c2p-cmd/Good-Quotes-Authors huggingface dataset:
Death an absolute mystery. No one knows the day and the time, no one knows where and how. Death is an absolute mystery.
— Euginia Herlihy
Identity the greatest thing that ever happened to all humanity on earth. Identity the source of knowing who you are and where you come from. Identity the source of understanding yourself and makes you proud to be the person who you are, the daughter, the son of the Most High God.
— Euginia Herlihy
Every poem is unique to each person who reads it.
— Salil Jha, Naked Soul: The Erotic Love Poems
To paint an image and to write a poem, is to reclaim the dignity and personal joy...it is an invitation for my creative contemplation of an opened mind...it is a storytelling venture on a blank page of paper and white canvases...it is reclaiming my life.
— Isabella Koldras, Reclaiming my Life.
Read a poem at a time, or two, or all, but give them time to sink into your heart. Read them again, read a portion, and stop and ponder. Visualize. Take it slow; let the poem show you what lies in your own heart. Let it fuel the words from within.
— Salil Jha, Naked Soul: The Erotic Love Poems
Look at mirror! What do you see in you? Do you see someone who can't amount anything in life or do you see a unique human being that was born to dream and conquer the world.
— Euginia Herlihy
You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams
— Kahlil Gibran
what is poetry if not seeing and feeling,  and feeling, feelings  running deepand okay – do I see, notice the gray pigeon feathers that heave  by on drafts of passing  cars reeking, leaking gasoline fumesand okay – do I feel?
— Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
Abba Father! Your love for me is transparent no hidden agenda, no ulterior motives because You are the Holy God. And the only thing abides us is the covenant of your love that will never be broken. In times of need I call unto You and You answer. When I feel alone you always beside me with Your loving and caring touch.
— Euginia Herlihy
Perhaps it was the way he'd look at me and smile,Perhaps it was the sound of his voice after being utterly defeated,Perhaps it was the warmth of his touch,Perhaps I've always been in love with you
— Tanzy Sayadi, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
I'm not your blue-eyed Czech,I'm just a brown-eyed girl, A little mix of rock your world,And now you'll never be the same. You grabbed me by the hand,I grabbed you by the neck. I changed the game, and your convictions.So is it criminal to steal a heart or two?I keep them on the shelf, Like only hunters do. I like it hardI like you highI love your mouthWhen it's on mine.I wanna hear you make that sound, Cause it's the greatest thing around. Take it off now,Take from here.Watch your head spin When I come near,And you will lose every time,Cause I won't stop until your mine.And they say who the hell is she?They either love me or they hate me. But still they never look away,This vixen's gonna give you everything.
— Crystal Woods, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
One has to commit a painting,' said Degas,'the way one commits a crime.
— Elizabeth Bishop, Geography III
I stood there on the corner of the street,I held on to your hand,I looked into your eyes,And all you responded with was,"move on
— Tanzy Sayadi, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
How can you say you love mewhen you’ve never seen me cry?when you’ve never heard the pieces that keep breaking up insideOr when the sky is dark and I’m restless in my bed will you be the one to whisper that the sun will rise ahead?You’ve never seen the battle scarsthat lay across my skin the price I paid for love, and a joy that grew withinSometimes the weight I carry isn't always feather light will you pick it up and stand up straight, brave against the fight?There's always room for fun and laughs and a beauty to keep warm but I'd never sail away with you if you can’t survive the storm.
— M.J. Abraham, The Coordinates of a Dream
You were just another stranger in the room,In a room full of bodies, I was attracted to you,I became your tiny dancer,I became everything to you,Little did you know,That I'm just a dancer, Not your fool.
— Tanzy Sayadi, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
Cosmos and its stars
—  poet and his poetry!
Cold stars reflected in the waterAbyss beckons us his dark distance.Our world, only one of hundreds,In which we can not see the sun.In this world, I am uneasy,I want to touch another planets.Because there is dark and cramped,That spirit is calling me to run.Wander through the world I'm tired,And every day to meet the dawn,For me this world has closed its doors.I want to go to other worlds,To know all mysteries of their,And here never to return.
— Arthur Tomaszewicz
I am at the gates of my own destruction.(Or so I'm told.)
— Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
Some of us die long before our last breath. We perish in the fire of love, reduced to ashes in the consuming blaze. No, we do not die when our hearts cease to beat, but when they start beating the first timefor someone else.
— Shakieb Orgunwall
Deep down,I lay dormant inside her head,Deep down,I lay the rules inside her head,Deep down,I lay inside inside her heart,Deep down,I know she will never move onBecause deep down, I am always there
— Tanzy Sayadi, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
she prays to feel as powerful as she might if God sang silentwords into her ear and answeredall the rattling questions 
—  now
How—I didn't know anyword for it—how "unlikely". . .How had I come to be here,like them, and overheara cry of pain that could havegot loud and worse but hadn't?
