Breakup Poems Quotes

My ears filled with sounds
Of the paddling of canoes
My feet filled with the dampness
Of the early morning dew
My eyes filled with the road ahead
And all that comes into view
My minds filled with thoughts
That remind me of you ~ Eric Overby

I should've probably warned you:
once you end a relationship with an artist,
you are perpetually reminded of them.
They have now ruined classical music and jazz for you.
They have ruined books and poetry.
You should just forget about galleries and museums.
But you know what the worst part is?
It's how they witnessed and observed you,
making you feel like the only person in the room.
And you secretly loved being looked at,
being worshipped.
So now you avoid mirrors.
Because when you look at yourself,
you remember me. ~ Kamand Kojouri

The ancients have left us model heroic poems in which the heroes furnish the whole interest of the story, and we are still unable to accustom ourselves to the fact that for our epoch histories of that kind are meaningless. ~ Leo Tolstoy

I wanted him to be a poet. I wanted him to adventure out into the world and learn its ways, not losing himself in the jumble of life but seeing it in the poet's eye, and withdrawing after in the library room where he could write his poems of revelation. He would tell what he had seen. He never wrote a word in his life. But he did see. ~ Josephine Humphreys

Our bodies are garbage heaps: we collect experience, and from the decomposition of the thrown-out eggshells, spinach leaves, coffee grinds, and old steak bones out of our minds, come nitrogen, heat, and very fertile soil. Out of this fertile soil bloom our poems and stories. But this does not come all at once. It takes time. Continue to turn over and over the organic details of your life until some of them fall through the garbage of discursive thoughts to the solid ground of black soil. ~ Natalie Goldberg

[On Chopin's Preludes:]
His genius was filled with the mysterious sounds of nature, but transformed into sublime equivalents in musical thought, and not through slavish imitation of the actual external sounds. His composition of that night was surely filled with raindrops, resounding clearly on the tiles of the Charterhouse, but it had been transformed in his imagination and in his song into tears falling upon his heart from the sky ... The gift of Chopin is [the expression of] the deepest and fullest feelings and emotions that have ever existed. He made a single instrument speak a language of infinity. He could often sum up, in ten lines that a child could play, poems of a boundless exaltation, dramas of unequalled power. ~ George Sand

The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses. No creature who began as a mathematical improbability, who was selected through millions of years of unprecedented environmental hardship and change for ruggedness, ruthlessness, cunning, and adaptability, and who in the short ten thousand years of what we may call civilization has achieved such wonders as we find about us, may be regarded as a creature without promise. ~ Robert Ardrey

I didn't sit down then and start writing poems, but it was in the back of my mind. ~ Edward Hirsch

I sometimes like to tinker with poems that have failed, ones that I have sent aside. Even years afterward, I will revisit them if there is something about them that I cannot give up on. ~ John Barton

Every minute we were together, I felt like I was wandering in the dark through a strange house, groping for a light switch. And then, whenever I found one and turned it on, the bulb was dead. ~ Tom Perrotta

when I finally begin to drift
into sleep
your memory is the...first
and the moonlight
the last, to kiss my face. ~ Sanober Khan

That kind of thinking [that writers must alleviate their guilt for leading a creative life] is based on the idea that the creative life is somehow self-indulgent. Artists and writers have to understand and live the truth that what we are doing is nourishing the world. William Carlos Williams said, "It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there." You can't eat a book, right, but books have saved my life more often than sandwiches. And they've saved your life ... But we don't say, oh, Maya Angelou should have silenced herself because other people have other destinies. It's interesting, because artists are always encouraged to feel guilty about their work. Why? Why don't we ask predatory bankers how they alleviate their guilt? ~ Ariel Gore

everyone is in a hurry and things are always disappearing, and i am always left standing here--
alone, waiting for the things that stay. ~ AVA.

I started writing poems, and when I first tried prose, I wrote bad articles and essays and columns, and I didn't have a handle on it. I didn't go to a school that really taught you how to write that stuff. ~ Eileen Myles

NMK is a well know maxillofacial surgeon, from India, pens his first poetry book Miracle Mix, favourably reviewed by literary critic Prof. M Krishnan Nair. He says "Every poem has an emotional reality. This is rarely found in modern poetry."
Almost all the poems have a curious mix of humour and pathos. This anthology captures impressions made on poet's mind by various images and objects ranging from passing clouds, flowing streams to life itself. In simple yet evocative manner, the poet introduces the readers to his world of imagination through these poems. Sometimes he becomes one with the elements of nature and at others he narrates an old legend.
Dr. Nikhil Kurien writes under the pen name NMK, he is an oral and maxillofacial surgeon.

