#poem

I want to write a poem about "Truth," "Honor," "Dignity," and whether the toilet paper should roll over or under when you pull on it. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#honor #life #poem #toilet-paper #truth

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#poem #poet #yeats #age

Time moved for you not in quotidian beats, but in the slow rhythm the ages keep – ↗

— Aldous Huxley

#villiers-de-l-isle-adam #age

Mrs. Spock: He's in his 80's now His face is showing his age Not quite the trim figure That he had on the old show But I've grown older too, Wider, and more creaky bones And "Bones" has travelled on But, still, "Live long and prosper!" Back when I was little Was always Mrs. Spock when Ever we played "Star Trek" With my sisters, as a child ↗

— Debby Feo

#age

Anger's like a battery that leaks acid right out of me And it starts from the heart 'til it reaches my outer me ↗

— Criss Jami

#anger #battery #control #heart #inner

Not all that have fallen are vanquished. ↗

— J.R.R. Tolkien

#heaven #hope #inspirational #jrr-tolkien #life-lessons

Poetry, like jazz, is one of those dazzling diamonds of creative industry that help human beings make sense out of the comedies and tragedies that contextualize our lives. ↗

— Aberjhani

#cultural-arts #famous-poets #humanity #jazz #jazz-appreciation-month

I try to apply colors like words that shape poems, like notes that shape music. ↗

— Joan Miro

#colors #i #like #music #notes

Poetry looking in the mirror sees art, and art looking in a mirror sings poetry. ↗

— Aberjhani

#art-and-the-soul #creative-genius #creativity #famous-quotes-by-famous-poets #mirrors

I'll come when thou art saddest Laid alone in the darkened room When the mad day's mirth has vanished And the smile of joy is banished From evening's chilly gloom I'll come when the heart's [real] feeling Has entire unbiased sway And my influence o'er thee stealing Grief deepening joy congealing Shall bear thy soul away Listen 'tis just the hour The awful time for thee Dost thou not feel upon thy soul A flood of strange sensations roll Forerunners of a sterner power Heralds of me ↗

— Emily Bronte

#art