Prose Poetry Quotes

“and i said to my body. softly. ‘i want to be your friend.’ it took a long breath. and replied ‘i have been waiting my whole life for this.”
― Nayyirah Waheed

“I am not collarbones or drunken letters never sent. I am not the way I leave or left or didn’t know how to handle anything,
at any time,
and I am not your fault.”
― Charlotte Eriksson

“So you will meet many ’someones’ who will give a new definition to your name.
And you can not build walls, must not close the door and please don’t hide,
because if you ask me about hurt
and love
I will say love. Love because the hurt will come and go no matter what, but only love makes it worth while. Only love can cure it.
Don’t be scared. Go. Love.”
― Charlotte Eriksson

“I am a free soul, singing my heart out by myself no matter where I go and I call strangers my friends because I learn things and find ways to fit them into my own world. I hear what people say, rearrange it, take away and tear apart until it finds value in my reality and there I make it work. I find spaces in between the cracks and cuts where it feels empty
and there I make it work.”
― Charlotte Eriksson

“I’m learning persistence and the closing of doors, the way the seasons come and go as I keep walking on these roads, back and forth, to find myself in new time zones, new arms with new phrases and new goals. And it hurts to become, hurts to find out about the poverty and gaps, the widow and the leavers. It hurts to accept that it hurts and it hurts to learn how easy it is for people to not need other people. Or how easy it is to need other people but that you can never build a home in someone’s arms because they will let go one day and you must build your own.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving

“Of the many forms that silence takes, the most memorable is the dry husk of the cicada.”
― Jon Davis

“With the rain falling
surgically against the roof,
I ate a dish of ice cream
that looked like Kafka's hat.
It was a dish of ice cream
tasting like an operating table
with the patient staring
up at the ceiling.”
― Richard Brautigan, Lay the Marble Tea

“A little rain, a little blood. Black fingernails in August; and going berserk, going bananas. As if entrapped in a tropical heatwave, with dozens of whirlwinds swirling in one’s mind, one thinks of a way out, or a way in: out of the scorching bosom of a volcano, and in – into the centre of a raging hurricane. And tracing the labyrinthine ways of your mind, the haphazard vagaries of your thoughts at ease, the odds and ends of your mental surplus you carelessly throw at the world, one wants to be at a loss, in a maze; amazed, and amazingly unabashed.”
― Adam Zagajewski

“I waited for ancient portals, hidden doors and secrets gardens through which I could commune with you.”
― Ruqayya Shaheed Khan

“About sexuality of English mice.

A warm perfume is growing little by little in the room. An orchard scent, a caramelized sugar scent. Mrs. MOUSE roasts apples in the chimney. The apple fruits smell grass of England and the pastry oven. On a thread drawn in the flames, the apples, from the buried autumn, turn a golden color and grind in tempting bubbles.
But I have the feeling that you already worry. Mrs. MOUSE in a Laura Ashley apron, pink and white stripes, with a big purple satin bow on her belt, Mrs. MOUSE is certainly not a free mouse? Certainly she cooks all day long lemon meringue tarts, puddings and cheese pies, in the kitchen of the burrow. She suffocates a bit in the sweet steams, looks with a sigh the patched socks trickling, hanging from the ceiling, between mint leaves and pomegranates. Surely Mrs. MOUSE just knows the inside, and all the evening flavours are just good for Mrs. MOUSE flabbiness.
You are totally wrong - we can forgive you – we don’t know enough that the life in the burrow is totally communal. To pick the blackberries, the purplish red elderberries, the beechnuts and the sloes Mr. and Mrs. MOUSE escape in turn, and glean in the bushes the winter gatherings. After, with frozen paws, intoxicated with cold wind, they come back in the burrow, and it’s a good time when the little door, rond little oak wood door brings a yellow ray in the blue of the evening. Mr. and Mrs. MOUSE are from outside and from inside, in the most complete commonality of wealth and climate.
While Mrs. MOUSE prepares the hot wine, Mr. MOUSE takes care of the children. On the top of the bunk bed Thimoty is reading a cartoon, Mr. MOUSE helps Benjamin to put a fleece-lined pyjama, one in a very sweet milky blue for snow dreams.
That’s it … children are in bed ….
Mrs. MOUSE blazes the hot wine near the chimney, it smells lemon, cinnamon, big dry flames, a blue tempest. Mr. and Mrs. MOUSE can wait and watch. They drink slowly, and then .... they will make love ….You didn’t know? It’s true, we need to guess it. Don’t expect me to tell you in details the mice love in patchwork duvets, the deep cherry wood bed. It’s just good enough not to speak about it. Because, to be able to speak about it, it would need all the perfumes, all the silent, all the talent and all the colors of the day. We already make love preparing the blackberries wine, the lemon meringue pie, we already make love going outside in the coldness to earn the wish of warmness and come back. We make love downstream of the day, as we take care of our patiences.
It’s a love very warm, very present and yet invisible, mice’s love in the duvets.
Imagine, dream a bit ….. Don’t speak too badly about English mice’s sexuality …..”
― Philippe DELERM

