#poem

Secure in his flight Rider on the constant winds Hawk flies through his days Looks then to the east Prompted by fate’s gentle breeze Changes his intent Fate’s gentle breezes Move the mighty heart to change Destiny remade ↗

— Steve Robison

#inspirational #poem #poetry #change

However, if a poem can be reduced to a prose sentence, there can't be much to it. ↗

— James Schuyler

#however #much #poem #prose #reduced

In the past I have declined to comment on my own work: because, it seems to me, a poem is what it is; because a poem is itself a definition, and to try to redefine it is to be apt to falsify it; and because the author is the person least able to consider his work objectively. ↗

— James Schuyler

#apt #author #because #comment #consider

I love not man the less, but nature more ↗

— George Gordon Byron

#love

Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket. ↗

— Charles Simic

#blanket #enough #into #needle #poem

For me, a poem is an opportunity to kind of interrogate myself a little bit. ↗

— Tracy K. Smith

#kind #little #little bit #me #myself

I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was. ↗

— Alice Hoffman

#poem #beauty

For what is a poem but a hazardous attempt at self-understanding: it is the deepest part of autobiography. ↗

— Robert Penn Warren

#autobiography #deepest #hazardous #part #poem

I don't expect you'll hear me writing any poems to the greater glory of Ronald and Nancy Reagan. ↗

— Robert Penn Warren

#expect #glory #greater #hear #i

Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone, And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood, Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one ↗

— Edith Sitwell

#poems #love