Prose Poetry Quotes

Quotes tagged as "prose-poetry" Showing 1-30 of 85
“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

Charlotte Eriksson
“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

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

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

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

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

Richard Brautigan
“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

Adam Zagajewski
“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

Philippe Delerm
“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

Charles Bukowski
“you


you’re a beast, she said
your big white belly
and those hairy feet.
you never cut your nails
and you have fat hands
paws like a cat
your bright red nose
and the biggest balls
I’ve ever seen.
you shoot sperm like a
whale shoots water out of the
hole in its back.

beast beast beast,
she kissed me,
what do you want for
breakfast?”
Charles Bukowski, Love Is a Dog from Hell

“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

Sijdah Hussain
“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

Soman Gouda
“a broken mirror
tries hard to fix itself
everytime she smiles at it”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Carolyn Riker
“I’m not
of this
world;
it pains me
deeply.
So, each night
just to survive,
I snip a piece of
mountain,
sea or sky
and fly.”
Carolyn Riker, Blue Clouds: A Collection of Soul’s Creative Intelligence

“From the nothing you gave me, I created from it.

This detachment is my way of life.”
Kain O'Connor

Charlotte Eriksson
“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

Sylvia Plath
“I remembered a worrisome course in the Victorian novel where woman after woman died, palely and nobly, in torrents of blood, after a difficult childbirth.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Soman Gouda
“many took the leap
with the frog, only to become Basho's
ignoring the frog and the pond”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Soman Gouda
“they make love
in the sculptures
on a temple wall”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Soman Gouda
“i don't know who proposed first
all that i remember is her smile and his shyness
says love”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Soman Gouda
“tamarind seedling
on a cowdung cake -
green phoenix”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Soman Gouda
“bodhi tree dreams
of enjoying the picnic
with buddha's family”
Soman Gouda, Seedlings of Light: A Haiku Collection

Eugène Sue
“Et puis le beau rayon s'arrêtait à la surface du fleuve, s'y réfléchissait, jouait un instant, sur des nénufars blancs, des campanules bleues, asiles parfumés et flottants d'une myriade d'insectes dont les corselets diaprés chatoyaient comme autant de rubis et d'émeraudes. Enfin il s'éteignait comme à regret, le beau rayon, en laissant sur la surface du fleuve une éblouissante auréole qui contrastait avec les ombres vertes et transparentes, projetées par l'épaisseur des arbres de la rive.”
Eugène Sue, Atar-Gull

“bet ya think i’m forbidden huh
but i’m not riba
i just wanna interest ya”
Xayaat Muhummed, The Breast Mountains Of All Time Are In Hargeisa

“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

H. Nix
“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.

Lang Leav
“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

Lang Leav
“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

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