#poetry

Journalism wishes to tell what it is that has happened everywhere as though the same things had happened for every man. Poetry wishes to say what it is like for any man to be himself in the presence of a particular occurrence as though only he were alone there. ↗

— Archibald MacLeish

#any #every #every man #everywhere #had

Reading a piece of poetry with no beat in front of 20 people is way more challenging than rocking for 10,000 people. ↗

— Macklemore

#challenging #front #more #people #piece

You don't make a poem with ideas, but with words. ↗

— Stephane Mallarme

#ideas #make #poem #words #you

This is my life and lovestory listen losely and hold on tight this a roller coaster hell of a ride ↗

— patrick cruz

#poetry #self-expression #art

I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. ↗

— J. Carter Brown

#found #i #kindred #like #music

So I suppose poetry, language, the shaping of it, was and remains for me an effort to make sense out of essentially senseless situations. ↗

— Thomas Lynch

#essentially #i #language #make #me

Cut quarrels out of literature, and you will have very little history or drama or fiction or epic poetry left. ↗

— Robert Staughton Lynd

#drama #epic #epic poetry #fiction #history

sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love (all the merry little birds are flying in the floating in the very spirits singing in are winging in the blossoming) lovers go and lovers come awandering awondering but any two are perfectly alone there's nobody else alive (such a sky and such a sun i never knew and neither did you and everybody never breathed quite so many kinds of yes) not a tree can count his leaves each herself by opening but shining who by thousands mean only one amazing thing (secretly adoring shyly tiny winging darting floating merry in the blossoming always joyful selves are singing) sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love ↗

— E.E. Cummings

#spring #love

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrence risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. and: No one can stop the river of your hands, your eyes and their sleepiness, my dearest. You are the trembling of time, which passes between the vertical light and the darkening sky. and: From the stormy archipelagoes I brought my windy accordian, waves of crazy rain, the habitual slowness of natural things: they made up my wild heart. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#poetry #love

Unless you are here: this garden refuses to exist. Pink dragonflies fall from the air and become scorpions scratching blood out of rocks. The rainbows that dangle upon this mist: shatter. Like the smile of a child separated from his mother’s milk for the very first time. --from poem Blood and Blossoms ↗

— Aberjhani

#gardens #mysticism #paranormal-poetry #poetry #romaniticism