“Swirled tight, trussed, manic, most trusted. You love hills, swells, waves of sand, waves of water. You love traffic on bridges that might split in two. You love stairs leading to stairs leading to ice cream stands. Shards of pottery as good as a map. You love fractured control towers and the very broken Alaskan Way Viaduct. You love squat corner stores and barber-pole signs. You love the idea of privacy in a city of windows, the idea of light in a city of shadows.”
― Carol Guess, Tinderbox Lawn

“In this part there’s no you & I just an emptiness filling my mind with screams and cries; ice-cream dipped fries.
This is the part where it all begins the journey
to not the centre of earth but me!”
― Sijdah Hussain, Red Sugar, No More

“sometimes i call someone up from my past just to make me feel something. to remind myself that someone stepped out of my life because he didn’t find it exciting here anymore and it’s a great thing to do if you ever want to feel something. if you get bored of emotional stability. call someone up from your past and just talk a bit. chat about his new life with new exciting people, let him hang up without asking a question of you and then look at the lonely water glass on your table and remember that you’re hungry and that it’s 3 a.m. and you’re still up alone.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, He loved me some days. I'm sure he did: 99 essays on growth through loss

“I look for you, the way I was taught to look both ways when crossing the road. Uptight and wary, bracing myself for something I know could break me.”
― Lang Leav, Sea of Strangers

“What do you learn from loving someone?
You learn to let go when it’s time.

Did you let go yet? Did you love him a little more? Keep loving, keep letting go. Don’t stop.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, He loved me some days. I'm sure he did: 99 essays on growth through loss

“Death is a raging child, and we are its broken toys. Death is the body betraying the soul, stabbing it in the back after many years of marriage and connubial unification. Death divorces us from godhood, and not just from sin. It is a spectacular, nuclear climax. And because we have all fallen in love with existing, death is sudden heartbreak.
Death is a god to many of us--an idol set upon a plinth. A false god. But instead of fearing God, we fear death. Remarkably, we don't fear the light, perhaps because all us are under the illusion that we ARE the light.”
― Claudio Constantine, Tropic of Wonder

“By and by, an umber horizon begins to glow, displacing the moonlight. I close my eyes facing it. I see your crashing instruments, your secular declarations, every shameful nadir somehow lower than the one before. All of the lostness and madness braided together, a cord inexorably straining towards the night you silenced the whole world.”
― Eden Tijerina

“Yellow Hand Running Epic Poem
(The 'Halla # 5)

Kari, the Valkyrie
Yellow Hand Running Epic Poem

Don't you lie to me you damned ghost. I can see right through you.

--Kari, the Valkyrie
Chapter Double Nought Zero”
― douglas laurent

“The Earth forgets sweetness, it prefers the war and trickery. But it is believed that ornate rebellion rises from the ocean, granting confidence and fervor to those prone to avidity. May we forever let the appetite for splendor and honey inspire us to be greater. To sing louder. To love sweeter.”
― H. Nix, Oracle Incarnate: A book of inspiration, short stories, prose, and revelations.