ISBN: 978-93-85020-82-7
Publisher: Zorba Books
book available on Zorba Book Store, Flipkart, amazon, Infibeam and shop clues and on Kindle. ~ NMK

you giver of light.
you lover of love.

you beautiful
beautiful
human being
you. ~ AVA.

One gleeful headline drives me to the floor, kneeling,
and all paint turns to gazette paper and all memory
collides into photographs we could not say happened,
that is us, that's what we did. When you lose you become
ancient but this time no one will rake over these bodies
gently collecting their valuables, their pots, their hearts
and intestines, their papers and what they could bury.
This civilisation will be dug up to burn all its manifestos.
No tender archaeologist will mend our furious writings
concluding, "They wanted sweat to taste sweet, that is all,
some of them played music for nothing, some of them
wrote poems to tractors, rough hands, and rough roads,
some sang for no reason at all to judge by their condition. ~ Dionne Brand

Trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence. ~ Marilyn Monroe

These poems
they are things I do
in the dark
reaching for you
whoever you are

from "These Poems ~ June Jordan

Now I think of breaking up as moving. Imagine you have your own house, full of your own boxes. A person you meet has his own house, full of his own boxes. When you have a relationship with that person, you shack up in a third house, into which you can each put any number of your boxes. You shouldn't move them all in at once, or else you will seem too eager. And don't dawdle too much either, or you will seem skittish about commitment. You kind of aim to match each other's pace, so that the power balance feels fair and equal. Happy marriage--at least ideally--would be the situation in which both parties enthusiastically choose to keep all of their boxes in their shared house. Conversely, when someone starts to doubt the relationship, he might move a box or two back into his own house, just in case. While he's weighing his options, he may transport a few more boxes to the safety of his own home. When he's ready to take back his final few boxes, he breaks up with you. If you were too infatuated to see it coming, there you are, with all of your boxes in the shared house, and none in the security of your own home. ~ Tyler Oakley

It's a
lonely
thing,
protecting
a breakable
heart ~ Atticus Poetry

You can't say you're happy either. You don't even smile for me. ~ Drake

Success"

If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it

If only desire of it
Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it

If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,

If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it,
Plan for it,
Lose all your terror of God or man for it,

If you'll simply go after that thing that you want.
With all your capacity,
Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,

If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
You'll get it! ~ Berton Braley

She conquered her demons and wore her scars like wings. ~ Atticus Poetry

What we call a poem is mostly what is not there on the page. The strength of any poem is the poems that it has managed to exclude. ~ Harold Bloom

Sometimes my helpless blood runs numb and, if only for a second, I forget how frail bones can be. ~ Taylor Patton

I think there is a general misconception that you write poems because you "have something to say." I think, actually, that you write poems because you have something echoing around in the bone-dome of your skull that you cannot say. Poetry allows us to hold many related tangential notions in very close orbit around each other at the same time. The "unsayable" thing at the center of the poem becomes visible to the poet and reader in the same way that dark matter becomes visible to the astrophysicist. You can't see it, but by measure of its effect on the visible, it can become so precise a silhouette you can almost know it. ~ Rebecca Lindenberg

a flower knows, when its butterfly will return,
and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;
but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon,
when I don't know, if you will ever come back. ~ Sanober Khan

Finally my heart is starting to self heal it is like the skin eventually the cut that was once so painful and deep is on the mend as the time passes ... Time heals everything! But at least I have experienced that pain so next time I know how to avoid such an event and take it as a life lesson ~ Abe

Death is on a scar filled with shadows and temptations. ~ D.K. Mckenzie

Re: Robert Montgomery's Poems His writing bears the same relation to poetry which a Turkey carpet bears to a picture. There are colours in the Turkey carpet out of which a picture might be made. There are words in Mr. Montgomery's writing which, when disposed in certain orders and combinations,have made, and will make again, good poetry. But, as they now stand, they seem to be put together on principle in such a manner as to give no image of anything in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. ~ Thomas B. Macaulay

The breakup of the Soviet Union is a national tragedy on an enormous scale only the elites and nationalists of the republics gained. ~ Vladimir Putin

My poems covered the bare places in my childhood like the fine, new skin under a scab that hasn't yet fallen off completely. ~ Tove Ditlevsen

I have taken a different approach. One that I hope is more easily accessible to the reader's emotional imagination, though less analytically systematic. I have summoned back into life again - through my own translations from a selection of popular Chinese novel sand poems - some of the imagined worlds in which Chinese have passed their daily reality during the last two hundred years. I have tried to convey something of what it felt like to be a Chinese, living in Chinese society, in different settings of status, age, and gender, and how this has changed over time. For reasons of method, I have looked at a small number of organically coherent emotional spaces, contained in individual works or parts of works, and considered them in detail. ... It would be pretending to more wisdom than I have to claim that the selection I have made is the result of a rigorous intellectual winnowing process from a harvest of widespread reading in late-imperial and modern Chinese literature. Honesty compels the admission that it is more the outcome of chance, serendipity, and whatever happened to catch my imagination, for reasons that I am probably in no position to do more than guess at. ... In so far as there has been a guiding principle behind my choices it has been the desire to show as much as the constraints of space allow of the contrasts among those in different social position, different periods, and different ideologies. ~ Mark Elvin

