilla
You smile and draw me near and whisper, "Do as dreamers do."I lean to you and whisper in your ear, "I cannot dream tonight my Dear. For it is you.
— Shaun Hick
Often I Wish I Werea potato.Eyes openedin all directions.Unafraid of the cold earth.The differencebetween life and deathfor somebody.
— Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, The air around the butterfly/Въздухът около пеперудата
.... Blesstheir believing happiness will make them happy;that the ocean is magical, a kingdomwhere we go to be human, and grateful.
— Philip Schultz, Failure
Monster a person though monster not human.Monster like music. Like Beatles! Like Schumann!World full of stupid. World full of noise.Monster feel ANGRY. No birthday. No joys.World full of JUNK monster not comprehend.What is a childhood? What is a friend?Monster and human both want the same.Want conversation. Want love. WANT NO PAIN.If monster speak heart: monster life only worsen.Monster not human: BUT MONSTER A PERSON!
— Jennifer Finney Boylan, Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror
SHE Is A Wonderful Romantic Poem With Billions of Lines. Even If I Could, I Wouldn't Finish Reading HER In My Entire Life....
— Muhammad Imran Hasan
Mine, said the stone,mine is the hour.I crush the scissors,such is my power.Stronger than wishes,my power, alone.Mine, said the paper,mine are the wordsthat smother the stonewith imagined birds,reams of them, flownfrom the mind of the shaper.Mine, said the scissors,mine all the knivesgashing through paper’sethereal lives;nothing’s so properas tattering wishes.As stone crushes scissors,as paper snuffs stoneand scissors cut paper,all end alone.So heap up your paperand scissor your wishesand uproot the stonefrom the top of the hill.They all end aloneas you will, you will.
— David Mason
Caxtons are mechanical birds with many wings and some are treasured for their markings-- they cause the eyes to melt or the body to shriek without pain. I have never seen one fly, but sometimes they perch on the hand. Mist is when the sky is tired of flight and rests its soft machine on the ground: then the world is dim and bookish like engravings under tissue paper. Rain is when the earth is television. It has the properites of making colours darker. Model T is a room with the lock inside -- a key is turned to free the world for movement, so quick there is a film to watch for anything missed. But time is tied to the wrist or kept in a box, ticking with impatience. In homes, a haunted apparatus sleeps, that snores when you pick it up. If the ghost cries, they carry it to their lips and soothe it to sleep with sounds. And yet, they wake it up deliberately, by tickling with a finger. Only the young are allowed to suffer openly. Adults go to a punishment room with water but nothing to eat. They lock the door and suffer the noises alone. No one is exempt and everyone's pain has a different smell. At night, when all the colours die, they hide in pairs and read about themselves -- in colour, with their eyelids shut.
— Craig Raine
Sex with an exIs it ever really painless or just inviting stress?I mean, reallyWho does that?Oh wait, I’m sure if they could, most everyone would...
— Natasha Ramsey, Hungover Poet
Quote from "The Whole World Is Gone" ".... It's sensual, though, too, and interestingly mental. What  I do alone, loving him in my mind. Trying not to  let imagination win over reality. Hurtling through the night passions so spent become facts one observes. Not tempered, just momentarily out of view by the body that perceives them. Turning that into my prayer: to be deprived.
— Jennifer Grotz
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
sometimes it's hard to knowwhat todo.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
one doesn't even think ofthe liverand if the liverdoesn't think ofus, that'sfine.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity ofmy city and it's ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked theheartaway.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
I didn't know who tobelievebutone thing I doknow: when a man islivingmany claim relationshipsthat are hardlysoand after he dies, well,then it's everybody'sparty.
— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
Justice DeniedThousands of women, probably moreI cannot reach them behind justice doorsMany stay silent, barred just like me.Haunted by demons, faces unseen.Still by the hundreds, they continue to serveDuty and country, active and reserve.Thankless, forgotten through America's warsScarred like their brethren, treated as foes.Volunteered to go to the shores.Died like the others, shamed to the core.Where is the dignity, long since denied? Lost in the White House of Justice DeniedWomen in service since beginning of time Often they're treated like victims in crime.Where is their voice, silence throughout the years? It's dead in the Senate and House, with their tears!
