All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the StrandOne day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washèd it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide and made my pains his prey.Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assayA mortal thing so to immortalise;For I myself shall like to this decay,And eke my name be wipèd out likewise.Not so (quod I); let baser things deviseTo die in dust, but you shall live by fame;My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,And in the heavens write your glorious name:Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,Our love shall live, and later life renew.”

“When shall I be dead and rid Of all the wrong my father did? How long, how long ’till spade and hearse Put to sleep my mother’s curse?”

“But Ihave tamedmyselfI have stompedon the throatof my own song”

“Let be be finale of seem.The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.”

“literature will lose, sunlight will win, don’t worry.”

“When a woman’s face is wrinkledAnd her hairs are sprinkled, With gray, Lackaday!Aside she’s cast, No one respect will pay;Remember, Lasses, remember.And while the sun shines make hay:You must not expect in December, The flowers you gathered in May.”

“No truer word, save God’s, was ever spoken,Than that the largest heart is soonest broken.”

“HOMEno one leaves home unlesshome is the mouth of a sharkyou only run for the borderwhen you see the whole city running as wellyour neighbors running faster than youbreath bloody in their throatsthe boy you went to school withwho kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factoryis holding a gun bigger than his bodyyou only leave homewhen home won’t let you stay.no one leaves home unless home chases youfire under feethot blood in your bellyit’s not something you ever thought of doinguntil the blade burnt threats intoyour neckand even then you carried the anthem underyour breathonly tearing up your passport in an airport toiletssobbing as each mouthful of papermade it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.you have to understand,that no one puts their children in a boatunless the water is safer than the landno one burns their palmsunder trainsbeneath carriagesno one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truckfeeding on newspaper unless the miles travelledmeans something more than journey.no one crawls under fencesno one wants to be beatenpitiedno one chooses refugee campsor strip searches where yourbody is left achingor prison,because prison is saferthan a city of fireand one prison guardin the nightis better than a truckloadof men who look like your fatherno one could take itno one could stomach itno one skin would be tough enoughthego home blacksrefugeesdirty immigrantsasylum seekerssucking our country dryniggers with their hands outthey smell strangesavagemessed up their country and now they wantto mess ours uphow do the wordsthe dirty looksroll off your backsmaybe because the blow is softerthan a limb torn offor the words are more tenderthan fourteen men betweenyour legsor the insults are easierto swallowthan rubblethan bonethan your child bodyin pieces.i want to go home,but home is the mouth of a sharkhome is the barrel of the gunand no one would leave homeunless home chased you to the shoreunless home told youto quicken your legsleave your clothes behindcrawl through the desertwade through the oceansdrownsavebe hungerbegforget prideyour survival is more importantno one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your earsaying-leave,run away from me nowi dont know what i’ve becomebut i know that anywhereis safer than here”

“And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!”

“And then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw.”

“This dewdrop world Is but a dewdrop worldAnd yet —”

“But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore,Disciples of that astigmatic saint,That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words,As palmists learn the network of a hand,All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines,Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush,Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase,Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners,Entering forests, boiling with life,Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille.Days!The sun drumming, drumming,Past the defeated pennons of the palms,Roads limp from sunstroke,Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara,Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient,Invisible axis,The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers,To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home.”

“From the union of power and money,from the union of power and secrecy,from the union of government and science,from the union of government and art,from the union of science and money,from the union of ambition and ignorance,from the union of genius and war,from the union of outer space and inner vacuity,the Mad Farmer walks quietly away.”

“Father, R.I.P., Sums Me Up at Twenty-ThreeShe has no head for politics,craves good jewelry, trusts too readily,marries too early. Thenone by one she sends away her friendsand stands apart, smug sapphire,her answer to everything a slenderzero, a silent shrug–and every daystill hears me say she’ll never be pretty.Instead she reads novels, instead her beltmatches her shoes. She is masterof the condolence letter, and knowshow to please a man with her mouth:Good. Nose too large, eyes too closely set,hair not glorious blonde, not her mother’s red,nor the glossy black her younger sister has,the little raven I loved best.”

“love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers”