#poe

My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, -- And I wish somebody'd shoot him. ↗

— Dorothy Parker

#humor #men #poetry #humor

Little Cinder Girl, they can't understand you. You rise from the as-heap in a blaze and only then do they recognize you as their one true love. While you pray beneath your mother's tree you carrve a phoenix into your palm wth aa hazel twig and coal; every night she devours more of you. You used to believe in angels. Now you believe in the makeover; if you can't get the grime off your face and your foot into a size six heel who will ever bother to notice you? The kettle and the broom sear in your grasp, snap into fragments. The turtledoves sing, "There's blood within the shoe." You deserve the palace, you think, as you signal the pigeons to attack, approve the barrel filled with red-hot nails. Its great hearth beckons, and the prince's flag rises crimson in the angry sun. He will love you for the heat you generate, for the flames you ignite around you, though he encase your tiny feet in glass to keep them from scorching the ground. ↗

— Jeannine Hall Gailey

#love

How can I find the words? Poets have taken them all and left me with nothing to say or do" "Except to teach me for the first time what they meant. ↗

— Dorothy L. Sayers

#love #poetry #love

Sing a song of suspense in which the players die. Four and twenty ravens in an Edgar Allan Pie. When the pie was broken, the ravens couldn't sing. Their throats had been sliced open by Stephen, the new King. The King was in his writing house, stifling a laugh While his queen was in a tizzy of her bloody Lovecraft. When the dead maid got the garden for her rank as royal whore, King's shovel made it double and he married nevermore. ↗

— Jessica McHugh

#humor #poe #poem #humor

Do you know what constitutes a great poet? He is a person without shame, incapable of blushing. Ordinary fools have moments when they go off by themselves and blush with shame; not so the great poet.... If you really have to quote someone, quote a geographer; that way you won't give yourself away. (p 44) ↗

— Knut Hamsun

#humor

Prickly When I'm feeling porcupine-y, I get nasty, I get whiny. Stay away or I might stick you. My sharp words are quills to prick you. ↗

— Laura Purdie Salas

#humor #poetry-quotes #porcupine #humor

Bracy sighed, "So this wasn't the heart...it was the head." "Bracy don't try to be poetic; it doesn't suit you. ↗

— Nicole Sager

#head #heart-of-arcrea #humor #poetic #talon

(1)BEING A POET is like opening a car door & exposing yourself. (2)BEING A GOOD POET is like opening the door & exposing the passenger as well. ↗

— Chocolate Waters

#poetry-quotes #humor

I am nobody, even if I say I am this or that. ↗

— Santosh Kalwar

#poem #inspirational

She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir. ↗

— Charles Dickens

#frog #humor #mind #ode #poetry