Quotes About Poem

Quotes tagged as "poem" (showing 121-150 of 814)
Charles Bukowski
“when I am feeling
all i have to do is
watch my cats
and my
Charles Bukowski

Shel Silverstein
“One sister for sale,
One sister for sale,
One crying and spying young sister for sale
I'm really not kidding so who'll start the bidding
Do I hear a dollar?
A nickle?
A penny?
Oh isnt there isnt there isnt there any
One person who will buy this sister for sale
This crying spying old young sister for sale.”
Shel Silverstein
tags: poem

Wisława Szymborska
“They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways--
perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember--
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.”
Wisława Szymborska, View With a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems
tags: poem

Cecily von Ziegesar
“Open the fridge and put
My heart on a plate.
I'm just as you left
me, and I taste even better
Cecily von Ziegesar, Don't You Forget About Me

Charles Bukowski
“when we were kids
laying around the lawn
on our

we often talked
we'd like to

we all
agreed on the

we'd all
like to die

none of us
done any

and now
we are hardly
any longer

we think more
not to


most of
prefer to
do it

under the


most of

have fucked
our lives
Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

Alice Fulton
“It's just me throwing myself at you,
romance as usual, us times us,

not lust but moxibustion,
a substance burning close

to the body as possible
without risk of immolation.”
Alice Fulton

Roman Payne
“Be there a picnic for the devil,
an orgy for the satyr,
and a wedding for the bride.”
Roman Payne, The Basement Trains

Shel Silverstein
A tree house, a free house,
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.
A street house, a neat house,
Be sure to wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all-
Let's go live in a tree house.”
Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends: The Poems and Drawings of Shel Silverstein

فروغ فرخزاد
“هيچ صيادي در جوي حقيري كه به گودالي مي ريزد ،مرواريدي
صيد نخواهد كرد .”
فروغ فرخزاد
tags: poem

Roman Payne
“With the need for the self in the time of another / I left my seaport grim and dear / knowing good work could be made / in the state governed by both Hope and Despair.”
Roman Payne

Portia Nelson
“Any day of the week I would choose to be "out" with others and in touch with myself... then to be "in" with others and out of touch with myself.”
Portia Nelson
tags: poem

فروغ فرخزاد
“زندگي شايد
يك خيابان درازست كه هر روز زني با زنبيلي از آن مي گذرد
زندگي شايد
ريسمانيست كه مردي باآن خود را از شاخه مي آويزد
زندگي شايد طفليست كه از مدرسه بر مي گردد

زندگي شايد افروختن سيگاري باشد ،در فاصله ي رخوتناك دو همآغوشي
يا عبور گيج رهگذري باشد
كه كلاه از سر بر مي دارد
و به يك رهگذر ديگر با لبخندي بي معني مي گويد “صبح بخير”

زندگي شايد آن لحظه ي مسدوديست
كه نگاه من ،در ني ني چشمان تو خود را ويران مي سازد
و در اين حسي است
كه من آن را با ادراك ماه و با دريافت ظلمت خواهم آميخت”
فروغ فرخزاد
tags: poem

بدر عبد المحسن
“على وجهي الاصفر .. خريفٍ طال ..
وسلال من رذاذ وملح ..
وفي صدري حجارة نسيوها بحاره ..
مروا علي فـ يوم ..
وقالوا تعال معنا .. وما كان يجمعنا ..
إلا الضياع والريح ..

راجع من الايام .. من الاحلام ..
ومن الف سناره .. مغروسة بقلبي ..
لقيت لي بشارة .. ما اغلى عطا ربي ..
أثر العمر ساره .. وموج البحر ساره ..
وكل المدى ساره ..
سافرت كل العمر .. وراجع احب سارة ..”
بدر عبد المحسن
tags: love, poem

“My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

Our father's God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.”
Samuel Francis Smith

Alysha Speer
“There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said.
So much has happened; so little has changed.
We have so many words prepared; so many words are too hard to actually say.
A few days have passed; this pain has been here for years.
We don't know where to go from here; our future has always been in our minds.
Moments of peace with those who constantly argue; fights with those that usually bring peace.
There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said.”
Alysha Speer

A.E. Housman
“How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.”
A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad

فروغ فرخزاد
“اي دوست ،اي برادر، اي همخون
وقتي به ماه رسيدي
تاريخ قتل عام گل ها را بنويس.”
فروغ فرخزاد
tags: poem

Shel Silverstein
You should have heard the old men cry,
You should have heard the biddies
When that sad stranger raised his flute
And piped away the kiddies.
Katy, Tommy, Meg and Bob
Followed, skipped gaily,
Red-haired Ruth, my brother Rob,
And little crippled Bailey,
John and Nils and Cousin Claire,
Dancin', spinnin', turnin',
'Cross the hills to God knows where-
They never came returnin'.
'Cross the hills to God knows where
The piper pranced, a leadin'
Each child in Hamlin Town but me,
And I stayed home unheedin'.
My papa says that I was blest
For if that music found me,
I'd be witch-cast like all the rest.
This town grows old around me.
I cannot say I did not hear
That sound so haunting hollow-
I heard, I heard, I heard it clear...
I was afraid to follow.”
Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends: The Poems and Drawings of Shel Silverstein
tags: poem

