#poetry

Nothing is made, nothing disappears. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#changes #disappear #disappearance #literature #literature-quotes

Whatever's born between us is ineffable, beyond adjective and allegory. I can create to rhythm within the measures of our narration. All poetry falls to disingenuous; every cadence is disjointed. These machines will never do us justice. . . . ↗

— Jake Wilson

#justice #love #metafiction #poetry #love

That when we live no more, We may live ever ↗

— Anne Bradstreet

#religious #love

I'd love to give you something but what would help? ↗

— Ikkyu

#poetry #zen #love

When you can love yourself, then your heart is open to give and receive love. ↗

— Daveda Gruber

#poetrywithpassion-com #love

Oh,' said a very white body as it threw a wrist watch to the ground which broke without attracting anyone's attention, 'Oh, how can anyone not love poetry, natural machines, large white houses, the brilliance of steel, crimes and wild passions? ↗

— Robert Desnos

#passion #poetry #surrealism #love

Did the harebell loose her girdle To the lover bee, Would the bee the harebell hallow Much as formerly? ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#poetry-quotes-love #possession #love

...you are a river rock and belong in a stream - not here in this upper room sinking in my bed... ↗

— John Geddes

#love #poetry #river-rock #stream #upper-room

I made these sonnets out of wood; I gave them the sound of that opaque pure substance, and that is how they should reach your ears. Walking in forests or on beaches, along hidden lakes, in latitudes sprinkled with ashes, you and I have picked up pieces of pure bark, pieces of wood subject to the comings and goings of water and the weather. Out of such softened relics, then, with hatchet and machete and pocketknife, I built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each I built little houses, so that your eyes, which I adore and sing to, might live in them. Now that I have declared the foundations of my love, I surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#life

...does it seem strange in the loneliness of the present time, that I run to you?... ↗

— John Geddes

#poetry #run-to-you #love