Quotes About Poetry

Tears fall in my heart like the rain on the town.

Maybe because I can't even put together an IKEA desk, I've never been tempted to think of my own poems as built objects - but I do sometimes imagine them as mathematical constructs.

I want to write a play. I'd like to do an original musical. I should probably put together a poetry collection.

Translation makes me look at how a poem is put together in a different way, without the personal investment of the poem I'm writing myself, but equally closely technically.

Poetry and preaching do not go well together; when the preacher mounts the pulpit the poet usually goes away.

The way that words fit together is always interesting to me. I love words.

I wanted to tell him so. Find the right words, string them together in the ideal way, knowing that here they would have the best chance of sounding perfect.

There is an Arabic writer who wrote philosophy and poetry and who brought all religions and all the world together.

Gluttony and sloth, as worldly goals, were quietly usurped by avarice and lust, which, together with poetry (yes, poetry), consumed all my free time.

I've always written poetry and lyrics. My first husband, who was a musician, we wrote a bunch of songs together.

For me, poetry is the music of being human. And also a time machine by which we can travel to who we are and to who we will become.

It had been agreed between them that lighted candles at wayside inns, in strange countries amid mountain scenery, gave the evening meal a peculiar poetry.

Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle, All through the meadows the horses and cattle

One will never again look at a birch tree, after the Robert Frost poem, in exactly the same way.

I cannot understand why my arm is not a lilac tree.

Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their families, their histories too. Talk to them, listen to them. They are alive poems.

somewhere within sight of the tree of poetry that is eternity wearing the green leaves of time .

The rain is falling all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea. - Rain

I was raised by the song Of the murmuring grove And loving I learned Among Flowers.

Rest at pale evening... A tall slim tree... Night coming tenderly Black like me

Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.

All a green willow, willow, All a green willow is my garland.