All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“Stain BoyOf all the super heroes,the strangest one by far,doesn’t have a special power,or drive a fancy car.next to Superman and batman, I guess he must seem tame.But to me he is quite special,and Stain Boy is his name.He can’t fly around tall buildings,or outrun a speeding train,the only talent he seems to haveis to leave a nasty stain.Sometimes I know it bothers him,that he can’t run or swim or fly,and because of this one ability,his dry cleaning bill is sky-high.”

“The poem must resist the intelligenceAlmost successfully.”

“When I can feel you breathing into me i, like a stone gargoyleatop some crumbling building,spring to lifea resuscitated angel.”

“loneliness can fly a helicopter through a cut-out shapeof a helicopter the same size as the helicopterand that’s it’s only skilland it isn’t good enoughbut it’s still amazing.”

“Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.”

“The Abandoned ValleyCan you understand being alone so longyou would go out in the middle of the nightand put a bucket into the wellso you could feel something down theretug at the other end of the rope?”

“At the age of four, you were an artist. And at seven, you were a poet.”

“I heard of a manwho says words so beautifullythat if he only speaks their namewomen give themselves to him.If I am dumb beside your bodywhile silence blossoms like tumors on our lipsit is because I hear a man climb stairsand clear his throat outside our door.”

“For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.”

“Secretly, deep down, everybody on Earth believes they can write poetry, apart from the members of the Poets’ Guild, who know they can’t.”

“I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: “‘T will keep.”I woke and chid my honest fingers,—The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.”

“I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our speech. The thing is stuck. We get our language back through the language of others. We can turn to the poem. We can open the book. Somebody has been there for us and deep-dived the words.”

“Dear to me is sleep: still more, being made of stone,While pain and guilt still linger here below,Blindness and numbness–these please me alone;Then do not wake me, keep your voices low.”

“What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?”

“Poetry makes nothing happen.”