Top Poetry Quotes

Poetry is a wild water that flows as furious river from "spring" in the summer.

Aegean Islands 1940-41Where white stares, smokes or breaks,Thread white, white of plaster and of foam,Where sea like a wall falls;Ribbed, lionish coast,The stony islands which blow into my mindMore of...

Poetry Definition

(n.) The art of apprehending and interpreting ideas by the faculty of imagination; the art of idealizing in thought and in expression.

(n.) Imaginative language or composition, whether expressed rhythmically or in prose. Specifically: Metrical composition; verse; rhyme; poems collectively; as, heroic poetry; dramatic poetry; lyric or Pindaric poetry.

I blind myself to see the bright fireplace radiating skin piercing warmth. The yellow illuminating a lonely light that unites with the red to create an ambiance so comforting. They burn and hush, they...

The emotion of art is impersonal. And the poet cannot reach this impersonality without surrendering himself wholly to the work to be done. And he is not likely to know what is to be done unless he liv...

I am a ghost,Living in ethereal thoughts.

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 fir...

Pruned my subconscious. Discovered new shoots.

Today, find a point of stillness: brief, but precious slight, but full small, but luminously real. Find a point stillness in the balance of all things between the breathing out and breathing in.

In this space,We do rawWe do loud hearts& truthful artWe do open arms& unfettered forgivenessWe do realWe do vulnerableWe do wildIn this space,We do loveIn all the shapes& formsThat we come inWe do lo...

Sound unbound by nature becomes bounded by art.

She was a mimicry of a facade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black cr...

Sometimes we need a wise guide to peel back the ceiling of our lives to remind us that infinity never places any limits on our skies.

Every poet has his dream reader: mine keeps a look out for curious prosodic fauna like bacchics and choriambs.

Every poet... finds himself born in the midst of prose. He has to struggle from the littleness and obstruction of an actual world into the freedom and infinitude of an ideal.

Poetry has its own unique language which every mind translates differently according to their own personal view.

No drowning man can know which dropOf water his last breath did stop

i immersemyselfin youlikei immerse myselfinto a beautiful story.

Nevertheless now have I asked thee but only of the fire and wind, and of the day where-through thou hast passed, and of things from which thou canst not be separated, and yet canst thou give me no ans...

If the most High grant thee to live, thou shall see after the third trumpet that the sun shall suddenly shine again in the night, and the moon thrice in the day:

Dream by making and make by dreaming.