— Diane Chamberlain, Conduct Unbecoming: Rape, Torture, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from Military Commanders
Give me the purple smoke, rising higher and higher into my brain until I dance with the purple butterflies.” -Girl with the violet eyes.
— Rochelle H. Ragnarok, The Boy with the Koi Tattoo
(...) It,s hard not to be able. There, look there!/ I cannot get the movement nor the light;/Sometimes it almost makes a man despair/To try and try and never get it right./Oh, if I could -oh, if I only might,/I wouldn,t mind what hells I,d have to pass,/Not if the whole world called me fool and ass."Dauber (A poem). John Masefield. 1916. London William Heinemann
— John Masefield
my subconscious so full it must spill over
— Dorothy Hewett, Selected Poems Of Dorothy Hewett
Death stings so harshly, no escape and hiding zone from it.
— Euginia Herlihy
If their tears could be read,as the blind can read brailleWould your eyes then be openedto another & how they feel?Without condemnation or any aversions from withinCould you set aside judgementwhile seeking total absolution?
— Christine Upton
Timetick tocksays the clockwhirrling bynever shyquietly passlayer upon grassuntil time has gone.than you die.
— Kayla Dunn
All I know, all I can comprehend of the mathematics of a life, are the times your hand is inside my hand, and the times it is not.
— Tyler Knott Gregson
If we meet and I say, "Hi,"That's a salutation.If you ask me how I feel,That's a consideration.If we stop and talk awhile,That's a conversation.If we understand each other,That's communication.If we argue, scream and fight,That's an altercation.If later we apologize,That's a reconciliation.If we help each other home,That's cooperation.And all these ations added upMake civilization.(And if I say this is a wonderful poem, Is that exaggeration?)
— Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
Standing is stupid, Crawling's a curse, Skipping is silly,Walking is worse.Hopping is hopeless,Jumping's a chore,Sitting is senseless, Leaning's a bore.Running's ridiculous,Jogging's insane-Guess I'll go upstairs andLie down again.
— Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
I love you in my very own way.Like a stone loves the mosses around itLike a sea loves the pebbles in itLike a coincidence...Taking you as the way you are,With all the bruises, scars and broken parts all around you and your heart.I love you in my very own wayBy throwing the stone, the mosses, the sea and the pebbles to your headLike i want to kill you.Just because of envying the love That my heart spend on you.
— Arzum Uzun
i am really colored & really sad sometimes & you hurt memore than i ever danced outta/ i am ready to die like a lily in thedesert/ & i cdnt let you in on it cuz i didnt know/ hereis what i have/ poems/ big thighs/ lil tits/ &so much love/ will you take it from me this one time/ please this is for you
— Ntozake Shange, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf
I'd rather play tennis than go to the dentist. I'd rather play soccer than go to the doctor.I'd rather play Hurk than go to work.Hurk? Hurk? What's Hurk?I don't know, but it must be better than work.
— Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
And life goes on like this,an uncomplete poem.
— Arzum Uzun
We can't find the cat,We don't know where she's at,Oh, where did she go?Does anyone know?Let's ask this walking hat.
— Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic
And in a mad tranceStrike with our spirit's knifeInvulnerable nothingsWe decayLike corpses in a charnelFear & GriefConvulse is & consume usDay by dayAnd cold hopes swarmLike worms withinOur living clay
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais
Life remains unchangedtill a leap of faithruns towards heaven
— Santosh Kalwar, Three Line Poetry #21
if onlyour tongueswere made of glasshow muchmore carefulwe would bewhen wespeak
— Shaun Shane
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.Shovel them under and let me work-- I am the grass; I cover all.And pile them high at GettysburgAnd pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.Shovel them under and let me work.Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work.
— Carl Sandburg
I walk with a dual longing for life and for death.
— Melissa Lee-Houghton, Beautiful Girls
Tonight, I won't dream, because nobodyhas held me and no hands have strayed and eventhough I'm drunk with love, my arms are empty.
— Melissa Lee-Houghton, Beautiful Girls
I'm only leaving you for a handful of days, but it feels as though I'll be gone forever—- the way the door closes behind me with such solidity, the way my suitcase carries everything I'd need for an eternity of traveling light. I've left my hotel number on your desk, instructions about the dog and heating dinner. But like the weather front they warn is on its way with its switchblades of wind and ice, our lives have minds of their own.
