#poetry

Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#love #poetry #art

Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit. ↗

— Guillaume Apollinaire

#poetry #age

If poets often commit suicide, it is not because their poems are bad but because they are good. Whoever heard of a bad poet committing suicide? The reader is only a little better off. The exhilaration of a good poem lasts twenty minutes, an hour at most. Unlike the scientist, the artist has reentry problems that are frequent and catastrophic. ↗

— Walker Percy

#poetry #reentry-problems #suicide #art

I am the eye that beholds... And I am the dreamer that paints the stars in the night sky... For I am the one they call artist, and you call Love. ↗

— Solange nicole

#artist #beauty #beauty-in-nature #dreamer-of-the-stars #love

Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach. ↗

— Alexander Pope

#an-essay-on-criticism #art #genius #music #poet

If I knew what to do I'd do more than write a song for you ↗

— Criss Jami

#confusion #love #lyrics #musician #poet

Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty. ↗

— Rumi

#poetry #rumi #rumi-poetry #beauty

Imagination doesn't always make you long for what you cannot have, but rather thrive in what you do not have. ↗

— Criss Jami

#brain #cognition #content #contentment #creativity

How they are all about, these gentlemen In chamberlains' apparel, stocked and laced, Like night around their order's star and gem And growing ever darker, stony-faced, And these, their ladies, fragile, wan, but propped High by their bodice, one hand loosely dropped, Small like its collar, on the toy King-Charles: How they surround each one of these who stopped To read and contemplate the objects d'art, Of which some pieces still are theirs, not ours. Whit exquisite decorum they allow us A life of whose dimensions we seem sure And which they cannot grasp. They were alive To bloom, that is be fair; we, to mature, That is to be of darkness and to strive. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#introspection #maturity #poetry #rainer-maria-rilke #rilke

A midst deceit I found the truth; there in the rough I found a diamond. And from the moment we met, I think of no one else Today I choose to be, to live and breathe; to dream, to weep, and to sing in free verse. And you, the object of my delight: a like-minded opposite I am myself with, a mind-fuck times six, seven, eight thousand and three. I know that you love me with every inch of your deep. ↗

— Donato DiCristino

#arts #blog #donato #free-verse #glbt