#rhyme

You ask me why I don't speak Not a word at will But write so much worth well over a mill' Well I value words like I value kisses A sober one, a closer one penetrates the heart Darling it's how it mends it ↗

— Criss Jami

#beauty #hearts #kissing #love #lyrics

In the boundaryless forests, there’re dancers of nude. Yet in the confines of pasture, there’s promise of food. On which is your side? Ô, but tarry and bide, ere you decide, in both do confide. ↗

— Roman Payne

#growing-up #life #poems #poetry #rhymes

I was always talking about what I could and would do, and you would always make rhymes about the competion even though we werent thinking about competition. ↗

— Kool Moe Dee

#always #competition #could #even #i

Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience, the poet, like an acrobat, climbs on rhyme to a high wire of his own making. ↗

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti

#absurdity #audience #climbs #constantly #death

A rhyme doesn't make a song. ↗

— Dorothy Fields

#rhyme #song

I don't write down my experiences, but I have a very decent memory. I have tons of books in which I write down phrases as they occur to me. That's how I write songs. I'll need a line and I'll go through the books and find it, the right rhyme and everything. ↗

— Evan Dando

#decent #down #everything #experiences #find

I'm more into beats than rhymes. I'm a huge fan of anything touched by the Neptunes. Dancing is kind of my thing. I go out with my friends as often as I can on the weekends, and I'm always drawn to girls with rhythm. ↗

— David Gallagher

#anything #beats #dancing #drawn #fan

If you play jazz, then you play with your fingers. If you're playing rock, you use a pick. There's really no rhyme or reason to that other than that's just the way it has been. ↗

— Kevin Eubanks

#fingers #jazz #just #other #pick

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon. ↗

— Edward Lear

#happiness #nursery-rhymes #happy

Did I live the spring I’d sought? It’s true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren’t lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o’er crests of trees, to none belong; o’er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered. ↗

— Roman Payne

#living #payne #poesie #poetry #rhymes