— Elizabeth Bishop
I did what I could,I tried to stay away,I told myself that I don't need you,I don't need to feel this way,But soon I realized that I am just a fishAlways falling as you're prey
— Tanzy Sayadi, Better to be able to love than to be loveable
Language is rich, and malleable. It is a living, vibrant material, and every part of a poem works in conjunction with every other part - the content, the place, the diction, the rhythm, the tone-as well as the very sliding, floating, thumping, rapping sounds of it.
— Mary Oliver
The first stanza of Eyes In Moonlight Drown, a poem from DeadVerse.With your face framed in a halo of stars,your hair melts into trailing clouds,and your eyes in moonlight drown.A man could lose himselfin those freckled irises,reflecting the galaxies above;surely he could fall into their promiseof eternity, of Heaven, of love.Your lips glisten, part, and beckon,a smile of warm invitation,a suggestion of sweet intensity,a loss of self in addictive agony.For we translate these aestheticsinto something mystical;ideas of fantasy, of fiction,obscuring the clinical truthof chemical reactions,electric sparks, responsesas sure as gravity,measurable yet beyond cold,above philosophy and below truth.
— Scott Kaelen, DeadVerse: The Poetry of Scott Kaelen, Volume One
Mathematics is a wonderful common sense,To understand the harmony in nature magnificent; The wondrous language, & popular in terms of @ financeIts’ unique, and abundantly rich in terms of substance,
— Priyavrat Thareja
Determined, I riseand face the dawn with resolve.This time I will win.
— Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes
Everything is temporary, almost like a passing fase, some of laughter Some of pain. What we would do, If we had the chance to explore What we had taken for Granted the very day before, Some would say I'm selfish, To hold a little sadness in my eyes, But they don't feel the sorrow When I can't do, all that helps me feel alive. I can express my emotions, but I can't run wild and free, My mind and soul would handle it but hell upon my hip, ankle and knees, This disorder came about,as a friendship said its last goodbyes, Soooo this is what I got given for all the years I stood by? I finally stand still to question it, life it is in fact? What the fuck is the purpose of it all if you get stabbed in the back? And after the anger fills the air, the regret takes it places, I never wanted to be that girl, Horrid, sad and faded... So I took with a grain of salt, my new found reality, I am not of my pain,the disability doesnt define me. I find away to adjust, also with the absence of my friend,I trust the choices I make, allow my heart to mend. I pick up the piecesI retrain my leg, I find where I left off And I start all over again, You see what happens... When a warrior gets tested; They grow from the ashes Powerful and invested. So I thank all this heartache,As I put it to a rest, I move forward with my life And I'll build a damn good nest.
— Nikki Rowe
The sweetest melody that playson starry nights and wintry days,most soothing to my listening earsand calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air―the song of sweet, still silence rare.
— Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes
They were full of mysteries and secrets, like... like poems turned into landscapes.""'Poems turned into landscapes.'" he murmured with a slight smile. "And what of Vestenveld's gardens? Do you see poems in them?""Your gardens are like your country's poetry. Very frilly and organized.
— Jaclyn Dolamore, Magic Under Glass
It was soldier's went marching over the rocks,and still they came in watery flocks,because it was spring and the birds had to come,No doubt that soldier's had to be marching,and that the drums had to be rolling, rolling, rolling
— Wallace Stevens
Am learning every day that there are more threads to me That I have been rising and changing, rediscovering who I ambecoming who I want to be putting the broken pieces back together and becoming an arrowcontinuing to rise into the light.
— Honey Badger
Roses are wilting, Violets are dead,The sugar bowl is empty,and so is your head.
— WeeKittyAndTAT
We all wear masksto veil the truth.Truth is nakedness.Truth is fear.Truth is the gardener making you sit on his lapasking you tolight his cigarette.Truth is father— with a limp cigarette on his lips —telling you to never use his matches to light it for him.Truth is father yelling:"It is not nice for little girls to do so”.Truth is a curious girlwanting to ignite a matchlike a woman.Truth is the maid watching from the kitchen,knowing.But knowing isn’t truth.Truth is the maid calling:Come. Come.Truth is the gardener understanding. But understanding isn’t truth.Truth is the maid saying,"Stay away!"Truth is a girl thinking she is in control.That nothing happened, nothing bad.But the truest truthis a girl knowing, a girl understanding thaton that daysomeone stole a little piece of her truth.
— Kamand Kojouri
The mercy bulletI envy horses: if they break a leg and feel humiliated because they can no longer charge back and forth in the wind, they are cured by a mercy bullet. So if something in me gets broken, physically or spiritually, I would do well to look for a proficient killer, even if he is one of my enemies. I will pay him a fee and the price of the bullet, kiss his hand and his revolver, and if I am able to write, extol him in a poem of rare beauty, for which he can choose the metre and rhyme.
— Mahmoud Darwish, A River Dies of Thirst: journals
Our past sins, our fractured lives--soon nothing but drowned stars in dark skies.
