#poet

Wherever we go we do harm, forgiving ourselves as wheels do cement for wearing each other out. We set this house on fire, forgetting that we live within. (from "To a Meadowlark," for M.L. Smoker) ↗

— Jim Harrison

#forgiveness

Maybe they will only find one another by being somewhere they have never been and maybe none of this has a thing to do with forgiveness but home doesn't always resemble the path. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#poetry #prose-poetry #forgiveness

In this quiet place on a quiet street where no one ever finds us gently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain. --from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet Street ↗

— Aberjhani

#love #poetry #psychology #relationships #solititude

Only poetry, of all the artistic and cultural forms, has a certain freedom of expression in Afghanistan...poetry offers great possibilities for expression; rhetorical figures, and the use of symbols and metaphors do not make the censors' task easy. ↗

— Latif Pedram

#poets #freedom

Otter! Otter! Otter! Don’t lead cows to slaughter! I love you, and I know I should’ve told you soon-a But you didn’t buy the dolphin-safe tuna! ↗

— T.J. Klune

#poetry #funny

I want to broadcast your poem to me over the radio so everyone will know we love each other just as deeply as the people in pop songs. ↗

— Bauvard

#humor #poetry #pop-songs #radio #funny

Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse. ↗

— Robert W. Service

#hand #means #mother #poetry #public

For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on top of St. Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#poet #virginia-woolf #home

The hands that felled trees also cut umbilical cords; the hands that wrung the necks of chickens and butchered hogs also nudged African violets into bloom; the arms that loaded sheaves, bales, and sacks rocked babies into sleep. They patted biscuits into flaky ovals of innocence- and shrouded the dead. They plowed all day and came home to nestle like plums under the limbs of their men. The legs that straddled a mule's back were the same ones that straddled their men's hips. And the difference was all the difference there was. ↗

— Toni Morrison The Bluest Eye

#home

one day, when tenderness has become the single rule of the morning,/ I will wake in your arms. perhaps your skin will be overly gorgeous./ and the light will include the impossible understanding of love. ↗

— José Luís Peixoto

#love #passion #poetry #inspirational