#poe

But who are we, where do we come from When all those years Nothing but idle talk is left And we are nowhere in the world?" = MEETING = ↗

— Boris Pasternak

#dr-zhivago #meeting #poems #doctor-who

The moon people do not eat by swallowing food but by smelling it. Their money is poetry - actual poems, written out on pieces of paper whose value is determined by the worth of the poem itself. ↗

— Paul Auster

#food #inspirational #money #moon-palace #peom

Wherever we go we do harm, forgiving ourselves as wheels do cement for wearing each other out. We set this house on fire, forgetting that we live within. (from "To a Meadowlark," for M.L. Smoker) ↗

— Jim Harrison

#forgiveness

Maybe they will only find one another by being somewhere they have never been and maybe none of this has a thing to do with forgiveness but home doesn't always resemble the path. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#poetry #prose-poetry #forgiveness

The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they're given wings. ↗

— Rumi

#freedom

In this quiet place on a quiet street where no one ever finds us gently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain. --from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet Street ↗

— Aberjhani

#love #poetry #psychology #relationships #solititude

Only poetry, of all the artistic and cultural forms, has a certain freedom of expression in Afghanistan...poetry offers great possibilities for expression; rhetorical figures, and the use of symbols and metaphors do not make the censors' task easy. ↗

— Latif Pedram

#poets #freedom

Solaris a blaze of freedom raging. ↗

— R.J. Askew

#freedom

The fusty showman fumbles, must Fit in a particle of dust The universe, for fear it gain Its freedom from my cube of brain. Yet dust bears seeds that grow to grace Behind my crude-striped wooden face As I, a puppet tinsel-pink Leap on my springs, learn how to think— Till like the trembling golden stalk Of some long-petalled star, I walk Through the dark heavens, and the dew Falls on my eyes and sense thrills through. ↗

— Edith Sitwell

#poem #springing-jack #freedom

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ↗

— Richard Lovelace

#poetry #freedom