#poe

Though I love your company, your instructions are wasted her. I will always choose the woman who caries me off, I will always sit with the family of loneliness. ↗

— Leonard Cohen

#family

Sure, we thought the acres That we tilled were sacred, But how could we have known That wheat can haunt like ghosts ↗

— Sherman Alexie

#family-farm #poem #poetry #sherman-alexie #short-poems

By adherence to a special set of rules, the child of the shabby-genteel can sometimes leap across the time which has passed by his family and function in the real world without doing violence to the hopes his mother held out for him. But those who cannot live within this pattern are the freaks and poets, and they travel a different road to peace. ↗

— Murray Kempton

#class #freaks #middle-class #poets #family

I have been used to consider poetry as "the food of love" said Darcy. "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away. ↗

— Jane Austen

#banter #courtship #poetry #food

I will never hurt you. I will always help you. If you are hungry Ill give you my food. If you are frightened I am your friend. I love you now. And love does not end. ↗

— Orson Scott Card

#poem #song #tender #food

Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit. ↗

— Robert Burns

#meat #poetry #robert-burns #food

Twas the night before Thanksgiving. All the food's in the oven. And I'm in the bedroom performin' self lovin'. ↗

— Craig Ferguson

#masturbation #poem #poetry #thanksgiving #food

Any healthy man can go without food for two days--but not without poetry. ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#food

Little world, full of little people shouting for recognition, screaming for love, Rolling world, teeming with millions, carousel of the hungry, Is there food enough? Wheat and corn will not do. The fat are the hungriest of all, the skinny the most silent. ↗

— James Kavanaugh

#food

The future says: Dear mortals; I know you are busy with your colourful lives; I have no wish to waste the little time that remains On arguments and heated debates; But before I can appear Please, close your eyes, sit still And listen carefully To what I am about to say; I haven't happened yet, but I will. I can't pretend it's going to be Business as usual. Things are going to change. I'm going to be unrecognisable. Please, don't open your eyes, not yet. I'm not trying to frighten you. All I ask is that you think of me Not as a wish or a nightmare, but as a story You have to tell yourselves - Not with an ending In which everyone lives happily ever after, Or a B-movie apocalypse, But maybe starting with the line 'To be continued...' And see what happens next. Remember this; I am not Written in stone But in time - So please don't shrug and say What can we do? It's too late, etc, etc, etc. Dear mortals, You are such strange creatures With your greed and your kindness, And your hearts like broken toys; You carry fear with you everywhere Like a tiny god In its box of shadows. You love festivals and music And good food. You lie to yourselves Because you're afraid of the dark. But the truth is: you are in my hands And I am in yours. We are in this together, Face to face and eye to eye; We're made for each other. Now those of you who are still here; Open your eyes and tell me what you see. ↗

— Nick Drake

#climate-change #future #high-arctic #poetry #business