— Beatriz Fitzgerald Fernandez, Shining from a Different Firmament
we are two like-minded creatures too well-matched, both equal halves of a whole not altogether wholesome
— Beatriz Fitzgerald Fernandez, Shining from a Different Firmament
Hers is a timeless life weaving through other longer lives like a flash of lightning in a clouded evening sky.
— Beatriz Fitzgerald Fernandez, Shining from a Different Firmament
To count the stones losing countis the sense of our life: the algebraof our displacements.To follow paths losing sense is the circumvolution, the evolution: the logicof our moments. But. No.There is no symmetry in our acts.Never the chance of steps that surprise usto salt.Our time machine. Forward.Never backward the meat machine.No turning back. No turning back.There is no remedy: deathis an incurable asymmetry.Huge is the ticking of the Clock butbut our time has the clutch, the vortexthe saltwater of a wave that covers us.It reshapes and hollows out the face, like sandrobs us of our flesh.
— Piero Olmeda, Of Time and Goats
A litany of headlights blinding her, she stands unsteady on the dotted traffic line, takes timid steps toward rolled up windows behind which any horror could crouch....
— Beatriz Fitzgerald Fernandez, Shining from a Different Firmament
beware those quick to praise for they need praise in return beware those who are quick to censor they are afraid of what they do not know beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone
— Charles Bukowski
I escape disaster by writing a poem with a joke in it:The past, present, and future walk into a bar—it was tense.
— Kelli Russell Agodon, Hourglass Museum
You can't write a poem until you live.
— Shannon Lynette
The Earth Turned to Bring us Closerby: Eugenio MontejoThe earth turned to bring us closerit turned on itself and within usuntil it finally brought us together in this dreamas written in the Symposium.Nights passed by, snowfalls and solsticestime passed in minutes and millennia.An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveharrived in Nebraska.A rooster was singing some distance from the world,in one of the thousand pre-lives of our fathers.The earth was spinning with its musiccarrying us on board;it didn't stop turning a single momentas if so much love,so much that is beautifulwas only an adagio written long agoin the Symposium's score.
— Eugenio Montejo
A poem is a place where the conditions of beyondness and withinness are made palpable, where to imagine is to feel what it is like to be. It allows us to have the life we are denied because we are too busy living. Even more paradoxically, a poem permits us to live in ourselves as if we were just out of reach of ourselves.
— Mark Strand
If a picture is worth a thousand words, how much for a poem?
— Shannon Lynette
...flames moved towards himand dropped within-singed and marred his tender skin ...(the frightful plight tale)
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
Arrive before your Husband. Not that I canSee quite what good arriving first will do;But still arrive before him. When he's takenHis place upon the couch and you go tooTo sit beside him, on your best behaviorStealthily touch my foot, and look at me,Watching my nods, my eyes, my face's language;Catch and return my signals secretly.I'll send a wordless message with my eyebrows;You'll read my fingers' words, words traced in wine.When you recall our games of love together,Your finger on rosy cheeks must trace a line.If in your silent thoughts you wish to chide me,Let your hand hold the lobe of your soft ear;When, darling, what I do or say gives pleasure,Keep turning to an fro the ring you wear.When you wish well-earned curses on your husband,Lay your hand on the table, as in prayer.If he pours you wine, watch out, tell him to drink it;Ask for what you want from the waiter there.I shall take next the glass you hand the waiterAnd I'll drink from the place you took your sips;If he should offer anything he's tasted,Refuse whatever food has touch his lips.Don't let him plant his arms upon your shoulders,Don't let him rest your gentle head on his hard chest,Don't let your dress, your breasts, admit his fingers,And--most of all--no kisses to be pressed!You kiss--and I'll reveal myself your lover;I'll say 'they're mine'; my legal claim I'll stake.All this, of course I'll see, But what's well hiddenunder your dress--blind terror makes me quake.
— Ovid, The Love Poems
Mislaid flame of tender emotionsRekindled.Together we live to the point of tears,I wouldn’t want it any other way.
— Scott Hastie
There can be no law of nature, no science,No aberrant infliction of human willThat unchained the soul cannot conquer,Simply sweep away, should it chose to.
— Scott Hastie
Sacred space in whichTo distil, like amber,The best of your love.
— Scott Hastie
Do You BelieveDo you believethat I have loved yousince the dawn of time?Do you believethat we were destinedto be intertwined?...
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
Do You Believe...on this road of lifeon this dayI take younow husband and wife...
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
Ode to the Chamber...linger here amidst the chamberin which we embrace our lovetalk to me of sonnetsand call me turtledove...
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
The Bane...where coxswain's dirtand seaman's shirtsbrushed bawdily upon her chest...
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
Cradle of SolitudeFor we know not why our tribulationsare given as suchour fragile formscreated from the dust...