— Linda Pastan, Traveling Light
With a metal heartI came to this life,My head was a crucible, full of elixir.Pearl by pearlMy heart was poured,Drop by dropMy head was splashed.The world was entirely a magnet.
— Hersh Saeed
When i remember your namei know you are my hope.for what ?not for love...'cause i know you can't love me.but i know you are my hope for... Life.Just remembering your smile...i know you are my worldyou shaping my world that became like this...you are my storyNot to be told, But to remember...i love youand... I miss you nowi miss my worldi miss your face, your smile and your voiceI miss you more than anyone that I've ever met-For Enno Indi WP-
— Yulianto Eko P
Your printers have made but one blunder,Correct it instanter, and then for the thunder!We'll see in a jiffy if this Mr S[pencer]Has the ghost of a claim to be thought a good fencer.To my vision his merits have still seemed to dwindle,Since I have found him allied with the great Dr T[yndall]While I have, for my part, grown cockier and cockier,Since I found an ally in yourself, Mr L[ockyer]And am always, in consequence, thoroughly willin',To perform in the pages of Nature's M[acmillan].
— Peter Guthrie Tait
Sometimes, I marvel at the wonderof how graceful words seem to appearpen to paper; in others' handsAnd I think to myself-oh, how obsolete my existence is,to be unable to do the same.
— Joy Chua
wesat theresmokingcigarettesat5in the morning.
— Charles Bukowski, The Pleasures of the Damned
We don't know how to say goodbye,We wander on, shoulder to shoulderAlready the sun is going downYou're moody, and I am your shadow.Let's step inside a church, hear prayers, masses for the deadWhy are we so different from the rest?Outside in the graveyard we sit on a frozen branch.That stick in your hand is tracingMansions in the snow in which we will always be together.
— Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova
I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.
— Steven Herrick, A Place Like This
Thoughts are powerfulSo be careful
— patrick cruz
My second thoughts condemnAnd wonder how I dareTo look you in the eye.What right have I to swearEven at one a.m.To love you till I die?Earth meets too many crimesFor fibs to interest her;If I can give my word,Forgiveness can recurAny number of timesIn Time. Which is absurd.Tempus fugit. Quite.So finish up your drink.All flesh is grass. It is. But who on earth can thinkWith heavy heart or lightOf what will come of this?
— W.H. Auden, Auden: Poems
Very Like a WhaleOne thing that literature would be greatly the better forWould be a more restricted employment by authors of simile and metaphor.Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,Can'ts seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but haveto go out of their way to say that it is like something else.What foes it mean when we are toldThat the Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold?In the first place, George Gordon Byron had had enough experienceTo know that it probably wasn't just one Assyrian, it was a lotof Assyrians.However, as too many arguments are apt to induce apoplexy and thus hinder longevity,We'll let it pass as one Assyrian for the sake of brevity.Now then, this particular Assyrian, the one whose cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold,Just what does the poet mean when he says he came down like a wolfon the fold?In heaven and earth more than is dreamed of in our philosophy thereare a great many things,But i don't imagine that among then there is a wolf with purpleand gold cohorts or purple and gold anythings.No, no, Lord Byron, before I'll believe that this Assyrian was actually like a wolf I must have some kind of proof;Did he run on all fours and did he have a hairy tail and a big redmouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof woof?Frankly I think it very unlikely, and all you were entitled to say,at the very most,Was that the Assyrian cohorts came down like a lot of Assyrian cohorts about to destroy the Hebrew host.But that wasn't fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he hadto invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolatethem,With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiersto people they say Oh yes, they're the ones that a lotof wolves dressed up in gold and purple ate them.That's the kind of thing that's being done all the time by poets,from Homer to Tennyson;They're always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison,And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanketafter a winter storm.Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanketof snow and I'll sleep under a half-inch blanket of unpoeticalblanket material and we'll see which one keeps warm,And after that maybe you'll begin to comprehend dimly,What I mean by too much metaphor and simile.
— Ogden Nash, The Best of Ogden Nash
How many great gems were lost to thoughtand not put down to pen.You can but think of just a fewand then they're lost again.
