Quotes About Poems

Fragments of poems are Leaking out through the Blood… If you listen closely, You can hear the sounds of windows closing, locking, being sealed. I believe in you and yours Do you Me and mine?

we sweat through our doldrums somehow, sheer insane boredom; society can no longer focus and my poems keep drying up and blowing away.

Sure, I've written about women and sex and madhouses, just like Bukowski did, but I've also written about many other topics, often utilizing other stylistic methods in doing so. Bukowski would probably have been annoyed with the rambling tone of my poems in Cells.

we sweat through our doldrums somehow, sheer insane boredom. society can no longer focus – my poems keep drying up and blowing away.

i might go see London After Midnight at Coven 13 tonight i might sit at home and write lousy poems i might play with my cat and then go trick people to death it's a freeze frame happenstance reality of sickness

I can't think of a case where poems changed the world, but what they do is they change people's understanding of what's going on in the world.

My readers at that time were still men of letters; but there had to be other people waiting to read my poems.

Twenty-two poems covered the period from Lev's first serious efforts to his arrest in 1948 at the age of nineteen. Very Mandelstamian, I adjudged: well-made, and studiously conversational, and coming close, here and there, to the images that really hurt and connect.

I said it before and I'll say it again: books are dead, plays are dead, poems are dead: there's only movies. Music is still okay, because music is sound track. Ten, fifteen years ago, every arts student wanted to be a novelist or a playwright. I'd be amazed if you could find a single one now with such a dead-end ambition. They all want to make movies. Not write movies. You don't write movies. You make movies.

no matter what any poet did, the poems would constitute screens on which readers could project their own desperate belief in the possibility of poetic experience, whatever that might be, or afford them the opportunity to mourn its impossibility.

Time sped. And the poet through sorrow Became like his suffering kind. Again he toiled over his poems To lighten the grief of his mind.

I studied poetry in college and for a year in an MFA program. As time went on, my poems got more and more complicated. What I was really trying to do was tell stories.

More or Less Love Poems #11: No babe We'd never Swing together but the syncopation would be something wild

In my godless household, poems were the closest we came to sacred speech -- the only prayers said.

Far off in the red mangroves an alligator has heaved himself onto a hummock of grass and lies there, studying his poems.

Athletes take care of their bodies. Writers must similarly take care of the sensibility that houses the possibility of the poems. There is nourishment in books, other art, history, philosophies--in holiness and mirth.

I would write praise poems that might serve as comforts, reminders, or even cautions if needed, to wayward minds and unawakened hearts.

The labor of writing poems, of working with thought and emotion in the encasement (or is it the wings?) of language, is strange to nature, for we are first of all creatures of motion.

I forgive them their unhappiness, I forgive them for walking out of the world. But I don't forgive them for turning their faces away, for taking off their veils and dancing for death — for hurtling toward oblivion on the sharp blades of their exquisite poems, saying: this is the way.

For poems are not words after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Mary Oliver (1935-2019). This quote from 'A Poetry Handbook' (1994)

Wherever I've lived my room and soon the entire house is filled with books; poems, stories, histories, prayers of all kinds stand up gracefully or are heaped on shelves, on the floor, on the bed. Strangers old and new offering their words bountifully and thoughtfully, lifting my heart. But, wait! I've made a mistake! how could these makers of so many books that have given so much to my life—how could they possibly be strangers?

Whatever else my life is with its poems and its music and its glass cities, it is also this dazzling darkness coming down the mountain

This is Sammy's story. But I also think there are one or two poems in it somewhere. Maybe it's what life was like in this dear town years ago, and how a lot of us miss it. Or maybe it's about the wonderful things that may happen if you break the ropes that are holding you.

William Shakespeare lived from 1564 to 1616. He wrote thirty-seven plays and many sonnets and other poems. Many people think he was the greatest writer who ever lived.