Poem By Esther Grace Earl Quotes

To Feel
The weight of death, the weight of fear,
the burden of stress, pain is here.
Never to know, never to guess.
Never to know, how much the mess
Do not show care,
do not feel joy,
do not have love,
life's not a toy
and yet we feel,
we have,
we show,
who knows ...
I do not know.
I do not know.
(2007) September 9 ~ Esther Earl

I always called her Star. I always called her Estee. And Grace was just the reminder we didn't want to forget that it's all about grace. It's all about the fact that we don't deserve these good things, but they're ours anyway, to enjoy and to share and to delight in. ~ Wayne Earl

I know I always carry her with me, and to have a piece of her grace shine through me is a gift I will continually strive to earn. ~ Esther Earl

The Faerie Queene was intended by its author to be a philosophical poem and was so regarded by his contemporaries and immediate successors, whose appreciation of it was so great. ~ Janet Spens

We all need poetry. The moments in our lives that are characterized by language that has to do with necessity or the market, or just, you know, things that take us away from the big questions that we have, those are the things that I think urge us to think about what a poem can offer. ~ Tracy K. Smith

Racism and violence were non-existent in this world,
When people were aware to fight for identity'- Terzanelle for Octavia Estelle Butler, Poem by Marieta Maglas ~ Marieta Maglas

She had reached a turning point. She no longer believed that a situation could be made better by writing a poem about it. ~ David Nicholls

When a general examination of the rhyme scheme in the Qur'an is
made, we see that around 80% of the rhymes consist of just three
sounds (n, m, a) consisting of the letters Alif, Mim, Ya and Nun258.
Excluding the letter "Nun," 30% of the verses are rhymed with "Mim,"
"Alif" or "Ya."

The formation of rhymed prose with just two or three sounds in a
poem of 200-300 lines may give that work an important quality, sufficient
for it to be described as a masterpiece by literary critics today.
However, bearing in mind the length of the Qur'an, the information it
contains and its wise exposition, the extraordinary manner in which its
rhymed prose system is used becomes even clearer and more beautiful.
The Qur'an indeed contains an ocean of information relating to a wide
variety of subjects. They include: religious and moral guidance, lessons
from the lives of the peoples of the past, the message of the prophets
and messengers of Allah, the physical sciences and historical accounts
of important events. But all of this, although wonderful in itself, is
delivered with the most fantastic literary rhythm and excellence. It is
simply not possible for so much rhymed prose by use of so few sounds
in the Qur'an, with its varied and knowledgeable subject matter, to be
achieved by human endeavour. From that point of view, it is not surprising
that Arab linguists describe the Qur'an as "very de ~ Harun Yahya

I love to compare different time frames. Poetry can evoke the time of the subject. By a very careful choice of words you can evoke an era, completely throw the poem into a different time scale. ~ Robert Morgan

Storm Warnings

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead, what zone
Of grey unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair
And walk from window to closed window, watching
Boughs strain against the sky

And think again, as often when the air
Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,
How with a single purpose time has traveled
By secret currents of the undiscerned
Into this polar realm. Weather abroad
And weather in the heart alike come on
Regardless of prediction.

Between foreseeing and averting change
Lies all the mastery of elements
Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter.
Time in the hand is not control of time,
Nor shattered fragments of an instrument
A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,
We can only close the shutters.

I draw the curtains as the sky goes black
And set a match to candles sheathed in glass
Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine
Of weather through the unsealed aperture.
This is our sole defense against the season;
These are the things we have learned to do
Who live in troubled regions. ~ Adrienne Rich

Most American heroes of the Revolutionary period are by now two men, the actual man and the romantic image. Some are even three men - the actual man, the image, and the debunked remains. ~ Esther Forbes

Is it birthday weather for you, dear soul?
Is it fine your way,
With tall moon-daisies alight, and the mole
Busy, and elegant hares at play
By meadow paths where once you would stroll
In the flush of day? ~ Cecil Day-Lewis

