#poetry

I plan to be a sinner tonight. Could've been something else, but looked way too good in my red dress to be anything Christian. ↗

— Alysia Harris

#dress #poem #poet #poetry #religion

We aren't suggesting that mental instability or unhappiness makes one a better poet, or a poet at all; and contrary to the romantic notion of the artist suffering for his or her work, we think these writers achieved brilliance in spite of their suffering, not because of it. ↗

— Dorianne Laux

#poetry #writer #writing #romantic

There is darkness in light, there is pain in joy, and there are thorns on the rose. ↗

— Cate Tiernan

#magic #poetry #romance #tiernan #light

I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture. ↗

— George Gordon Byron

#epic-poetry #poetry #verse #torture

Robot Boy Mr. an Mrs. Smith had a wonderful life. They were a normal, happy husband and wife. One day they got news that made Mr. Smith glad. Mrs. Smith would would be a mom which would make him the dad! But something was wrong with their bundle of joy. It wasn't human at all, it was a robot boy! He wasn't warm and cuddly and he didn't have skin. Instead there was a cold, thin layer of tin. There were wires and tubes sticking out of his head. He just lay there and stared, not living or dead. The only time he seemed alive at all was with a long extension cord plugged into the wall. Mr. Smith yelled at the doctor, "What have you done to my boy? He's not flesh and blood, he's aluminum alloy!" The doctor said gently, "What I'm going to say will sound pretty wild. But you're not the father of this strange looking child. You see, there still is some question about the child's gender, but we think that its father is a microwave blender." The Smith's lives were now filled with misery and strife. Mrs. Smith hated her husband, and he hated his wife. He never forgave her unholy alliance: a sexual encounter with a kitchen appliance. And Robot Boy grew to be a young man. Though he was often mistaken for a garbage can. ↗

— Tim Burton

#poetry #life

Poems are difficult to silence. ↗

— Stephen Greenblatt

#poems #poetry #silence #suppression #censorship

It [Bach's cello suites] is like a great diamond," said [Mischa] Maisky in a thick Russian accent, "with so many different cuts that reflect light in so many different ways. ↗

— Eric Siblin

#cello #cello-suites #diamonds #music #poetry

The war to preserve the privilege of mythmaking ↗

— Marvin Bell

#line #motivation #poetry #politics #prodigal

An old liar told me here To think ahead and save my money. I should have spent it on ribbons. I should have learned the tune my dead grandfather played When the daft wife heard him resounding In the deep pine woods in early November. ↗

— Menzies McKillop

#money #poetry #scottish #life

Contrasts The windows of my poetry are wide open on the boulevards and in the shop windows Shine The precious stones of light Listen to the violins of the limousines and the xylophones of the linotypes The sketcher washes with the hand-towel of the sky All is color spots And the hats of the women passing by are comets in the conflagration of the evening Unity There's no more unity All the clocks now read midnight after being set back ten minutes There's no more time. There's no more money. In the Chamber They are spoiling the marvelous elements of raw material ("Contrasts") ↗

— Blaise Cendrars

#clocks #color #colors #light #money