#poet

We of the fatherless tribe love men differently. ↗

— Gina Loring

#love

In the front yard lives the oldest thing around, a white oak That I used to say is my love for the world, That I now would just call love as it is. Belonging to nobody, no metaphor, the very. ↗

— Coleman Barks

#nature #poetry #spirituality #love

It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above, The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. The nettle nods, the wind blows over, The man, he does not move, The lover of the grave, the lover That hanged himself for love. ↗

— A.E. Housman

#love

I don't understand the whole thrilling verse, but I love the way poetry turns ordinary words into winged things that rise up and soar! ↗

— Margarita Engle

#love

My whole being is a dark chant that will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossomings in this chant I sighed you, oh in this chant, I grafted you to the tree, to the water, to the fire. ↗

— فروغ فرخزاد

#forugh-farrokhzad #infatuation #iran #love #passion

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going whereI have to go.....Great Nature has another thing to do To you and me, so take the lively air, And, lovely, learn by going where to go. ↗

— Theodore Roethke

#theodore-roethke #love

Remember Rio de Janeiro, the size of God’s hand, sardines fleshed-open at the market, the way I entered you and moved inside? Looking down, is this the kind of density you can live with? What is the slightness of our bodies to stay, to be good at loving a second time? My mouth pretends it is an oar when it lives inside your mouth, but you are far away. ↗

— Stacie Cassarino

#stacie-cassarino #love

But O the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels, he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe. ↗

— Edmund Spenser

#god-s-grace #god-s-love #poetry #love

How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn’t touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn’t resonate when your depths resound. Yet everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin’s bow, which draws one voice out of two separate strings. Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand? Oh sweetest song. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#poetry #soul #love

Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side— And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea. (from poem 'The Forsaken Merman') ↗

— Matthew Arnold

#mermaids #poem #poetry #victorian-era #love