Does this popcorn taste burnt to you?" Miles asked, chewing loudly.
"Don't eat that," Roland said, plucking the popcorn from Miles's palm. "Arriane got it out of the trash after Luce set the dorm room kitchen on fire."
Miles began spitting frantically, leaning over the edge of Roland's wings.
"It was my way of connecting with Luce." Arriane shrugged. "But here, if you must, have some Milk Duds."
"Is it weird that we're watching the two of them like a movie?" Shelby asked. "We should imagine them like a novel, or a poem, or a song. Sometimes I feel oppressed by how reductive the filmic medium is."
"Hey. Roland didn't have to fly you out here, Nephilim. So don't act smart, just watch. Look." Arriane clapped. "He's totally staring at her hair. I bet he goes home and sketches it tonight. How cuuute!"
"Arriane, you got way too good at being a teenager," Roland said. "How long are we going to watch for? I mean, don't you think they've earned a little privacy?"
"He's right," Arriane said. "We have other things on our celestial plates. Like..." Her smirk faded when she couldn't seem to think of anything. ~ Lauren Kate

I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".
Moral: "You mustn't. ~ Lewis Carroll

This poem inspired me to write my eBook.

The Miller's Daughter by Alfred Lord Tennyson

It is the miller's daughter,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel
That trembles in her ear;
For hid in ringlets day and night
I'd touch her neck so warm and white. ~ Ellen Read

An Ashinabe "spring poem" translated by Gerald Vizenor:

as my eyes
look across the prairie
i feel the summer
in the spring ~ Howard Zinn

The private reader of listener can become an executant of felt meaning when he learns the poem or the musical passage by heart. To learn by heart is to afford the text or music an indwelling clarity and life-force. ~ George Steiner

Every work turns against its author: the poem will crush the poet, the system the philosopher, the event the man of action. Destruction awaits anyone who, answering to his vocation and fulfilling it, exerts himself within history; only the man who sacrifices every gift and talent escapes: released from his humanity, he may lodge himself in Being. ( ... ) One always perishes by the self one assumes: to bear a name is to claim an exact mode of collapse. ~ Emil Cioran

Why Not You?

Today, many will awaken with a fresh sense of inspiration. Why not you?

Today, many will open their eyes to the beauty that surrounds them. Why not you?

Today, many will choose to leave the ghost of yesterday behind and seize the immeasurable power of today. Why not you?

Today, many will break through the barriers of the past by looking at the blessings of the present. Why not you?

Today, for many the burden of self doubt and insecurity will be lifted by the security and confidence of empowerment. Why not you?

Today, many will rise above their believed limitations and make contact with their powerful innate strength. Why not you?

Today, many will choose to live in such a manner that they will be a positive role model for their children. Why not you?

Today, many will choose to free themselves from the personal imprisonment of their bad habits. Why not you?

Today, many will choose to live free of conditions and rules governing their own happiness. Why not you?

Today, many will find abundance in simplicity. Why not you?

Today, many will be confronted by difficult moral choices and they will choose to do what is right instead of what is beneficial. Why not you?

Today, many will decide to no longer sit back with a victim mentality, but to take charge of their lives and make positive changes. Why not you?

Today, many will take t ~ Steve Maraboli

Tomber amoureux. To fall in love. Does it occur suddenly or gradually? If gradually, when is the moment "already"? I would fall in love with a monkey made of rags. With a plywood squirrel. With a botanical atlas. With an oriole. With a ferret. With a marten in a picture. With the forest one sees to the right when riding in a cart to Jaszuny. With a poem by a little-known poet. With human beings whose names still move me. And always the object of love was enveloped in erotic fantasy or was submitted, as in Stendhal, to a "cristallisation," so it is frightful to think of that object as it was, naked among the naked things, and of the fairy tales about it one invents. Yes, I was often in love with something or someone. Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love. That is something different. ~ Czeslaw Milosz

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.
Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope -- what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember.
Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw before but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.

Or rest. ~ Neil Gaiman

But what I love is the end of your poem, when the urn talks to us. It says this: 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--- that is all / ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.' I keep trying to figure out exactly what you mean, but that sentence is like a circle. If beauty is truth, and if truth is beauty, they are defined by each other, so how do we know the meaning of either? I think that we make our own meanings, by putting ourselves into them. ~ Ava Dellaira

You grew up, you were struck by lightning.
When you opened your eyes, you were wired forever to your true love.

