#poet

In a world gushing blood day and night, you never stop mopping up pain. ↗

— Aberjhani

#despair #grief #national-poetry-month #pain #peace-movement

It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal. ↗

— E.M. Forster

#poets #romance #experience

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ↗

— Robert Frost

#poetry #age

That's a wonderful change that's taken place, and so most poetry today is published, if not directly by the person, certainly by the enterprise of the poet himself, working with his friends. ↗

— A. R. Ammons

#change #directly #enterprise #friends #himself

That is what I did with Jack, and that's why he liked to do the readings with me because he knew I was there for him, and for our ability to blend the poetry and the music. ↗

— David Amram

#because #blend #did #him #i

We forget old stories, but those stories remain the same. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#forget #forgetting #literature #literature-quotes #old-stories

You saw me before I saw you. In the airport, that day in August, you had that look in your eyes, as though you wanted something from me, as though you’d wanted it for a long time. No one had ever looked at me like that before, with that kind of intensity. It unsettled me, surprised me, I guess. Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too. ↗

— Lucy Christopher

#dark #poetic-fiction #beauty

While I've had a great distaste for what's usually called song in modern poetry or for what's usually called music, I really don't think of speech as so far from song. ↗

— David Antin

#distaste #far #great #had #i

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. ↗

— Guillaume Apollinaire

#men #monotony #nature #poets #soon

The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death. ↗

— Edmund Spenser

#death #else #genius #monuments #outlive