— Muse, Enigmatic Evolution
Fire burns blue and hot.Its fair light blinds me not.Smell of smoke is satisfying, tastes nourishing to my tongue.I think fire ageless, never old, and yet no longer young.Morning coals are cool: daylight leaves me blind.I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind.
— Penny Reid, Beauty and the Mustache
Maple. MaypoleCatch and carry.Ash and Ember.Elderberry.Woolen. Woman.Moon at night.Willow. Window.Candlelight.Fallow farrow.Ash and oak.Bide and borrow.Chimney smoke.Barrel. Barley.Stone and stave.Wind and water.Misbehave.Maple. MaypoleCatch and carry.Ash and Ember.Elderberry.Woolen. Woman.Moon at night.Willow. Window.Candlelight.Fallow farrow.Ash and oak.Bide and borrow.Chimney smoke.Barrel. Barley.Stone and stave.Wind and water.Misbehave.
— Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear
Ah dearest heart if you will but waitI'll become the ideal soulmatenevermore causing you a moment's troubleand I but a mere ectoplasmic bubbleswaying above your gorgeous headgruff and garrulous and safely dead.
— Christy Brown, Of Snails and Skylarks
Imperfection is my ticket, perfection is my pursuit
— Paul  Travis
Parched by the deprivation of your love for so long made me forget what a cup brimming with love, on my lips, felt like. Everything that now wets it, only wrinkles it with a bland taste.
— Abhita Jain
You are in his car and your words taste like honey. The suns yolk is stretching over the road, with hues of pink and red ribbon pressed against the bruises of the sky. He is talking about mechanics or sugar factories, and you are touching the rings on your fingers. The windows are open and the wind is making a home in your bones. Your jeans are ripped, your perfume smells like lilacs, your nails painted the color of sea weed. You forget about noise. You forget about color. It’s your lungs - I think, it’s your lungs that are morphing into purple butter. You are in his car and you are Mozart composing art, Claude Monet painting Water Lilies, you are Aphrodite, you are Shakespeare. You are in his car and you can’t remember what salt feels like against your tongue. You are in his car and you are ocean, fire - lip, tongue, breath, sweat. You are in his car and you are telling him you love him. You are in his car and he is telling you he loves you back.
— Poem 506 by Irynka
Novels are readOr their authors are blue.Support Indie writers:Buy their books, post reviews!
— Cheri Gillard
Shall the dire day break when lifefinds us merely husband and wifewith passion not so much deniedas neatly laundered and put asideand the old joyous insistencetrimmed to placid coexistence?Shall we sometime arise from bedwith not a carnal thought in our headlook at each other without surpriseout of wide awake uncandid eyestouch and know no immediate urgewhere all mysteries converge?Speak for the sake of something to sayand now and then put on a displayof elaborate mimicry of the past to provethat ritual reigns where once ruled loveand calmly observe those bleak ritesthat once made splendour of our nights?Dear, when we stop being outrageousand no longer find contagiousthe innumerable ecstasies we findin rise of hand or leap of mind - not now or then, love, need we fear
— Christy Brown, Of Snails and Skylarks
Pina colada kisses and cocaine nipsnever lie, swear to me that this feeling is real.
— Lori Jenessa Nelson
Perfect...as it was, it had to be, andlittle dreams were spinning madlyas a flock of birds in mid-flight, thesingle vision of a single moment, a singlemoment, frozen in time no more. No moredid he need, to understand thatit was better than any he couldtake, and call his own, it was Perfect...
— Stefan G. Dimov
I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall become new. I cannot renounce the struggle But yes, it’s what this destiny holds The pain is worst. My heart is whole and will not burst.I live on sweet nothing.I am tired of hope, when this dream is not in the scope. I told the pope, he told me to hold on to life and use the rope.I put my faith in you, this is too good to be true.
— Henry Johnson Jr
Rare and powerful harmonies exist,Shaping both scent and contour in a flower.Thus brilliance lies unseen by us until,Beneath the chisel, it blazes in the diamond.And thus do images of fleeting vision,Drifting above like cloud-forms in the sky,Once turned to stone live on from age to age,Held always in a faultless, polished phrase.("A Sonnet To Form")
— Valery Bryusov
Dear Lover...you are the only man, who never hurt me, but broke my heart.
— Lori Jenessa Nelson
YOUR WORDS ARE MADE OF THE AIR I BREATHE.
— Amy King
True poetry is composed of metaphors and symbols which are born in the heart, rise like clouds, and assume a celestial form; verses formed otherwise are not poetry, but only artificial words, each of which contradicts the feelings inside. The utterances and words that have not been formed in a person’s soul as the voice of conscience are all hollow, no matter how embellished they are or how dazzling they seem to be.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
I wanted you mine. I wanted me yours.
