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Poems Quotes

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Poems Quotes

“One life is a moment from the driving stream of future lives. People strive for power, greatness, money, the more is the better. People lose love, sincerity, inspiration and freedom. Betray the present, destroy your rivals, climb up the ladder of superiority here in this moment of your being. But the only is a love like a talisman will be save a person and give a possibility to reach to the far bank of the river of transparent love, which can only be entered by love.”

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Book:Pechal Shelestyashchikh listyev
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“WONDERLAND It is a person's unquenchable thirst for wonder That sets them on their initial quest for truth. The more doors you open, the smaller you become. The more places you see and the more people you meet, The greater your curiosity grows. The greater your curiosity, the more you will wander. The more you wander, the greater the wonder. The more you quench your thirst for wonder, The more you drink from the cup of life. The more you see and experience, the closer to truth you become. The more languages you learn, the more truths you can unravel. And the more countries you travel, the greater your understanding. And the greater your understanding, the less you see differences. And the more knowledge you gain, the wider your perspective, And the wider your perspective, the lesser your ignorance. Hence, the more wisdom you gain, the smaller you feel. And the smaller you feel, the greater you become. The more you see, the more you love -- The more you love, the less walls you see. The more doors you are willing to open, The less close-minded you will be. The more open-minded you are, The more open your heart. And the more open your heart, The more you will be able to Send and receive -- Truth and TRUE Unconditional LOVE.”

LoveLifePhilosophyWisdomTruthPoetryPurposeHumanityLanguagePeaceUnderstandingGrowthJusticeEducationAttitudeWonderFamilyKnowledgeDestinyLearningWiseWonderfulDoorsMysteryJourneyTeachingIgnorancePoetPerspectiveMoralityPoemTravelLivingRacismExperiencePrejudiceInternationalSeekingGoodCuriousWanderPoemsAweGreatStorySpiritual GrowthUnconditional LoveMoralsHuman ConditionThirstWorld PeaceAngleQuestionsOutlookLife PurposeFeelSeeGlobal CitizenTravelingQuestGlobalSmallSuzy KassemTravellingQuenchWorld CitizenMysteriesLanguagesPerspectivesCountriesInternationalismCulturesCuriousityHumanitiesWondermentCross Cultural UnderstandingTruth SeekingCup Of LifeCuriosity GrowsAlice And Wonderland
Book:Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
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“I sit on the precipice of my creative sensibilities staring over and out into a wide expanse of sparkling madness and sometimes envy those who simply fall into it and let everything else go. I suppose that’s what writing poetry is for.”

MadnessPoemsCreative GeniusNonviolent Conflict ResolutionNational Poetry MonthWorld Poetry DayWriting PromptsLiterary GeniusLife During WarLiterary Minds
Book:Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems, and Essays
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“Laughing with blood relatives amidst memorable melodies in the background, styrofoam plate in hand, topped with foods that restaurants can’t duplicate, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Staring at an unbelievable sunrise from a balcony villa in Tanzania, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Recognized and awarded for notable news journalism, a few semesters away from achieving a prestigious degree decorated with promised opportunities, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Hoping quietly for the best, to “win my husband over” with traditional submission, more frequent sex, and minimized speech, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Walking down a dusty Egyptian street filled with the welcoming laughter of carefree children, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Sitting in a church pew notating another good message, clapping to some of my favorite songs, and then exiting to talk with familiar faces, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Communing with those who know who the “real chosen” are, beholding their unknown names unmasked, and secret knowledges revealed to ponder incessantly, it hit me: I don’t belong here. Placed underneath the wanting body of a rare man who showed me unprecedented love, it hit me: I don’t belong here. My soul. My mind. My body. Each malnourished. My community. My life purpose. Both misplaced. All starving for home. So, I moved. Not to what looks and feels good for them, but to what”

HomePoemsBelongingPoems On LifeBelongHome QuotesPoems On Life InspirationalBelonging Quote
Author:Zara Hairston
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“I breathe in... The sights and smells Of this city I’ve come to know... So well I gaze... Across the turquoise ocean Where the waves Liberate my spirit... From its shell I breathe in... The brilliant sky line Where the birds Emerge shyly From the dappled sunshine I breathe in... The gently... Blowing winds That soothe me Like a mother, around her child I breathe in... The sounds of laughter Pure and pretty Like the golden-green butterfly I’m always after I breathe in... The closeness, I have always shared With people, Who almost knew me, Almost cared I breathe in... The comfort Of my home, The safe walls, The scents of childhood On the pillows I breathe in...the silence Of my own heart Aching with tenderness... With memories.. Of home I breathe... in... The fragrance Of love, and moist sand The one... His roses left... On both my hands And I just keep on breathing Every moment As much as I can Preserving it, in my body For the day It can’t So I breathe in.. Once again.. Feeling life's energy Fizzing through my cells Never knowing What awaits me Or what's going to happen to me.. Next I breathe in This moment... Knowing it's either life Or it's death I close my eyes, And breathe in Just believing in myself.”

