#poetry

I wrote The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God in five hours, but I had it all planned out. It isn't poetry and it does not pretend to be, but it does what it sets out to do. ↗

— J. Milton Hayes

#eye #five #god #green #had

It's necessary to start most work alone. But I'm tickled to death when I can pull somebody in or join someone, whether it's borrowing poetry or traveling with an associate. ↗

— Jenny Holzer

#associate #borrowing #death #i #i can

Living here on Earth, we breathe the rhythms of a universe that extends infinitely above us. When resonant harmonies arise between this vast outer cosmos and the inner human cosmos, poetry is born. ↗

— Daisaku Ikeda

#arise #between #born #breathe #cosmos

In a world gushing blood day and night, you never stop mopping up pain. ↗

— Aberjhani

#despair #grief #national-poetry-month #pain #peace-movement

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ↗

— Robert Frost

#poetry #age

In greatness, life and death merge. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #greatness #life #literature #literature-quotes

As she bends for a Kleenex in the dark, I am thinking of other girls: the girl I loved who fell in love with a lion--she lost her head over it--we just necked a lot; of the girl who fell in love with the tightrope, got addicted to getting high wired and nothing else was enough; all the beautiful, damaged women who have come through my life and I wonder what would have happened if I'd met them sooner, what they were like before they were so badly wounded. All this time I thought I'd been kissing, but maybe I'm always doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, kissing dead girls in hopes that the heart will start again. Where there's breath, I've heard, there's hope. ↗

— Daphne Gottlieb

#poetry #women #beauty

Reality only reveals itself when it is illuminated by a ray of poetry. ↗

— Georges Braque

#itself #only #poetry #ray #reality

The cliche is dead poetry. ↗

— Gerald Brenan

#dead #poetry

All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. ↗

— Gilbert K. Chesterton

#poetry #slang