#poetry

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be... ↗

— William Wordsworth

#hope #poetry #strength #strength

The bridge will only take you halfway there, to those mysterious lands you long to see. Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fair, and moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share the twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there. The last few steps you have to take alone. ↗

— Shel Silverstein

#running

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#song

Love. Because of you, in gardens of blossoming Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring. I have forgotten your face, I no longer Remember your hands; how did your lips Feel on mine? Because of you, I love the white statues Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that Have neither voice nor sight. I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes. Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to My vague memory of you. I live with pain That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will Make to me an irreperable harm. Your caresses enfold me, like climbing Vines on melancholy walls. I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to Glimpse you in every window. Because of you, the heady perfumes of Summer pain me; because of you, I again Seek out the signs that precipitate desires: Shooting stars, falling objects. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#poetry #love

Pagan At home in the countryside I make the decision to leave your book --overdue at the library-- face up, 'promiscuous' out in the sun. Pagan. I laugh to see this was our religion all along. Hidden even from ourselves taught early not to touch the earth. Years of white gloves straight seamed hose. 'Being good girls.' Scripture like chains. Dogma like flies. Smiles like locks and lies. ↗

— Alice Walker

#home

If only you could have witnessed how much I have changed: sit alone in a disused theatre and feel what I have felt, see how the world has transformed me, like the metamorphosis of a caterpillar. ↗

— Kiera Woodhull

#growing-up #independence #poetry #change

Wild creatures' eyes, the colonel said, Are innocent and fathomless And when I look at them I see That they are not aware of me And oh I find and oh I bless A comfort in this emptiness They only see me when they want To pounce upon me at the hunt; But in the tame variety There couches an anxiety As if they yearned, yet knew not what They yearned for, nor they yearned for not. And so my dog would look at me And it was pitiful to see Such love and such dependency. The human heart is not at ease With animals that look like these. ↗

— Stevie Smith

#poetry #love

When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do? ↗

— Alysha Speer

#love #person #pleasure #poet #poetry

Поетът може би познава любовта откъм единствената страна, която истински я разкрива и осветява: неосъщественост. Поетът върви унесен. Може би една от формите на споделена любов е поезията. ↗

— Blaga Dimitrova

#poetry #love

I will Basquiat the canvas of your body like a Broadway Junction wall…and Gordon Parks you for those dark midnights when your scent fades. ↗

— Brandi L. Bates

#brandi-bates #gordon-parks #love #new-york #poetry