— Lori Jenessa Nelson
True poetry is the perception of human feelings, the voice of the heart, open or hidden. It is the lyrics, compositions, and melody of the relation between humankind, the universe and God, a shadow pinpointing each of the truths we can discern everywhere (from the earth to the stars), a photograph of the creation’s projection cast in our feelings and thoughts and framed through words, a heartfelt tune of our loves and joys played on different strings, and it is a bouquet of our faith, hope, determination, beauty, love, reunion, and yearnings.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
In fact, poetry has always been like archives that peoples have continually used to serve their feelings, thoughts, national identities and cultures, and it has served as a factor uniting different historical periods. Those who had lost contact with their past for a certain period found and experienced the expression of their own selves in poetry, and the were able to see their history as a whole in it.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
But no matte what kind of an understanding is adopted, whether associated with positivism, which asserts that the truth can only be reached by trial and error, or rationalism, which asserts that everything can be explained and grasped by reason, whether the perspective of romanticism, which overemphasizes imagination and sensitivity, or an approach based on ardent naturalism, whether based on realism, which aims to describe everything as it is including its shortcomings, or a curiosity-raising approach such as surrealism, whether idealism, which asserts that there is nothing real but ideas, or cubism, which asserts that there is nothing real but instead of direct description, or some other such current or perspective, that is not true poetry.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
Poetry can be more eloquent than the most eloquent sermons, and it becomes a weapon more formidable than the sharpest of swords; whenever such a poem--which finds its correct tune and conveys the excitement of the heart--rings out, all the miserable, heaped drifts of words fly for shelter and bury themselves in ashamed silence. Whenever such a sword of poetry is drawn from its scabbard, all the false princes of words, who have set their thrones on a void, are thwarted and retreat into seclusion.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
A perfect poem owes its perfection to sounding the voice of the heart and the melodies of the conscience, as well as its ability to reflect the considerations, beliefs, opinions, and horizons of thought of the poet, but not due to its formal or mental aspects.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
The ProdigalDark morning rainMeant to fallOn a prison and a schoolyard,Falling meanwhileOn my mother and her old dog.How slow she shuffles nowIn my father’s Sunday shoes.The dog by her sideTrembling with each stepAs he tries to keep up.I am on another corner waitingWith my head shaved.My mind hops like a sparrowIn the rain.I’m always watching and worrying about her.Everything is a magic ritual,A secret cinema,The way she appears in a window hours laterTo set the empty bowlAnd spoon on the table,And then exitsSo that the day may pass,And the night may fallInto the empty bowl,Empty room, empty house,While the rain keepsKnocking at the front door.
— Charles Simic, New and Selected Poems: 1962-2012
Every time a poet is about to write, every time the open their mouth to say something, they express their inner world and tell of their own feelings, thoughts, beliefs, and opinions, unless they are deliberately pursuing fantasies which contrast with their beliefs, opinions, thoughts, and the point of view.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
If Love is Pure, Love is Simple
— Pawan Painjane, Love in Life's Farm
Poetry is another name for a person’s telling of the self, existence and what is beyond, and one’s own perceptions.
— M. Fethullah Gülen, Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief
Amy King is a true bard.
— Tomaž Šalamun
You love meand love me notyour love is an arm of clockjoining hands with mineonly to leave me again
— Lori Jenessa Nelson
I figured I wasn't supposed to be capable of that kind of thinking, and I felt like an alien. I feel that a lot, actually, in a lot of circumstances. Like I ought to be feeling something I don't.
— Marina Keegan
I cannot forgive you. That day, if you had not refused, I would have given you a present. I would have carved my love in stone.
— Conchitina Cruz
When the music note grows tired we will land on the wings of a guardian - One already accustomed to my attempts to fly One aware of my weakness for a beautiful try
— Phibby Venable
The IdealThis is where I came from.I passed this way.This should not be shameful Or hard to say.A self is a self. It is not a screen. A person should respectWhat he has been. This is my past Which I shall not discard. This is the ideal.This is hard.
— James Fenton
As a youth, I listened to the rain from the bowers of pleasure houses,Red silk drapes translucent in the glow of candlelight.In my prime, I listened to the rain as a traveler,The sky low, the river broad, the calls of the wild geese harsh and cold.Now, grey at the temples, I listen to the rain beneath the eaves of an abandoned cloister.Has mine been a futile life?I have no answers, only the sound of raindrops upon worn stone steps,And long hours yet to pass before the light of dawn.
— Sherry Thomas, My Beautiful Enemy
cherry reddenim tornholding closethe smell of warm
— Lori Jenessa Nelson
It is December, and nobody asked if I was ready.
— Sarah Kay
This is how I disappear in pieces.This is how I leave while not moving from my seat.This is how I dance away.This is how I'm gone before you wake.
— Sarah Kay
You may continue to call it a breakup. I will continue to call it an exorcism.
— pleasefindthis, I Wrote This For You
When the heartIs cut or cracked or brokenDo not clutch itLet the wound lie openLet the windFrom the good old sea blow inTo bathe the wound with saltAnd let it sting.Let a stray dog lick itLet a bird lean in the hole and singA simple song like a tiny bellAnd let it ringLet it go.Let it out.Let it all unravel.Let it free and it can beA path on which to travel.