— L.F. Young
If my like for you was a footy crowd, you'd be deaf cos of the roar.And if my like for you were a boxer, there'd be a dead guy lying on the floor.And if my like for you were sugar, you'd lose your teeth before you were twenty. And if my like for you was money, let's just say you'd be spending plenty.
— Cath Crowley, Graffiti Moon
Unfurl your muscles. Slip off your skin. Drop your guts in a heap on the floor.”I felt my airway constrict. Damn, this was profound. I continued. “Nuzzle inside the hollow of my bones. Let our breaths mingle as one. Turn liquid for me. Only for me. Bury your essence inside of my soul.
— Christina  Lee
The gift of words, the source of enjoyment, the source of delight that comes within and the unfading beauty and energy of words.
— Euginia Herlihy
Rivers, water streams, water falls, water lakes, seas and oceans confirm Your creativity.
— Euginia Herlihy
Bitter and Frail, young and weak. Smiles are useless, talk is cheap, Give thou venom, fangs like slime, Ugly freak for all of time. An empty gift just from me, Give it now, so mote it be!
— Keisha Keenleyside, The Spirit Master
Animals, birds, and fish confirm Your power and Your existence.
— Euginia Herlihy
Time Out To Cry ©All alone at the end of the dayThe time, just a little past tenEvening has come for a short stayIt’s time for her sorrow againThe smile on her face she’s been holdingSuddenly, she lets fallAnd the feelings begin unfoldingShe comes out of her personal wallAs the world settles down for the nightShe awakens herself from a dreamAnd the girl they all thought had her life going rightIs no longer the image she’d seemShe takes off the disguise she’s been wearingThen opens her heart to the truthBehind closed doors she’s not caringAbout life or love in her youthSo she sits by the mirror spilling tearsAnd cries by herself in the darkA whole day of acting like she has no fearsTakes a lot from an empty heartInside she’s lonely and sadBut acts like she's fine in the dayRevealing her misery, secretly wishing she hadA friend, or a promise to stayShe’s ashamed of the truth she’s been keepingLiving her hours in daylight a lieAnd this is the reason for in darkness she’s weepingTaking time out from each day to cryWritten by Shannen WrassCopyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved
— Shannen Wrass
Rising and falling of the sun confirm Your kingship and Your rulership.
— Euginia Herlihy
The rainbow across the sky after a storm confirms Your kindness and Your forgiving heart.
— Euginia Herlihy
The amazing feeling that triggers the fountain of words that flow in my belly.
— Euginia Herlihy
LESLIE CHEUNG JUMPS OFF MY BUILDING CLOSES HIS EYES AND THEN SINGS A SONGWE BOTH KNOW AND LOVE// LESLIE CHEUNG SE TIRA DESDE MI EDIFICIOCIERRA SUS OJOS Y LUEGO CANTA UNA CANCIÓNQUE LOS DOS CONOCEMOS Y QUE NOS ENCANTA
— Richard Chiem, VOMIT
The enemy came to steal,kill and destroy our hero Steve Biko. He was chosen by God and no one can deny that.
— Euginia Herlihy, The Experiences of Life & Prayers
Until we say the truth, there can be no tenderness.As long as there is desire, we will not be safe
— Tony Hoagland, Donkey Gospel
Mountains, hills and valleys confirm the beauty of Your holiness.
— Euginia Herlihy
We can't go back, thoughwe're apt to waver even as our wheels spin on.
— Brook Emery, Collusion
You take my breath awayFrom mile awayHair, twice as niceSmile is your make up, angelic faceYou light up the entire placeCaptured my attentionCan't help but stare at your perfectionso charming, You will set the red carpet on fireWith that amazing attireBest dress among the restPretty girls are envy in your beautyAnd one of a kind personality
— patrick cruz
These aren't still shots; the camera is always moving. And the scene is always just slipping out of sight, as if in spite of myself I were always descending a hill, rounding a corner, stepping into the street with a companion who urges me on, while I look back over my shoulder at the sight which recedes, vanishes. The present of my consciousness is itself a mystery which is also always just rounding a bend like a floating branch borne by a flood. Where am I? But I'm not. "I will overturn, overturn, overturn, it: and it shall be no more. . . .
— Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Soul MateWhen we are born, the soul we are given is split apart and half of it is given to someone else. Throughout our lives, we search for the person with the other half of our soul. Very few ever succeed.I am blessed that we have met. In a sudden moment, warm within your loving glare, my soul said, “At last! I can rest. I have found my missing half.” When this happens, it is said we have found our soul mate. We are happy and at peace. When we shared ourselves, we were engulfed in eternity, dancing in a timeless universe. I am truly blessed because that day, my heart recognized you as a part of its own.Thank you for blessing me with you. Thank you for dreaming with me - for seeing the same future as I do. For your beautiful eyes, reminding me of the truest bliss in life. I am forever grateful for you.I will spend an eternity loving you, caring for you, respecting you, showing you every day that I hold you as high as the stars. I am sorry that it’s taken me this long to find you – I shall make it up to you, my flower, as long as we live. I love you!
— Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free
I have to find a place to hideAn island in the seaSurrounded by a racing tideWhere I can live with me
— Laurie Matthew, Groomed: An Uncle Who Went Too Far, a Mother Who Didn't Care, a Little Girl Who Waited for Justice
Don't ask me any questions. I've seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.
— Federico García Lorca, Poet in New York
Today I introduced myself to my very own Heart,In silent agony, after all these years it bled apart.
— Ankita Singhal
Yes, I know," Isadora said, and then read her poem, leaning forward so Carmelita Spats would not overhear:"I would rather eat a bowl of vampire batsthan spend an hour with Carmelita Spats."The Baudelaires giggled and then covered their mouths so nobody would know they were laughing at Carmelita."That was great," Klaus said. "I like the part about the bowl of bats.
— Lemony Snicket, The Austere Academy
I sink into it completely, letting everything else fall away so all that's left is this. A moment like a poem.
— Jessi Kirby, Golden
Objects and ObjectivesTo contemplate LEGO. Many colours. Many shapes. Many inventive and useful shapes. Plastic. A versatile and practical substance. Symbolic of the resourcefulness of man. Oil taken from the depths of the very earth. Distillation of said raw material. Chemical processes. Pollution. Creating a product providing hours of constructive play. For children all over the world. Teaching our young. Through enjoyment. Preparing them for further resourcefulness. The progress of our kind.A book. Many books. Proud liners of walls. Fingered. Taken out with great care. Held open. Gazed upon / into with something like awe. A medium for the recording of and communication of knowledge. From the many to the many. Down the ages. And of art. And of love. But do you hear the trees outside whispering? Do their voices haunt you? No wonder. They are calling for their brothers. Pulped. Pressed. Coated. Printed. Bound. And for their other brothers which made the shelves to hold them. And for the roof over them as well.From the very beginning - everything at cost. A cave man, to get food, had to deal with the killing. And the bones from one death proved very useful for implementing the death of another.
— Jay Woodman, SPAN
Nobody came to see me today. Nobody saw him arrive. Nobody saw him walk away. Nobody knows he's alive.Nobody knows when he comes and goes. Nobody seems to care. Nobody, take me away with you. Take me into your care.
— J. Scott Savage, Water Keep
The moon twangs its silver strings;The river swoons into town;The wind beds down in the pines,Covers itself with stars.
— George Elliott Clarke, Whylah Falls
YENWhat happens if you take a cup? Put it to your lips. A cup of desire. Of dazzling colour. Of intoxicating aroma. You can't resist. Drink. And in the bottom of the cup. There is a fish. And the fish says "You have uncovered me! Now I am condemned. To die."What happens if you find a box? 35mm by 35mm exactly. And are curious. You open it quickly. Of course. And inside there is an eye. And the eye seems to think that the box is its exclusive property. And fixes you with a terrifying glare.What happens if you catch a soft sound? A voice whispering in the air. Above the tree tops. And you can't quite hear what it is saying. But you have to listen. So you float up. Then you find you can't come down again. When the conversation is finished.
— Jay Woodman, SPAN
This separation happened for a reason, this esason is for our own good; God is just positioning us.
