#poe

Men had always been the reciters of poetry in the desert. ↗

— Michael Ondaatje

#poetry #men

I played God today And it was fun! I made animals that men had never seen So they would stop and scratch their heads Instead of scowling. I made words that men had never heard So they would stop and stare at me Instead of running. And I made love that laughed So men would giggle like children Instead of sighing. Tomorrow, perhaps, I won't be God And you will know it Because you won't see any three-headed cats Or bushes with bells on... I wish I could always play God So that lonely men could laugh! ↗

— James Kavanaugh

#love

I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones. ↗

— T.S. Eliot

#men

...you can be talented as a wolf is breathtakingly fierce...silver and gray, like smoke in the trees - but what do you do with terrible beauty?... ↗

— John Geddes

#love #nature #poetry-quotes #beauty

Chanson d’automne Les sanglots longs Des violons De l’automne Blessent mon coeur D’une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l’heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure ; Et je m’en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m’emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte. ↗

— Paul Verlaine

#men

Real haiku is the soul of poetry. Anything that is not actually present in one's heart is not haiku. The moon glows, flowers bloom, insects cry, water flows. There is no place we cannot find flowers or think of the moon. This is the essence of haiku. Go beyond the restrictions of your era, forget about purpose or meaning, separate yourself from historical limitations—there you will find the essence of true art, religion, and science. ↗

— Santoka Taneda

#creating #haiku #japanese #poetry #zen

L'aube exalteé ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes, et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir! (And dawn, exalted like a host of doves - and then I've seen what men believe they've seen!) ↗

— Arthur Rimbaud

#men

I am talking about the responsibility of the poet, who is irresponsible by definition, an anarchist enamored of a solar order and never of the new order or whatever slogan makes five or six hundred million men march in step in a parody of order. ↗

— Julio Cortázar

#poets #men

A poet is a blind optimist. The world is against him for many reasons. But the poet persists. He believes that he is on the right track, no matter what any of his fellow men say. In his eternal search for truth, the poet is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society built on time. ↗

— Jack Kerouac

#beat #early-stories-and-other-writings #jack-kerouac #optimist #prose-poetry

Evening by evening Among the Brookside rushes, Laura bow'd her head to hear, Lizzie veil'd her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and fingertips. "lie close," Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: "We must not look at Goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: who knows upon the soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?" "Come buy," call the Goblins Hobbling down the glen ↗

— Christina Rossetti

#goblin-market #poems #men