#poe

Girl in the wind blowing wide open the closed doors of my life - which way are we going? Standing against the lurid sky on the stark brink of ocean arms outstretched as if your love and hunger would embrace the world and I in my inner room playing my poetic premutations can only look and ask the unanswerable. Brave and cunning I speak to my typewriter knowing it will not answer back knowing it will not reply what I ask and do not want to hear as you with the vast sunset merge a multitude of dreams away uniquely alone and outside of me in the purity and rarity of this moment immeasurably beyond my love and my rage and with the dying call of gulls the echo resounds: Girl in the wind throwing aside the tight shutters of my life - which way are we going? ↗

— Christy Brown

#dreams

There is no scientific discoverer, no poet, no painter, no musician, who will not tell you that he found ready made his discovery or poem or picture - that it came to him from outside, and that he did not consciously create it from within. ↗

— William Kingdon Clifford

#consciously #create #did #discoverer #discovery

But you have to understand that I consider myself a very modest artist, or whatever, and not of importance really at all - it is quite embarrassing to me to be asked my opinion about things. I am only a wee Scottish poet on the outside of everything. ↗

— Ian Hamilton Finlay

#am #artist #asked #consider #embarrassing

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses. ↗

— Jean Cocteau

#bother #does #gardener #his #nor

Take a commonplace, clean it and polish it, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet's job. The rest is literature. ↗

— Jean Cocteau

#commonplace #did #done #effect #freshness

I never really liked poetry readings; I liked to read poetry by myself, but I liked singing, chanting my lyrics to this jazz group. ↗

— Leonard Cohen

#group #i #jazz #liked #lyrics

To Bury A Star" "I pulled a star from the darkest corner of night and hid it within my bosom. When the Earth beneath my feet gave way, moist and fertile, I knelt to the ground and cupped the radiant treasure in my hands. In a shallow hole I buried it—layer upon layer of black dirt tossed upon the spot until it no longer glowed. This I did for you, my love. Now, come with me and see what has been born from a single wishing star. Hand in hand we walk to the same spot of dirt to find the black and fertile soil sucked dry, the color blanched as pale as desert sands. Look how a ring of white fire jumps and dances around the buried starling! We catch our breath, beholding what has sprouted from this magical seed. The illusion of twisted branches glowing in the darkness like tails of comets soaring skyward—tails of baby stars that shoot like fireworks from that ring of fire. Up, up, up they fly to light a neglected corner of the night. From a single wishing star a thousand more have been born. They are for you, my love—a thousand dreams destined to come true. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#love #poetry #richelle #richelle-goodrich #star

As for political poetry, as it's usually defined, it seems there's very little good political poetry. ↗

— Kenneth Koch

#good #little #poetry #political #seems

A poet ought not to pick nature's pocket. Let him borrow, and so borrow as to repay by the very act of borrowing. Examine nature accurately, but write from recollection, and trust more to the imagination than the memory. ↗

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

#act #borrow #borrowing #examine #him

Reviewers are usually people who would have been, poets, historians, biographer, if they could. They have tried their talents at one thing or another and have failed; therefore they turn critic. ↗

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

#been #biographer #could #critic #failed