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Poetry Quotes

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Poetry Quotes

“I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.”

InspirationalInspirationTogetherHappinessJoyPoetryPurposeStarsSexPleasureMarriageForeverFireWifeRelationshipWrittenPoetPoemFutureMoonHusbandQuoteUnityFalling In LoveWordsAffectionDisappointmentHappyGoodLustOnenessIntimacyBelovedIntimateGirlfriendAuthorWriterNeglectCandleLove QuoteWeddingLoverLovingSoulmateBadOne LoveInfatuationWriteTogethernessLove PoemBoyfriendKamandKojouriKamand KojouriIn LovePartnerUsFlameCaressUnionLovedIgniteSexualBrightMateConnectNovelistRelationsYou And MeYou And IMe And YouRelationship QuoteSulkInfatuate
Author:Kamand Kojouri
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“I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems. How can it be my fault when the words to describe you have not yet been created? When the alphabet lacks the very letters? How can it be my fault when your loveliness only grows by the time I reach for pen and paper? Tell me how I am at fault when I am only a beginner in poems and you are exquisite poetry? To write you in words is to put a veil upon you. Why must I write when I can kiss you instead?”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri
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“i want to love you with simple, like a bare singular matchstick. one stroke to ignite with no words spoken by the heated flames of the timber of crimsoned scarlet fire. as it crackles with close separation entangled with the intimacy of firefly ashes choosing to enchantingly dance around in abundant joy. hazily whistling into the glorified heavens making the ebony soot dissolve into the cool crisp air. yearning to be the explosion who burns through your bones as you visualize red ecstasy of a provoked kindle.”

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Author:zuky rose leigh
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“The poems that used to entrance me in the days of Miss Violence now struck me as overdone and sickly. Alas, burthen, thine, cometh, aweary—the archaic language of unrequited love. I was irritated with such words, which rendered the unhappy lovers—I could now see—faintly ridiculous, like poor moping Miss Violence herself. Soft-edged, blurry, soggy, like a bun fallen into the water. Nothing you'd want to touch,”

PoetryLanguageRidiculousUnrequited LoveSimileMargaret AtwoodArchaicThe Blind Assassin
Book:The Blind Assassin
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“When I was small my mother tried to teach me the colors. "Blue," she said, pointing to the sky. And "blue" again, the second time pointing to the water. She told me I shook my head because I could see that sky blue was not always the same as water blue. It took me a long time-until I lived in Oria- to use the same word for all the shades of a color... Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she'd never love me. The way I loved her on The Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It's different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.”

LovePoetrySimile
Book:Crossed
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“Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.”

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Author:Shah Asad Rizvi
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“Ntozake Shange tells us it's not so good to be born a girl. She does not object to being born a girl. She objects to what it means when you are born a girl. She objects to the way that girls are treated. She objects to the way that our dreams are stifled. She objects to the way that we are not taken seriously, we are there as some sort of plaything,”

PoetryWomenPoemsGirlsSexismNtozake Shange
Book:Shimmy Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate: Looking At The Harlem Renaissance Through Poems
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“Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.”

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Book:The Love of Europa: Limited Time Edition
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“Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent. When she came to my bed and begged me with sighs not to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise, I told her I’d spare her and kissed her closed eyes, then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise. While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fine I devoured her mouth, tender lips divine; and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine. Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.”

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Author:Roman Payne
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“Through synergy of intellect, artistry and grace came into existence the blessing of a dancer.”

WritingPhilosophyInspirational QuotesPoetryArtistQuotesLife QuotesMotivational QuotesMovementPoetWords Of WisdomQuoteDancingDancePhilosopherQuote Of The DayAuthorDancerWriterBalletArtistsGymnasticsFigure SkatingRumiChoreographyDance QuotesArtists QuotesBallerinaBallet DancerMotionBallroomTangoDance FloorSalsaDance ClassDance QuoteFreestyleBallroom DanceBallroom DancingWord PornDance LifeIce SkatingTap DanceFlamencoModern DanceMovementsBelly DanceLatin DanceBachataSalsa DanceChoreographerDanzaBailaSambaShah Asad RizviBelly DancingDance StudioRaqs SharqiBailandoDance ShoesDance PhotographyFigure SkaterContemporary DanceDance AcademyDance CostumeElectronic DanceJazz DanceKathakReggae DanceStreet DanceZoukBelly DancerBhangraBoogie WoogieDance WearDancehall DanceDisco DanceDisco DancingFolk DanceMamboReggaetonSwaySwing DanceZumba DanceKizombaDance FestivalDance Show
Author:Shah Asad Rizvi
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“There is the scent too. Wonder follows it; wonder about how a boy can smell like that when he probably has no idea. He smells like the woods in the winter or the rain when it first falls, or maybe it’s just the way he always smells and there is no way to define it.”

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Book:A Halo Sun
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“Although my road to writing seems like it may have come easily, there were a few bumps in that road. I didn’t get a lot of encouragement from friends, although my family were great supporters. I also had many…what you would call “mind-boggling” moments, when I would doubt myself and what I was writing. It has been said that we, ourselves, are our own worst critics. All the hard work had payed off though, and I created a children’s book that I am proud of, and an unforgettable little girl that will touch the hearts of many.”-Nina Jean Slack”

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Book:Little Effie's Book Of Poetry
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“The Native Americans, whose wisdom Thoreau admired, regarded the Earth itself as a sacred source of energy. To stretch out on it brought repose, to sit on the ground ensured greater wisdom in councils, to walk in contact with its gravity gave strength and endurance. The Earth was an inexhaustible well of strength: because it was the original Mother, the feeder, but also because it enclosed in its bosom all the dead ancestors. It was the element in which transmission took place. Thus, instead of stretching their hands skyward to implore the mercy of celestial divinities, American Indians preferred to walk barefoot on the Earth: The Lakota was a true Naturist – a lover of Nature. He loved the earth and all things of the earth, the attachment growing with age. The old people came literally to love the soil and they sat or reclined on the ground with a feeling of being close to a mothering power. It was good for the skin to touch the earth and the old people liked to remove their moccasins and walk with bare feet on the sacred earth. Their tipis were built upon the earth and their altars were made of earth. The birds that flew in the air came to rest on the earth and it was the final abiding place of all things that lived and grew. The soil was soothing, strengthening, cleansing and healing. That is why the old Indian still sits upon the earth instead of propping himself up and away from its life-giving forces. For him, to sit or lie upon the ground is to be able to think more deeply and to feel more keenly; he can see more clearly into the mysteries of life and come closer in kinship to other lives about him. Walking, by virtue of having the earth’s support, feeling its gravity, resting on it with every step, is very like a continuous breathing in of energy. But the earth’s force is not transmitted only in the manner of a radiation climbing through the legs. It is also through the coincidence of circulations: walking is movement, the heart beats more strongly, with a more ample beat, the blood circulates faster and more powerfully than when the body is at rest. And the earth’s rhythms draw that along, they echo and respond to each other. A last source of energy, after the heart and the Earth, is landscapes. They summon the walker and make him at home: the hills, the colours, the trees all confirm it. The charm of a twisting path among hills, the beauty of vine fields in autumn, like purple and gold scarves, the silvery glitter of olive leaves against a defining summer sky, the immensity of perfectly sliced glaciers … all these things support, transport and nourish us.”

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Book:A Philosophy of Walking
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