#poetry

Almost every truly creative being alienated & expatriated in his own country ↗

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti

#dreams

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? ↗

— Langston Hughes

#poetry #dreams

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#poetry #reality #dreams

Carry out your literary dream, no matter how unlikely it may seem... ↗

— Terry A O'Neal

#poetry #quote #terry #dreams

In an Artist’s Studio One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness. A queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel—every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less. He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream. ↗

— Christina Rossetti

#dreams

Lies belong in poems ↗

— Kenneth Koch

#dreams

if you’re going to use the word ‘dream’ in a poem, you had better be langston hughes. ↗

— Jewelle Gomez

#poetry #dreams

A snake bites your ankle. Recoiling, you scream. Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream... ...where a man bites your ankle. Expecting no guile, "Again," softly falls from your lips with a smile. Yet, the man and the snake are the same. Your perception is only to blame. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#judgement #perception #poetry #richelle #richelle-goodrich

Healthy Choices Hold still Keep quiet. Get a degree to learn how to talk saying nothing. Catch a good man by being demure. the one your mother chooses. Let him climb you whenever his urge, amidst headaches and menstrual aches and screaming infants. And when he bids quick, turn over. Hold still. Make your tongue a slab of cement a white stone etched with your name. Kill your stories with knives and knitting needles and Clorox bleach. Hide in your mysteriousness by saying nothing. Starch your thoughts with ironed shirts. Tie your anger with a knot in your throat and when he comes without concern swallow it. Hold still. Keep desire hopeless as ice and sleepless nights and painful as pinched eyelid. Keep your fingers from the razor, keep your longing to sever his condescension safely in your douchbag. Turn the blade against yourself. Don't twitch as your slashed wrists stain your bathroom tiles. Disinfect with Pine Sol. Hold still. Keep quiet. Keep tight your lips, keep dead your dreams, keep cold your heart. Keep quiet. And he will shout praises to your perfection. ↗

— Janice Mirikitani

#women #anger

The stars are but tears shed by a miriad of unrequited dreams; each sparks with fire and guides its light homeward when a dream is revealed ↗

— Basith

#dreams