Neil Gaiman
“I don’t think that I’ve been in love as such
Although I liked a few folk pretty well
Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch
for brave men died and empires rose and fell
For love, girls follow boys to foreign lands
and men have followed women into hell
In plays and poems someone understands
there’s something makes us more than blood and bone
and more than biological demands
For me love’s like the wind, unseen, unknown
I see the trees are bending where it’s been
I know that it leaves wreckage where it’s blown
I really don’t know what "I love you" means
I think it means "don’t leave me here alone”
Neil Gaiman, Adventures in the Dream Trade

نیما یوشیج

خشک آمد کشتگاه ِ من
در جوار ِ کشت ِ همسايه .
گرچه می‌گويند : « می‌گريند روی ِ ساحل ِ نزديک
سوکواران در ميان ِ سوکواران . »
قاصد ِ روزان ِ ابری ، داروگ ! [1] کی می‌رسد باران ؟

بر بساطی که بساطی نيست ،
در درون ِ کومه‌ی ِ تاريک ِ من که ذرّه‌ای با آن نشاطی نيست
و جدار ِ دنده‌های ِ نی به ديوار ِ اتاقم دارد از خشکيش می‌ترکد
- چون دل ِ ياران که در هجران ِ ياران –
قاصد ِ روزان ِ ابری ، داروگ ! کی می‌رسد باران ؟”
نیما یوشیج
tags: poem

“Everything is all right,
When you’re here,
When you’re right next to me,
When my hand is in yours,
Don’t leave me,
Don’t leave me empty handed.”
Elizabeth Brooks

Pablo Neruda
“To harden the earth
the rocks took charge:
they grew wings:
the rocks
that soared:
the survivors
flew up
the lightning bolt,
screamed in the night,
a watermark,
a violet sword,
a meteor.

The succulent
had not only clouds,
not only space smelling of oxygen,
but an earthly stone
flashing here and there
changed into a dove,
changed into a bell,
into immensity, into a piercing
into a phosphorescent arrow,
into salt of the sky.”
Pablo Neruda
tags: poem

Jarod Kintz
“A Letter to Andre Breton, Originally Composed on a Leaf of Lettuce With an Ink-dipped

On my bed, my green comforter
draped over my knees like a lumpy turtle,
I think about the Berlin Wall of years that separates us.
In my own life, the years are beginning to stack up
like a Guinness World Record’s pile of pancakes,
yet I’m still searching for some kind of syrup to believe in.
In the shadows of my pink sheet, I see your face, Desnos’ face,
and two clock faces staring at each other. I see a gaping wound
that ebbs rose petals, while a sweaty armpit
holds an orchestra. Beethoven, maybe.
A lover sings a capella, with the frothiness of a cappuccino.
Starbucks, maybe. There’s an hourglass, too, and beneath the sands
lie untapped oil reserves. I see Dali’s mustache,
Magritte’s pipe, and bowling shoes, which leaves the question--
If you could time travel through a trumpet, would you find
today and tomorrow too loud?”
Jarod Kintz, A Letter to Andre Breton, Originally Composed on a Leaf of Lettuce With an Ink-dipped Carrot

Mary Oliver
“Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

(from “Mysteries, Yes”)”
Mary Oliver

Laurence Overmire
“Life is a poem most people never read.”
Laurence Overmire

Bo Burnham
I hung myself today. Hanged? Whatever,
the point is I hanged myself today and I’m still

I feel fine. Just bored. I keep hoping that
someone will come home and cut me down
but then I keep remembering that if I knew
someone like that I wouldn’t be up here. Bit
ironic, right? Or is that not ironic? I read
somewhere that, like, anything funny is,
in some way, ironic. But I don’t know if it's
funny or not. I don’t think my brain owns
“funny”, you know?

I feel taller. I like that.
I’ve never been away from my shadow for
this long. It had always clung to my feet,
parting momentarily for a quick dive into
the swimming pool. But never for five
hours. I like it. There’s three feet of space
between my two and the floor.

I wanted something this morning. I may be
stuck. But at least I’m three feet closer to it.”
Bo Burnham, Egghead: Or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone

“در نگاه‌ ات همه‌ي مهرباني‌هاست:
قاصدي که زنده‌گي را خبر مي‌دهد.

و در سکوت‌ات همه‌ي صداها:
فريادي که بودن را تجربه مي‌کند.”
tags: poem

“What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?

Say, your me, and I’m you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven’t felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
That’s where you go when there’s no one else around,
it’s just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
Government is another way to say better…than…you.
It’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won’t stick,
it’s like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can’t touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn’t that sweet?
And we’re all gonna die some day, because that’s the American way,
and I’ve drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what’s happening.
I’m sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: you’re a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we’ve done.”
Stone Sour, Stonesour

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