#poet

I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning... ↗

— Mahmoud Darwish

#poetry-quotes #love

And so I told him how living in Japan would give him a leisure no mere tourist has, to know the rhythms of the place, a land of tiny poems. ↗

— Donna George Storey

#japan #poetry #tourism #travel #japan

Open the fridge and put My heart on a plate. I'm just as you left me, and I taste even better leftover. ↗

— Cecily von Ziegesar

#dan-humphrey #don-t-you-forget-about-me #gossip-girl #poem #poetry

I am waiting for the war to be fought which will make the world safe for anarchy ↗

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti

#poetry #anarchy

Variación / Variations El remanso de aire bajo la rama del eco. El remanso del agua bajo fronda de luceros. El remanso de tu boca bajo espesura de besos. * The still waters of the air under the bough of the echo. The still waters of the water under a frond of stars. The still waters of your mouth under a thicket of kisses. Translated from the Spanish by Lysander Kemp ↗

— Federico García Lorca

#mouth #poem #poetry #spanish

Eché mi esperanza al mar: y aún fue en el mar, mi esperanza verde-mar... ↗

— Dulce María Loynaz

#poesia #poetry #spanish #spanish

Strategy for a Marathon I will start when the gun goes off. I will run for five miles. Feeling good, I will run to the tenth mile. At the tenth I will say, Only three more to the halfway." At the halfway mark, 13.1 miles, I will know fifteen is in reach. At fifteen miles I will say, You've run twenty before, keep going." At twenty I will say, Run home. ↗

— Marnie Mueller

#strategy

No one thought up being. He who thinks he has, step forward. ↗

— Jim Morrison

#fearless

Poetry is also the physical self of the poet, and it is impossible to separate the poet from his poetry. ↗

— Salvatore Quasimodo

#his #impossible #physical #poet #poetry

My name used to be in the papers daily As having dined somewhere, Or traveled somewhere, Or rented a house in Paris, Where I entertained the nobility. I was forever eating or traveling, Or taking the cure at Baden-Baden. Now I am here to do honor To Spoon River, here beside the family whence I sprang. No one cares now where I dined, Or lived, or whom I entertained, Or how often I took the cure at Baden-Baden! ↗

— Edgar Lee Masters

#family