#poetry

If words allow themselves to be handled, it is with the help of infinite carefulness. One has to welcome them, listen to the, before asking any service of them. Words are living things closely involved with human life. ↗

— Paul Nouge

#poetry #words #life

The poem is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. ↗

— Robert Penn Warren

#life

Two such as you with such a master speed Cannot be parted nor be swept away From one another once you are agreed That life is only life forevermore Together wing to wing and oar to oar ↗

— Robert Frost

#poetry #robert-frost #life

I learned a world from each / one whom I loved ↗

— Allen Ginsberg

#life-lessons #poetry #life

You touched my flawed life so gently with love burning upward in dark steady flame burning me, burning me into healing. ↗

— Christy Brown

#life

I'll be writing as long as I can hold a pen in my curled, crimped arthritic hands and then I'll dictate it, if it comes to that. They'll have to pry my pen out of my cold, dead fingers - and even then, I'll fight 'em for it. Guaranteed. ↗

— Wanda Lea Brayton

#love #poetry #writing #life

Songs of myself I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,.. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#poet #soul #life

. . .because we had survived sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, we discovered bones that rose from the dark earth and sang as white birds in the trees Because the story of our life becomes our life Because each of us tells the same story but tells it differently and none of us tells it the same way twice . . (from, Why We Tell Stories) ↗

— Lisel Mueller

#poetry #why-we-tell-stories #life

i am a little church(no great cathedral) far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities --i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest, i am not sorry when sun and rain make april my life is the life of the reaper and the sower; my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving (finding and losing and laughing and crying)children whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness around me surges a miracle of unceasing birth and glory and death and resurrection: over my sleeping self float flaming symbols of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains i am a little church(far from the frantic world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature --i do not worry if longer nights grow longest; i am not sorry when silence becomes singing winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to merciful Him Whose only now is forever: standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence (welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness) ↗

— E.E. Cummings

#death

Though we tremble before uncertain futures may we meet illness, death and adversity with strength may we dance in the face of our fears. ↗

— Gloria E. Anzaldúa

#inspirational #mestiza #poetry #death