— Michael Leunig, Prayer Tree
A good poem has rhyming but no ending, it continues to rhyme in our heart.
— Debasish Mridha
She flooded my thoughts. I drowned in peace.
— Faraaz Kazi, Truly, Madly, Deeply
(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case)You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” –“A RAINBOW IN THE DARK”Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN”“HOLY DIVER” will lurk“BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA”“ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY”“JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”-“LORD OF THE LAST DAY”“MASTER OF THE MOON” you areWhen my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE”With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”,“MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you craveYou’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”,“BETWEEN TWO HEARTS”When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN”“HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts“FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART”“FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD”“I AM” “ANOTHER LIE”“AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)”Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO”“DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL”Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow“DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS”Those “EVIL EYES” can see“LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”;“MY EYES” hate to fancy“SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT”Now it’s “TIME TO BURN”“TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER”And today its our turn“BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN”I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS”The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are!Forever you are deathless“SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS”Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN”“THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”!Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain“IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT”I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY”“ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD”Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity!By “KILLING THE DRAGON”“I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER”I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM”Like an “INVISIBLE” screamerNow that you are gone“THE END OF THE WORLD” is here“STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART”“PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear“CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA”Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”?“FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking forA “GYPSY” from aboveDear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS”Our love “HERE’S TO YOU”“WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD”The “OTHER WORLD” anew“ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS”“THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND”The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN”Is what we long to find“THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING”Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN”“SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE”“WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to planTo “STAND UP AND SHOUT”before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL”Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL”“EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)
— Munia Khan
I have seen the face of sorrowShe looks away in the distanceAcross all these bridgesFrom whence I cameAnd those spans, trussed and archedHold up our lives as we go back againTo how we thought thenTo how we thought we thought thenI have seen sorrow's face,But she is ever turned awayAnd her words leave me blindHer eyes make me muteI do not understand what she says to meI do not know if to obeyOr attempt a flood of tearsI have seen her faceShe does not speakShe does not weepShe does not know meFor I am but a stone fitted in placeOn the bridge where she walksLay of the BridgeburnersToc the Younger
— Steven Erikson
free from ivory-towerthe pencil twirlsacross the footpath
— Santosh Kalwar
But how wonderful when the tale is told,And the message that is meant for usOpens like the scents of a mountain flower!
— Mazisi Kunene
The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.
— Pablo Picasso
Once there was an elephant,Who tried to use the telephant-No! no! I mean an elephoneHe tried to use the telephone-(Dear me! I am not certain quiteThat even now I've got it right.)Howe'er it was, he got his trunkEntangled in the telephunk;The more he tried to get it free, The louder buzzed the telephee-(I fear I'd better drop the songOf elephop and telephong!)
— Laura Elizabeth Richards
You must take these poems as mirrors; for you know that the mirror has no form of itself, but rather reflects the face of anyone who looks in it. Just so a poem has no one particular meaning of itself , but presents to each reader his state of the moment and the completeness of his case
— Ayn al-Qazat Hamadani Persian Mystic
The echo of a red rose at the sunset, you decided to check out.
— Santosh Kalwar
i bring my kiasu friend to the airportleavings are never easy, not for longand though we both saw blur along the waymemories flooded present tensions.in the curry of his life no lemak remainedso now the predictable exit signalledthe end of his roundings, his bombings–he can bluff like hell, ma, he got style–and left me thinking about home, my kampong.
— Kirpal Singh, The Best of Kirpal Singh
Life, a miracle of nature, an evolved molecule of matter, blossomed in the vast expanse of oceans. Methane, ammonia, hydrogen and water vapor When joined under the radio-active sun, The molecules of non living matter underwent massive changes and became live. It's this accident that made the molecule of protein, Which even Stanley Miller reproduced in lab. Evolution went on, and on and changed , from amoeba to dinosaurs, from ape to man, It was an amazing architecture of nature , Which still continue improving human brain. The amazing creation nature, the man, kept on exploring the mysteries of nature, and succeeded in duplicating nature's marvel through his latest invention - the cloning, and succeeded in decoding even the genetic code. Still we have to salute the mother nature, which has many more mysteries in store!.
— V.A. Menon
OnceThere was a quiet island,With a name.You must believe me When I say that sunlight, Impure but beautiful, Broke upon the bay, silveredThe unrepentant, burning moon.
— Edwin Thumboo, The Best of Edwin Thumboo
Beneath it allI kept faith with Ithaca, travelled,Travelled and travelled,Suffering much, enjoying a little;Met strange people singingNew myths; made myths myself.But this lion of the seaSalt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,Touched with power, insistentOn this brief promontory...Puzzles.
