#poetry

All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. ↗

— W.B.Yeats

#poetry #beauty

My soul is wrapped in harsh repose, Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes, But soft... behold! A sunlight beam Butting a swath of glimmering gleam. My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, Inspired by your beauty... Effulgent. ↗

— Joss Whedon

#beauty

I heard of a man who says words so beautifully that if he only speaks their name women give themselves to him. If I am dumb beside your body while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips it is because I hear a man climb stairs and clear his throat outside our door. ↗

— Leonard Cohen

#loss #love #poem #poetry #beauty

twice I have lived forever in a smile ↗

— E.E. Cummings

#love #poetry #smiling #love

Women Are Not Roses Women have no beginning only continual flows. Though rivers flow women are not rivers. Women are not roses they are not oceans or stars. i would like to tell her this but i think she already knows. ↗

— Ana Castillo

#poetry #roses #strength #beauty

]sing to us the one with violets in her lap ]mostly ]goes astray ↗

— Sappho

#imagery #poetry #beauty

The Beats and the Pranksters showed us different ways of opting out of society. They were both the personification of countercultural movements. The Beats were trying to change literature, and the Pranksters were trying to change the people and the country. Kesey, in fact, was his own cultural revolution, striving to keep the upbeat, freedom-loving spirit of America alive. ↗

— Sterling Lord

#beat-poetry #ken-kesey #pranksters #change

Music straightjackets a poem and prevents it from breathing on its own, whereas it liberates a lyric. Poetry doesn't need music; lyrics do. ↗

— Stephen Sondheim

#lyricists #music #poetry #music

Let me live my final days whole. Let my memory remain that I might know love's face. Life don't unwrap me to be fed to scavengers. I want to escape into light - not exist in darkness. ↗

— Susie Clevenger

#death #life #light #living #love

Hungry for beautiful words, the fox comes rooting around in the hedge, almost too close to the fire. He reads my mind with one glance and is gone. All my poetry is now trotting around the bushes inside him, maybe some day to be partly eaten or left to rot. He understands being alive for as long as he can be, and does not worry about why, or what might happen afterwards. ↗

— Jay Woodman

#death #fire #fox #hunger #hungry