Poetry
Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday.
— Andrea Gibson · Birthday
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow upon the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go free. Command the last fruits to be full;
— Rainer Maria Rilke · Autumn Day
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror
— Derek Walcott · Love After Love
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
— Edna St. Vincent Millay · What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado, The confession I made I resume— what I said to you in the open air I resume: I know I am restless, and make others so;
— Walt Whitman · Epitaph for a Friend
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting
— Mary Oliver · The Journey
Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone.
— T.S. Eliot · The Hollow Men
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;
— e.e. cummings · [since feeling is first]
The Guitar The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant…
— Federico Garcia Lorca · La Guitarra (The Guitar)
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
— W.E. Henley · Invictus
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
— Robert Frost · Stopping by Woods on a Snowy…
there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going
— Charles Bukowski · Bluebird
You know i've either had a family a job something has always been in the way but now i've sold my house
— Charles Bukowski · Creativity
(translated by Robert Bly) I can tell by the way the trees beat, after so many dull days, on my worried window panes that a storm is coming,
— Rainer Maria Rilke · The Man Watching
my love, don't let your skin become so thick that
— John Roedel · My Love
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space; The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness.
— Walt Whitman · Song Of The Open Road
How shall I hold my soul, so that it does not touch on yours? How shall I lift it beyond you to other things? Ah, gladly would I house it with something
— Rainer Maria Rilke · Love Song
Nice chance completely cut loose from purpose he was a young man riding a bus through North Carolina on the way to somewhere
— Charles Bukowski · Nirvana
Long live the weeds that overwhelm My narrow vegetable realm\! – The bitter rock, the barren soil That force the son of man to toil;
— Theodore Roethke · Long Live The Weeds
I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
— Edna St. Vincent Millay · I shall forget you presently
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