— Edwin Thumboo, The Best of Edwin Thumboo
You do not need a boyfriend or a girlfriend to write an emotional poet
—  because poetry is beyond hooks and holes.
If lighthouse becomes a burning candle, flickered upon ocean's insanity.Your sailing heart there anchors to handle the obsessed breeze towards sand dune's vanity.
— Munia Khan
How Beautiful is the rain!After the dust and heat,In the broad and fiery street,In the narrow lane,How beautiful is the rain!How it clatters along the roofs,Like the tramp of hoofs!How it gushes and struggles outFrom the throat of the overflowing spout!Across the window-paneIt pours and pours;And swift and wide,With a muddy tide,Like a river down the gutter roarsThe rain, the welcome rain!-"Rain in Summer
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
She didn't do anything at allexcept arrived without warningin the middle of the night(right when I least expected it)She walked by me, with a strut in her stepsmelling like summercausing me to turn my head(even the leaves swayed her way)All she did was look at mewith bright, curious eyesfilled with mirth and secrets(as if an adventure was about to happen)I tried not to think of her at allnot the curves of her bodyor the stories that she told(you knew there'd never be dull conversations)By then, I couldn't walk awayI got caught up in her stormwithout a care in the world(I was a very good swimmer)She was a hurricane who created her own sunshine.
— M.J. Abraham
The stars will live for me, if not anything else
— Munia Khan
If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; thatwitches are often betrayed by their appetites;dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;hearts can be well-hidden,and you betray them with your tongue.Do not be jealous of your sister.Know that diamonds and rosesare as uncomfortable when they tumble from one's lips as toads and frogs:colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.Remember your name.Do not lose hope -- what you seek will be found.Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.Trust dreams.Trust your heart, and trust your story.When you come back, return the way you came.Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.Do not forget your manners.Do not look back.Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.When you reach the little house, the place your journey started,you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember.Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw before but once.And then go home. Or make a home.Or rest.
— Neil Gaiman
The words of the true poems give you more than poems, they give you to form for yourself poems, religions, politics, war, peace, behavior, histories, essays, daily life, & everything else, they balance the ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes, they do not seek beauty, they are sought, forever touching them or close upon them follows beauty, longing, fain, love-sick. They prepare for death, yet they are not the finish, but rather the outset, they bring none of his or her terminus or to be content & full, whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of the stars, to learn one of the meanings, to launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless rings & never be quiet again.
— Walt Whitman, The Complete Poems
The Garden Under Snow "Now the garden is under snow a blank page our footprints write onclare who was never minebut always belonged to herselfSleeping Beautya crystalline blanketthis is her springthis is her sleeping/awakeningshe is waitingeverything is waitingthe improbable shapes of rootsmy babyher facea garden, waiting.
— Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife
My life is filled with buckets of tears; thousands of people shouting in my ears; the humming and chirping of hundreds of Himalayan birds, which are irresistible to hear.
— Santosh Kalwar
A demon seduced an angel in the middle of the nightand they gave the stars a glimpse.There was nothing casual about it, it was tender skin and battle scars breathless passion under storm clouds a rapid river stream mirroring the moon light. Until one day, he left her with nothing, just a bruised heart and carved memories iridescent wings chipped on the edges heat under her skin, like an ember burning low.I asked her, "What do you do after a love like that?"She laughed.And madness danced behind her eyes.But she flew so high the world was jealous.
— M.J. Abraham
The touched heart madly stirs,your laughter is water hurrying over pebbles - every gesture is a proclamation,every sound is speech...
— Sappho
LITTLE STAR BIG UNIVERSE I love everyone-And everything.The ocean,The sky,The other planets,The people here,The people there.I love to smile,To run and play,I love to work hard,And create everyday.I love to rest,When the long day's through,But most of all,l love thinking of you.
— Giorge Leedy, Uninhibited From Lust To Love
Projection from the beginning of time White women with a passionate horns Butchered yet another beloved
— Santosh Kalwar
Lovers think quite different thoughtswhile lying side by side.
— Maya Angelou, I Shall Not Be Moved
ASK NOT IF POETRY IS DEAD, ASK HOW YOU CAN LIVE FOR POETRY.
— Amy King
That night, stargazing on the deck with Dad, eyes on the sky, he pointed out Orion, Betelgeuse. "It's an art to read the stars, baby."I never wanted to leave his side-my sure song for so long. Now? His eyes are stone changed. Just looking at them hurts my heart.
— Norma Fox Mazer, What I Believe
Of all the days dropped in time's pocketThis day will seek acknowledgement with a child's shy asking, because the love between us used no word uncommoner than coffee, and was never traced by graphs of huge emotion. Yet some fancy will recall this day hallowed past recognition.
— Vassar Miller Bagatelle
Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling than a window lighted by a single candle. What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind a windowpane. In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.
