#poetry

Otter! Otter! Otter! Don’t lead cows to slaughter! I love you, and I know I should’ve told you soon-a But you didn’t buy the dolphin-safe tuna! ↗

— T.J. Klune

#poetry #funny

I want to broadcast your poem to me over the radio so everyone will know we love each other just as deeply as the people in pop songs. ↗

— Bauvard

#humor #poetry #pop-songs #radio #funny

Secretly, deep down, everybody on Earth believes they can write poetry, apart from the members of the Poets' Guild, who know they can't. ↗

— K.J. Parker

#poetry #humor

But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corpse. Thy victims are they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers withered on the stem. ↗

— George Gordon Byron

#life #poetry #vampire #death

Science ask facts and religion ask faith, humans are confused between life and death. ↗

— Santosh Kalwar

#inspirational #life #poetry #religion #science

This morning could have been perfect. The cruel truth is they have never been. Give us loneliness or give us death. ↗

— Sean Gabler

#loneliness #love #poetry #sex #death

Be my lover between two wars waged in the mirror, she said. I don't want to return now to the fortress of my father's house. Take me to your vineyard. Let me meet your mother. Perfume me with basil water. Arrange me on silver dishes, comb me, imprison me in your name, let love kill me. ↗

— Mahmoud Darwish

#poetry #the-death-of-the-phoenix #death

We never said farewell, not even looked Our last upon each other, for no sign Was made when we the linked chain unhooked And broke the level line. And here we dwell together, side by side, Our places fixed for life upon the chart, Two islands that the roaring seas divide Are not more far apart. ↗

— Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

#poetry #death

When the lad for longing sighs, Mute and dull of cheer and pale, If at death's own door he lies, Maiden, you can heal his ail. Lovers' ills are all to buy: The wan look, the hollow tone, The hung head, the sunken eye, You can have them for your own. Buy them, buy them: eve and morn Lovers' ills are all to sell. Then you can lie down forlorn; But the lover will be well. ↗

— A.E. Housman

#death

O, were I loved as I desire to be! What is there in the great sphere of the earth, Or range of evil between death and birth, That I should fear, - if I were loved by thee! All the inner, all the outer world of pain, Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine; As I have heard that somewhere in the main Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine. ‘I were joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee, To wait for death - mute - careless of all ills, Apart upon a mountain, though the surge Of some new deluge from a thousand hills Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge Below us, as far on as eye could see. ↗

— Alfred Tennyson

#poetry #death