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Book:A touch, a tear, a tempest
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“He took a step closer to me, the laughter still dancing on his face. 'Feeling better today?' I mumbled some noncommittal response. 'Good,' he said, either ignoring or hiding his amusement. 'But just in case, I wanted to give you this,' he added, pulling some papers from his tunic and extending them to me. I bit the inside of my cheek as I stared down at the three pieces of paper. It was a series of five-lined... poems. There were five of them altogether, and I began sweating at words I didn't recognise. It would take me an entire day just to figure out what these words meant. 'Before you bolt or start yelling...' he said, coming around to peer over my shoulder. If I'd dared, I could have leaned back into his chest. His breath warmed my neck, the shell of my ear. He cleared his throat and read the first poem. There once was a lady most beautiful Spirited, if a little unusual Her friends were few But how the men did queue But to all she gave a refusal. My brows rose so high I thought they'd touch my hairline, and I turned, blinking at him, our breath mingling as he finished the poem with a smile. Without waiting for my response, Tamlin took the papers and stepped a pace away to read the second poem, which wasn't nearly as polite as the first. By the time he read the third poem, my face was burning. Tamlin paused before he read the fourth, then handed me back the papers. 'Final word in the second and fourth line of each poem,' he said, jerking his chin toward the papers in my hands. Unusual. Queue. I looked at the second poem. Slaying. Conflagration. 'These are-' I stared. 'Your list of words was too interesting to pass up. And not good for love poems at all.' When I lifted my brow in silent inquiry, he said, 'We had contests to see who could write the dirtiest limericks while I was living with my father's war-band by the border. I don't particularly enjoy losing, so I took it upon myself to become good at them.' I didn't know how he'd remembered that long list I'd compiled- I didn't want to. Sensing I wasn't about to draw an arrow and shoot him, Tamlin took the papers and read the fifth poem, the dirtiest and foulest of them all. When he finished, I tipped back my head and howled, my laughter like sunshine shattering age-hardened ice.”

LaughingSweetSarah J MaasPoemsFeyreFeyre ArcheronTouchingA Court Of Thorns And RosesTamlinLimericks
Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“She winced and covered her ears as Eric,onstage, wrestled with his microphone. "Sorry about that, guys!" he yelled. "All right. I'm Eric, and this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled.'" He screwed up his face as if in pain, and wailed into the mike. "Come my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!" Simon slid down in his seat. "Please don't tell anyone I know him." Clary giggled. "Who uses the word 'loins'?" "Eric," Simon said grimly. "All his poems have loins in them." 'Turgid is my torment!" Eric wailed. "Agony swells within!" "You bet it does," Clary said.”

PoemsHilariousClary FrayEricSimon LewisPoetry Critic
Book:City of Bones
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“Sometimes language is all we have, and poetry has proven time and again to be a great equalizer, transformer, and community-builder. Especially during the pandemic, many people found shelter in poetry as a way to process personal and collective traumas. Poetry that offers sustenance or healing, or that inspires during a time of major upheaval, often has the power to bring people together, to initiate change, or to call forth action.”

InspirationActionPoetryChangeCommunityHealingTraumaPoemsShelterSustenance
Author:Aileen Cassinetto
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“You look like someone who has gone to war and came back with a thousand deaths burned in his eyes. You look like someone who has been told a dozen promises – promises that broke his heart when he realized he didn't matter enough for them to be kept. You look like someone whose edges started to chip away. You look like someone I could love, someone whose darkness I could light up. But goddamn it, darling, I promised myself I would never fall in love with a broken man. I have loved so many broken people and I have fixed them all up. I kept giving all I had, until I had nothing left to give. You look like someone I could love, someone I want to fall in love with. But you‘re in pieces, I know you‘ll just wound me.”

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Book:I'm Sorry. I Know It's Too Late... But This is How I Loved You
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“And now, for something completely the same: Wasted time and wasted breath, 's what I'll make, until my death. Helping people 'd be as good, but I wouldn't, if I could. For the few that help deserve, have no need, or not the nerve, help from strangers to accept, plus from mine a few have wept. Wept from joy, or from despair, or just from my vengeful stare. Ways I have, to look at stupid, make them see I am not Cupid. Make them see they are in error, for of truth I am a bearer. Most decide I'm just a bear, mauling at them, - like I care.”

PeopleDifferentHelpingTruthJoyDecisionMistakeStupidAcceptanceTearsStrangeBearsPoemDespairWasteDeserveErrorsStrangerCaringGoodMistakesDecisionsBreathingPoemsNervesVengeanceNothingWeepingRefusalDifferenceDeservingBreathOthersStrangersWasted TimeErrorCupidVengefulBearWastedDecidingNerveErroneousMauling
Book:Nothing is here...
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“Monster a person though monster not human. Monster like music. Like Beatles! Like Schumann! World full of stupid. World full of noise. Monster feel ANGRY. No birthday. No joys. World full of JUNK monster not comprehend. What is a childhood? What is a friend? Monster and human both want the same. Want conversation. Want love. WANT NO PAIN. If monster speak heart: monster life only worsen. Monster not human: BUT MONSTER A PERSON!”

FunnyPoemMonstersPoemsTrueMonster
Book:Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror
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“Master the art of selflove and you will never have to seek validation ever again.”

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Book:Souled Out
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“I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn’t get me anywhere. It was work and it was money and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away.”

RunningPoetryTimeWorkMoneyTalkingWorryGrowing UpYouthPoemStressScaredMoodWorriedPoemsProseFar AwayStressedGrow UpHurryTumblr WriterBe SomeoneIn My Head
Book:Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps
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“And when the rush fades, we are left hollow, staring at the wreckage of who we were. The mirror reveals no rebel, no hero, only a shadow of a self we barely remember. Still, we return. The cycle repeats, not because we do not see the cost, but because the void terrifies us more. Better the burn, than the weight of the fall.”

PainSufferingHealingConflictAddictionPoemsHighCycleRushDark Literature
Book:VERSES OF THE BROKEN: Echoes From A Fractured Mind
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“I miss her, and not the type of missing when you’re alone, not the type when you’re broken down half drunk, not even the type when you know she’s the one. I’m talking about the kind of missing that when you’re full of happiness you wish they were there to enjoy it. I don’t care if we’re not together, I don’t care if I never see her again. All that I will every know is that I’m here smiling and I know how much she’d like to see that.”

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Author:Brandon Villasenor
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