— Euginia Herlihy, The Experiences of Life & Prayers
In school, I hated poetry - those skinny,Malnourished poems that professors love;The bad grammar and dirty words that catchIn the mouth like fishhooks, tear holes in speech.Pablo, your words are rain I run through,Grass I sleep in.
— George Elliott Clarke, Whylah Falls
Great Britain be proud, be blessed, be bold! Show the world what are you made of; show them you are made of gold not bronze. Be proud, be blessed,be bold!
— Euginia Herlihy, The Experiences of Life & Prayers
It takes an aeon to shift position, get comfortable, let alonecreate a wave in this fishbowl full of glue.- from the poem 'Critical Mass
— Toby Fitch, Rawshock
I listen to the rainfall, my words wanna flow!Droplets run down the wall,where do they go?Letters in the raw,mesh together for the show!
— Leslie Austin, A Fox Called Woff
The enemy came to steel,destroy and kill our leader, our hero Steve Biko. He was chosen by God and no one can deny that.
— Euginia Herlihy, The Experiences of Life & Prayers
Another breath, left to translate
— Susan Voth
Time is not ours and we would not own it. It does not wound us to say so.from the prose poem INNOCENCE
— Jay Woodman, SPAN
Bombs on my backpack lunchbox full of fivestar crackers pockets loaded with rockets im gonna spit fireworks explosive rhymes connected like judas belt here comes my ride a mother rocket fly so high reach and bursts into the night sky
— patrick cruz
ENTER THIS DESERTED HOUSEBut please walk softly as you do.Frogs dwell here and crickets too.Ain't no ceiling, only blueJays dwell here and sunbeams too.Floors are flowers - take a few.Ferns grow here and daisies too.Whoosh, swoosh - too-whit, too-woo,Bats dwell here and hoot owls too.Ha-ha-ha,hee-hee,hoo-hoooo,Gnomes dwell here and goblins too.And my child, I thought you knewI dwell here...and so do you.
— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
POOR ANGUSOh what do you do, poor Angus,When hunger makes you cry?"I fix myself an omelet, sir,Of fluffy clouds and sky."Oh what do you wear, poor Angus,When winds blow down the hills?"I sew myself a warm cloak, sir,Of hope and daffodils."Oh who do you love, poor Angus,When Catherine's left the moor?"Ah, then, sir, then's the only timeI feel I'm really poor.
— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
the answer is to just let gothe betrayal is to the pastthe cocoon dangles emptythe desire outlasts the objectthe effort lingersthe frustration is in how pointless the effort wasthe ghost does not make itself transparentthe heart knows nothing except its own mindthe ideas are not enoughthe jealousy is always therethe killing blow is sometimes the softestthe life you lead can be detouredthe moment you know cannot be taken backthe new you will try to bury the old methe opportunity has passedthe past is inopportunethe questions all grow from whythe reality will always be contendedthe sadness will ebbthe trouble is the time it might takethe ugly words cannot be erased, only discreditedthe versions are never the samethe wonder is that we make it throughthe x is the unknown variablethe yesterday cannot be repeatedthe zenith is the point when you look down and realize you’re no longer below
— David Levithan, The Realm of Possibility
I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.
— Joyce Kilmer, Trees & Other Poems
let this be our beautiful departure from stagnation
—  let our minds come alive
I felt the threads of connection between us—fragile filaments, so easily snapped. Like the poem at shift into his side, we were craving to fit inside the other, and is melting and reshaping could be deeper, more resilient.
— Tammara Webber, Easy
I plan to be a sinner tonight. Could've been something else, but looked way too good in my red dress to be anything Christian.
— Alysia Harris
About your easy heads my prayersI said with syllables of clay.What gift, I asked, shall I bring nowBefore I weep and walk away?Take, they replied, the oak and laurel.Take our fortune of tears and liveLike a spendthrift lover. All we askIs the one gift you cannot give.
— Tana French, In the Woods
So Lightning says to Mud,“What would happen if I struck your blood?”And Mud says, “Brother, It would hurt, And make me the motherOf every living thing.But, Fire Boy, you ain’t lifting my grass skirtUntil you burn me a ring.
— Sherman Alexie
So this is love:the Sculptor’s chisel.And stone, which in its whole lifedoes not utter a single word,suddenly sings.
— Milan Rúfus, And That's the Truth!