Illustrious poets quotations - top 30 poetry quotations by illustrious poets - poetry
-- W. H. Auden
-- William C. Bryant
-- Emily Dickinson
-- Elizabeth Drew
-- Bob Dylan
-- T S Eliot
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
-- Robert Frost
-- A. E. Housman
-- Langston Hughes
-- Erica Jong
-- June Jordan
-- James Joyce
-- John Keats
-- Archibald MacLeish
-- Marianne Moore
-- Howard Nemerov
-- Alexander Pope
-- Carl Sandburg
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley
-- Stephen Spender
-- George Steiner
-- Wallace Stevens
-- Henry David Thoreau
-- Robert Penn Warren
-- William Wordsworth
-- Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2005) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on globe earth.
Do you ever stare at the paper, coming up for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop coming up and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or false at first, don't worry.
Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author]
Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh diminutive Darfur woman For your sister Janjaweed- [in Sudan's cruel region-who was raped to death); Where rape and death run ramped;And Asha prays the Arabs don't' hear Here howling a small amount black tears? ?in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justice Of the Arabs, who run ramped?Ah, yes! In Darfur you've guessed, It is not a crime to raped and arrested; By the very one who raped, and terrorizedYou; it is the conquest?Satan's ribs!..
The Valley Of Pain
We were exiled from the Patch of Eden. Its sinless wonders nevermore to regain.
Top 20 Poetry Quotations
Explore the consequence of poetry and the motivation of poets with this exclusive assembly of reminiscent quotations..
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant come undone time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self allocation crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its chastely bluster and posing, all about arrogance and greed, to assured a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the boundary of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives after who see, that nobody you said was true, there is no belief now for those, whose come to you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no accepted wisdom of resignation, no admission of guilt to those left behind, just forward with the ego, fast ahead from those times, as if nil ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was a different day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an cause offense to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and close the eyes to your past infamy, but you ought to be tried for treason, and captive for blasphemy.
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside Especially when their so strong even if they don't abide..
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they're gone, How briefly approved the flowers! Time does not stop youth's bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My childlike past days, Still lively in my blonde age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in films and books, And links and children were all I knew And love was shown by forthcoming looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me now To find what's old and new, They peer into my-everything, And appraise my views; They tell me what I ought to like, And that I must be grieved-These are my fragile links That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the signal off; And put the phone exterior the door; In vain I speak to tell them why -I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some associates ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never counter that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like infringement free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel conventional verse, a stricter ceremonial arrangement must be used, as in "Boyhood," and can be a factor completely to the poem, so it is.
Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the skyOf glory buried in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your pastoral shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, surrounded by its stream!My image genuinely carved, rippledIn its full strength shallow watersWaiting, just coming up for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
Poetry and Admired Culture
Is poetry too convoluted for the arithmetic mean reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of be around ancestors what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few another answers, but there is an devastatingly communal grouping of responses.One of the main reasons that citizens say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.
A Death in Cajamarca, Peru (Atahualpa, in Cajamarca ((in English and Spanish))
The Epic Poem:A Death in Cajamarca, Peru [Atahualpa, in Cajamarca]Advance: This is a version, not a change of any kind, on the captivity and death of Atahualpa the Inca King of the Inca Empire, in the 16th century (Peru).Atahualpa, long-term in Cajamarca Greeted by De Soto, his free acquaintance from Spain! "Be Calm! These times will be tolerant to you.
In Poetry: Denotation of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Consequence of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the denotation of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a absolute another connotation of what I had intended; this I call a instant of dent control. If my rhyme is flat, and my inflection is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the consequence of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
now is not the time to open open that great door again not the time to be more tolerant not the time to play to winnow is not the time for justice evolution mercy choices not the time to pet the puppies yipping with pathetic voicesnow is not the time for kindness not the time for compromise not the time for loving blindness not the time to close my eyesnow for one too many people not that i have gained no good heart has sown but flesh is reaping tears to mind and done in bloodnow my inner wolf seeks equals only those whose chords can howl deadly whether lone or social defending young or on the prowltell me not that you would die upon the spines of my displeasure live for me and for you will i cherish each cell as if a treasureput me not contained by a cage but roam with me by means of snow and sun be by my side or breathe my dust for i shall bleed again for noneNiki Lasher Artist, Writer, and Webmatron http://www.kthulah.
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You give me a reason to want more and more..
Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt.
Do not be fearful to shine. This world needs what you have to give.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold World [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have wanted out friends Only to find rawness Of their passion; And the evenness Of their vision.Who out there can know My analytical verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the directionless outer space come back to his mind as he stands on his circle looking up into he eerie dark.
Satirical Poetry About Tony Blair
All Hail.Is your infirmary full of aliens, although new cleaning firms, Antenna waving buggies, And disturbing crawly germs, Then dont waste an added second, now were into ballot vote spin, Just complain, over and again, and up pops smiley smiley grin.
Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is ambassador of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by aching heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey by means of poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and economic hit can be identified by all Scots and communal men the world over.
You cannot make a big name love you. All you can do is be a big shot who can be loved.
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