#poet

The Dreamfence kittens wait to jump into my dreams each time I visit heaven they jump over a dreamfence red clouds are ready for loving as I love my love paints my cats our minds are somehow stuck together as we dream together of our own heaven amd after tjeu cir; i[ inside my sweater we knit our own heavens. ↗

— Akiane Kramarik

#dreams

A mathematician, like a painter or a poet, is a maker of patterns. If his patterns are more permanent than theirs, it is because they are made with ideas. ↗

— Godfrey Harold Hardy

#his #ideas #like #made #maker

Poetry is one of the few nasty childhood habits I've managed to grow out of. ↗

— Tom Holt

#few #grow #habits #i #managed

Poetry is something to make us wiser and better, by continually revealing those types of beauty and truth, which God has set in all men's souls. ↗

— James Russell Lowell

#better #continually #god #make #men

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare? — No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. ↗

— W.H. Davies

#life #poetry #time #w-h-davies #beauty

You ask how it is possible to be your own father and son. You should seek answers, although it is better to anticipate some, to be the light and dream. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#anticipation #dejan-stojanovic #dream #dreams #father

I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. ↗

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

#decay #english-literature #king #poetry #power

...It's not that the worm forgives the plough; it gives it no mind. (Pain occurs, in passing.) (lines 37-39 in the poem 'Fantasia on a Theme from IKEA') ↗

— Philip Gross

#poetry #wales #forgiveness

...the winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows... ↗

— John Geddes

#boughs #food #nature #poetry #sparrows

One night they walked while the moon rose and poured a great burden of glory over the garden until it seemed fairyland with Amory and Eleanor, dim phantasmal shapes, expressing eternal beauty and curious elfin love moods. Then they turned out of the moonlight into the trellised darkness of a vine-hung pagoda, where there were scents so plaintive as to be nearly musical. ↗

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

#poetry #romance #beauty