— Charles Baudelaire
THE MOON was but a chin of gold	A night or two ago,	And now she turns her perfect face	Upon the world below.	Her forehead is of amplest blond;	 Her cheek like beryl stone;	Her eye unto the summer dew	The likest I have known.	Her lips of amber never part;	But what must be the smileUpon her friend she could bestow	Were such her silver will!	And what a privilege to be	But the remotest star!	For certainly her way might pass	 Beside your twinkling door.	Her bonnet is the firmament,	The universe her shoe,	The stars the trinkets at her belt,	Her dimities of blue.
— Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Death stoops over me.I'm a problem in chess. Hehas the solution.
— Tomas Tranströmer, Haikudikter
And was it his destined part / Only one moment in his life / To be close to your heart?
— Ivan Turgenev
Gargoyles sat on the battlements- lean they were and the same hideous damp grey as the stone. They looked at her with hollow eyes and rattled their silver chains. They had wings of bats or wings or birds, most of them, and licked their beaks or teeth with forked or double tongues. Two paced restlessly before their platforms; others whined or picked their claws or groomed their mangy fur or feathers or lizard skin or scales.
— Meredith Ann Pierce, The Darkangel
Pain will humble ones soul,my pain was necessary as it humbled me beyond my limitations,I do not rush what is meant to be slow,patience".
— Patience Kudzu
The Law of the Jungle NOW this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep; And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep. The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown, Remember the Wolf is a Hunter — go forth and get food of thine own. Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear. And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair. When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail, Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words shall prevail. When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar, Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war. The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home, Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come. The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain, The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again. If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay, Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away. Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can; But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man! If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride; Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide. The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies; And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies. The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will; But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill. Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same. Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same. Cave-Right is the right of the Father — to hunt by himself for his own: He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone. Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw, In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is — Obey!
— Rudyard Kipling
If you are a dreamer, come sit by my fire. For we have some flax-golden tales to spin; come in! Come in!
— Shel Silverstein
We write about love like we should be bound in padded rooms.
— Kevin Fuller
what if you get most of what the eye sees?what if love came in seeds?what if we plant them and they grow trees? what if they form hearts instead of leafs?what if hate was to freeze?what if there was no honeybees?what if your heart stops when you sneeze?what if the evil uses the word please?what if we get down on our knees?what if we pray to the creator of the earth, heavens ,and seas?what if the heartless bleeds?what if the poor needs?what if the wealthy and greedy feeds?what if the illiterate reads what if hearts had keys?what if we aim for our dreams?what if we do all good deeds?what if the only brew was teas?what if we all wore white tees?what if we could accomplish some of these? WHAT IF ?
— Youns Hussein
AmendsRegret lingers, niggles. Yellow lilieson the table, gone brown in the vase.The garden we talk about, endlessly, but never begin, deterred by tough sod.On the edge of the walk, the wheelbarrowfull of stones waits like an undeliveredapology. Within, the floor needs scrubbingand only hands and knees will do the job.I know that forgiveness is a simple meal—a salad, a boiled potato, a glass of tea.Easy to prepare, to offer. That the silenceafterward will satisfy, perhaps even nourish.
— Antonia Clark, Chameleon Moon: Poems
LIFE ON ITS EDGE''What the title reflects?It says about life's edge''Edge, where life has nothing,nothing to achieve.But wait is there,that it will gonna over in this believe''No power, no strength but there's just weakness,All attempts get fail and everything goes mess.''Power gets off even needed speckles for eye sight.No teeth are there, taste of buds even goes light''Shivering body, noddy head and even shivering hands,Preparing to settle at new but unknown land''No sound, silent life, people behave them rude,Hey youngsters, their lives are on edge and To be Continued! '-Samar Sudha
— Samar Sudha
there are only so many thingsthat you can fix with your hands....What they don't realize is I am not a thing to fix.
— Danabelle Gutierrez, I Long To Be The River
God promised you to give you dreams and visions, see Him as your great dream/vision giver.
— Euginia Herlihy
Create a massive drawing of what God has promised you.
— Euginia Herlihy
Your mind couldn't rest like the other little boys. You looked around and you saw the blanket of fear covered the whole country.
— Euginia Herlihy
Your thoughts were deeper than your mind, your little eyes pierced through the heart of your nation.
— Euginia Herlihy
The beauty of words that heals my soul.
— Euginia Herlihy
Undeniable obsession of words that quickens my spirit.
— Euginia Herlihy
But the seawhich no one tendsis also a garden
— William Carlos Williams, Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
— Robert Burns
My father's love was always strongMy mother's glamour lives on and on.Yet still inside I felt alone, for reasones unknow to me.
— Lana Del Rey
I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem.
— jaime gil de beidma
You've slipped away like a fistful of sand. You've vanished so quickly like a wind. Do you know how I long to hold you love of my life.
— Euginia Herlihy
When I feel lonely you are here beside me with your loving and caring touch.
— Euginia Herlihy
In times of need I call unto you Abba Father and you answer.
— Euginia Herlihy