Lineation can make your break your poems. ~ Katerina Stoykova Klemer

The new story of ardour unfolding,
the tale of tantrums of the hearts.
An affair with a stranger
who still can't feel it,
while silently roaming its streets. ~ Tatjana Ostojic

The years rolled their brutal course down the hill of time. Still poor, my clothes still smelling of the horse barn, still writing those doubtful poems where too much emotion clashed with too many words. ~ Paul Engle

The love of books
is for children
who glimpse in them
a life to come, but
I have come
to that life and
feel uneasy
with the love of books.
This is my life,
time islanded
in poems of dwindled time. ~ Robert Hass

Employment in the Small Bookstore"
Twelve Poems, 1975

The dust is almost motionless
in this narrowness, this stillness,
yet how unlike a coffin
it is, sometimes letting a live one in,
sometimes out
and the air,
though paused, impends not a thing,
the silence isn't sinister,
and in fact not much goes on
at the Ariel Book Shop today,
no one weeps in the back
room full of books, old books, no one
is tearing the books to shreds, in fact
I am merely sitting here
talking to no one, no one being here,
and I am blameless,
More,
I am grateful for the job,
I am fond of the books and touch them,
I am grateful that King St. goes down
to the river, and that the rain
is lovely, the afternoon green.
If the soft falling away of the afternoon
is all there is, it is nearly
enough, just
let me hear the beautiful clear voice
of a woman in song passing
toward silence, and then
that will be all for me
at five o'clock
I will walk
down to see the untended
sailing yachts of the Potomac
bobbing hopelessly in another silence,
the small silence that gets to be a long
one when the past stops talking
to you because it is dead,
and still you listen,
hearing just the tiny
agonies of old boats
on a cloudy day, in cloudy water.
Talk to it. Men are talking to it
by Cape Charles, for th ~ Denis Johnson

And nothing holds more glory
than in dying for Love or Liberty. ~ Pietros Maneos

This world-
To what may I liken it?
To autumn fields
lit dimly in the dusk
by lightning flashes. ~ Yu Minamoto

For the various spiritual forms of the imagination have a natural affinity with certain sensuous forms of art - and to discern the qualities of each art, to intensify as well its limitations as its powers of expression, is one of the aims that culture sets before us. It is not an increased moral sense, an increased moral supervision that your literature needs. Indeed, one should never talk of a moral or an immoral poem - poems are either well written or badly written, that is all. And, indeed, any element of morals or implied reference to a standard of good or evil in art is often a sign of a certain incompleteness of vision, often a note of discord in the harmony of an imaginative creation; for all good work aims at a purely artistic effect. 'We must be careful,' said Goethe, 'not to be always looking for culture merely in what is obviously moral. Everything that is great promotes civilisation as soon as we are aware of it. ~ Oscar Wilde

We recognize that we cannot survive on meditation, poems and sunsets. We are restless. We have an irresistible urge to dip our hands into the stuff of the earth and do something with it. ~ Samuel Florman

Soon he was picturing little girls with mischievous green eyes and pigtails asking him to play tea. Of course he'd bring real food to the tea party. None of that pretend food bullshit for his little girls.
By the time Haley had stopped for breakfast he'd been calmer about everything. He'd already decided to ignore that breakup nonsense. It was just ridiculous and he knew sooner or later Haley would realize that so they could get started on making their all girl baseball team. ~ R.L. Mathewson

When I miss the good times,
I must remember that
No matter how hard I tried,
I could never wash the taste
Of doubt off my lips,
That every flavor of your kiss
Hit me with pungent loneliness
(Even when the touch of your
Hands felt like salvation),
And that this "safe space"
I worshiped through my poems
Was a product of my imagination
More than your words or actions. ~ Vironika Tugaleva

Poems are like dreams: in them you put what you don't know you know. ~ Adrienne Rich

Favorite poems are like favorite children. We definitely have them but we never tell as the others would have their feelings hurt. ~ Nikki Giovanni

Clouds are poems, and the most moving poems linger on the blackboard so long, written in cursive so lovely, they also exist inside our fingertips. We never really erase them at the end of the lesson. ~ Ann Beattie

Poems tend to have instructions for how to read them embedded in their language. ~ Matthea Harvey