#poetry

if everything happens that can't be done (and anything's righter than books could plan) the stupidest teacher will almost guess (with a run skip around we go yes) there's nothing as something as one one hasn't a why or because or although (and buds know better than books don't grow) one's anything old being everything new (with a what which around we come who) one's everyanything so so world is a leaf so tree is a bough (and birds sing sweeter than books tell how) so here is away and so your is a my (with a down up around again fly) forever was never till now now i love you and you love me (and books are shutter than books can be) and deep in the high that does nothing but fall (with a shout each around we go all) there's somebody calling who's we we're anything brighter than even the sun (we're everything greater than books might mean) we're everanything more than believe (with a spin leap alive we're alive) we're wonderful one times one ↗

— E.E. Cummings

#love

Balm of the summer night, balm of the ordinary, imperial joy and sorrow of human existence, the dreamed as well as the lived— what could be dearer than this, given the closeness of death? ↗

— Louise Glück

#age

There came one and knocked at the door of the Beloved. And a voice answered and said, 'Who is there?' The lover replied, 'It is I.' 'Go hence,' returned the voice; 'there is no room within for thee and me.' Then came the lover a second time and knocked and again the voice demanded, 'Who is there?' He answered, 'It is thou.' 'Enter,' said the voice, 'for I am within. ↗

— Rumi

#poetry #sufi #love

Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love; But now I think there is no unreturn'd love—the pay is certain, one way or another; (I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was not return'd; Yet out of that, I have written these songs.) ↗

— Walt Whitman

#love

Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am. ↗

— Manuel Alegre

#poetry #vulnerability #weapon #love

Free verse is like free love; it is a contradiction in terms. ↗

— G.K. Chesterton

#poetry #love

Love, our subject: we've trained it like ivy to our walls. ↗

— Adrienne Rich

#love

In Irena’s head the alcohol plays a double role: it frees her fantasy, encourages her boldness, makes her sensual, and at the same time it dims her memory. She makes love wildly, lasciviously, and at the same time the curtain of oblivion wraps her lewdness in an all-concealing darkness. As if a poet were writing his greatest poem with ink that instantly disappears. ↗

— Milan Kundera

#drinking #forget #forgetting #love #personality

I don't love her anymore So Why should I walk Nights By the tavern Where I drank Every night Thinking of her? ↗

— Orhan Veli Kanık

#turkish #love

We cannot always cry at the right time and who is to say which time is right? ↗

— Madeleine L'Engle

#madeleine-l-engle #poetry #right-time #love