All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“fire turns to flickering spark;I don’t know if we’ll last the dark;I tell you now to walk away;nobody can get me to stay”

“you came over every week to touch me;traced my body with your tongue till we saw sunrise; and we ate burgers in bed naked; watched The Bee Movie; talked philosophy; sipped red wine; played catch with an orange; I asked you to tell me all your secrets.”

“Now he’s got me hooked and hanging on a fragile thread; How I overlooked the ending: he just wants me dead. I can’t let go, he’s got control; I’ll never be so foolish again to fall in love in love with a fisherman.”

“left brain – right brain: he’s a pro; played my heart like a harp before I came to know. He got me strung so he could pluck my strings for the kicks; ’cause he’s a polymath musician and I’m just a side gig”

“you made it crystal clear; you don’t want to be here. why are you still knocking on my door? the season has changed and I’m still trying to displace your presence; still trying to erase your essence. you left your belongings for me to discard. my sheets still smell like the walls of your heart.”

“I remember that summer we walked up the hill, sat atop on the rocks with time to kill; we let sweet red wine set us aglow, then four drunken eyes watched the sunset showI felt the colors enter my veins: warm light-pink shining golden rays; if there was a hue for happiness, I’m sure I saw it with you then”

“A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it is any more than he.I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe of the vegetation.Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,Growing among black folks as among white,Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.Tenderly will I use you curling grass,It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;It may be you are from old people and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mother’s laps,And here you are the mother’s laps.This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,Darker than the colorless beards of old men,Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.What do you think has become of the young and old men?What do you think has become of the women and children?They are alive and well somewhere;The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,And ceased the moment life appeared.All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”

“Your jagged edges always surrender to the soft lines in the face of my poetry.”

“Even if you forget, I will remember for the two of us.”

“Distance does not affect the fact that we look at the same moon every night.”

“It took seconds to fall in love and years to tell her.”

“In all innocence I plead guilty for loving you by accident.”

“Tough times are kept for the most angelic souls Pushed to their greatness by a universe That loves them with a fiery rush of loveThrough the essence of God in showers of the divineSomething that can never be extinguishedBroken or untied Star-lit souls with tenacious heartsThe ones that blossom while healing their scarsTough times there are But fade they will And you will go on To rise more wonderfully than ever before”

“I am not moved to love Thee, 0 my Lord, By any longing for Thy Promised Land; Nor by the fear of hell am I unmannedTo cease from my transgressing deed or word.Tis Thou Thyself dost move me,—Thy blood poured Upon the cross from nailed foot and hand; And all the wounds that did Thy body brand;And all Thy shame and bitter death’s award.Yea, to Thy heart am I so deeply stirred That I would love Thee were no heaven on high,—That I would fear, were hell a tale absurd!Such my desire, all questioning grows vain; Though hope deny me hope I still should sigh,And as ray love is now, it should remain.(To Christ Crucified)”

“A far horizon embraced by cloud like a nameless God beautiful and evaporating”