“I understand that I am both the architect and the tenant of my destruction. I can feel it so acutely like an ache in my chest, knowing ultimately that I am locked into a chain of events that I cannot stop, an outcome I cannot alter, feeling at once helpless yet hopelessly awed by the power of my part in this beautiful, brutal expression of the Universe.”
― Lang Leav, Sea of Strangers

“She bid him farewell,
And scrutinized his silhouette,
That slowly faded in the shadows.
She whispered,
"Au-revoir"
To the nocturnal mist.”
― Ruqayya Shaheed Khan

“Earnest Hemingway once said " write hard and clear about what hurts"

You not waking up next to me each and every day hurts. Not hearing your voice every day hurts...and seeing your eyes light up with burning passion when you spoke of things that inspired you..no longer being a witness to your mind hurts.

Being pushed away by you hurt like hell.

Knowing I was powerless to stop your demons hurt. Knowing you didn't want to stop them hurts worse.

Finding out that you gave up on our story almost kills me to this day.

Knowing your being self destructive and losing your self...that hurts most of all. I knew your smile, danced with your laugh, marveled at your brilliance, came alive with your dreams and danced in your rains. I was lost in all of those things. I'm still lost in the things that hurt so much.”
― Christian Lea

“are you a Fool for love?
aren't we all Fools for something?
don't you wish we could be Kings and Queens
be the Jack of All, but the Joker to None
reign over foreign territories
of diamonds, clubs, and spades
but forever elusive; the heart
a territory no one can claim”
― Jaay Vanmeer, ...dark thoughts // they come in the light of day...

“All we want...
Is what we cast out.”
― Jaay Vanmeer, ...dark thoughts // they come in the light of day...

“Launching REM state... I N I T I A T E
I ask myself: Which me am I now?
But before I can figure out
Oh -- we're rolling. Lights, Camera, Action!”
― Jaay Vanmeer, ...dark thoughts // they come in the light of day...

“Sonnet of Poetry

Poet is no servant of the dictionary,
Dictionary is servant to the poet.
Poet is no servant of language,
Language is servant to the poet.
It's poetry that makes the language,
Language makes no poetry, my friend.
Poet exists not to serve a linguist's whim,
But to breathe life into human language.
I've said repeatedly, language has limitations,
Only with poetry we can surpass some of 'em.
Sticklers for grammar make lousy poets,
If feeling doesn't surpass grammar, poetry it ain't.
Poetry is the most potent of all literary forms.
If prose is candle light, poetry is dawn.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Honor He Wrote: 100 Sonnets For Humans Not Vegetables

“You are what you believe you are. Your thoughts become reality. "I can" and "I will" should always be your mentality.”
― Beverly Sade, Through Her Eyes Behind Her Smile

“The thrum of oviparous children of twilight pang like a jettisoned shadowy hand tattooed with god's eye in an anteroom”
― Harry Edgar Palacio, Sutras of Tiny Jazz

“Crying heart verses in somber embrace, I cried into the night for so many.”
― Katri Maree, Coagulated Memories: A Coming of Age Collection of Poetry, Prose and Illustrations

“That evening, when we parted with just a bye, as if we had thousands of encounters left - if only I knew that would be our last, I would have smiled a little more. I would have made you laugh a little more. I would have held onto your bag a little more tightly. I would have watched less of sceneries and more of you. I would have bravely held your hands. I would have told you how grateful I was, to be loved this way – innocent and warm. I would have told you how much I cherish all our little moments. Even though all we ever exchanged were toffees, how happy I was to receive them. I would have told you to live a happy life. I would have told you to miss me, just once in a while. Because I will be doing that, all the time. You would have smiled a little more then, my last image of you would have been a happier one.”
― Athira Krishnakumar