It only happened once. Then you were taken care of,
your story was finished. ~ Louise Gluck

Can you feel it?
We're connected by our hearts that are like invisible strings

I talk to the sky and make a promise with it
I will keep on walking no matter how harsh the road gets

When I stand again on the road we walked on together
There are five overlapping hands, tears and memories

It's so clear, I don't want to forget, I can't forget

The pretty words you left behind became a poem, became a song
Our voices are flying, we know it'll reach you wherever you are
If a star vanishes, will all be forgotten? I'm holding the precious you in my hands
I want to fill the pages of this story that isn't over yet, till the very end

I'll say that I miss you

But it won't fill up my empty heart tonight

We're facing each other, we're still the same

We're still the boys who're dreaming

The pretty words you left behind became a poem, became a song
Our voices are flying, we know it'll reach you wherever you are
If a star vanishes, will all be forgotten? I'm holding the precious you in my hands
I want to fill the pages of this story that isn't over yet, till the very end

May 25, 2005

Boys shining brightly

Like green waves of spring
That time will spread and flow forever

The pretty words you left behind became a poem, became a song
Our voices are flying, we know it'll reach you wherever you are
~ SHINee

We need good liturgies, and we need natural ones; we need a life neither patternless nor over patterned, if the city is to be built. And I think the root of it all is caring. Not that that will turn the trick all by itself, but that we can produce nothing good without it. True liturgies take things for what they really are, and offer them up in loving delight. Adam naming the animals is instituting the first of all the liturgies; speech, by which man the priest of creation picks up each of the world's pieces and by his wonder bears it into the dance. "By George," he says, "there's an elephant in my garden; isn't that something!" Adam has been at work a long time; civilization is the fruit of his priestly labors. Culture is the liturgy of nature as it is offered up by man. But culture can come only from caring enough about things to want them really to be themselves - to want the poem to scan perfectly, the song to be genuinely melodic, the basketball actually to drop through the middle of the hoop, the edge of the board to be utterly straight, the pastry to be really flaky. Few of us have very many great things to care about, but we all have plenty of small ones; and that's enough for the dance. It is precisely through the things we put on the table, and the liturgies we form around it, that the city is built, caring is more than half the work. ~ Robert Farrar Capon

I am nothing but a ripped fabric stitched together by God's grace. ~ J.A. ANUM

Just because they write something In this font
And break apart their lines
To rhyme
To dramatize
To imitate
Doesn't make what they say true.
And quotations marks
Don't make sentences "life conclusions." A post, a page,
A billboard, or a wallpaper -
Let it swirl for a few
and if you want to spit it out,
V omit.
If you want to keep it,
Let it ride shotgun.
But argue with it first.
Debate.
Don't simply accept it
Because you may
By accident
Accept a monster
Disguised
As a poem. ~ Karl Kristian Flores

What I try to do is to go into a poem - and one writes them, of course, poem by poem - to go into each poem, first of all without having any sense whatsoever of where it's going to end up. ~ Paul Muldoon

She didn't do anything at all
except arrived without warning
in the middle of the night
(right when I least expected it)

She walked by me, with a strut in her step
smelling like summer
causing me to turn my head
(even the leaves swayed her way)

All she did was look at me
with bright, curious eyes
filled with mirth and secrets
(as if an adventure was about to happen)

I tried not to think of her at all
not the curves of her body
or the stories that she told
(you knew there'd never be dull conversations)

By then, I couldn't walk away
I got caught up in her storm
without a care in the world
(I was a very good swimmer)

She was a hurricane who created her own sunshine. ~ M.J. Abraham

Holding up an oil-paper umbrella,
I loiter aimlessly in the long, long
And lonely rainy alley,
I hope to encounter
A lilac-like girl
Nursing her resentment
A lilac-like color she has
A lilac-like fragrance,
A lilac-like sadness,
Melancholy in the rain,
Sorrowful and uncertain;
She loiters aimlessly in this lonely rainy alley
Holding up an oil-paper umbrella
Just like me
And just like me
Walks silently,
Apathetic, sad and disconsolate
Silently she moves closer
Moves closer and casts
A sigh-like glance
She glides by
Like a dream
Hazy and confused like a dream
As in a dream she glides past
Like a lilac spray,
This girl glides past beside me;
She silently moves away, moves away
Up to the broken-down bamboo fence,
To the end of the rainy alley.
In the rains sad song,
Her color vanishes
Her fragrance diffuses,
Even her
Sigh-like glance,
Lilac-like discontent
Vanish.
Holding up an oil-paper umbrella, alone
Aimlessly walking in the long, long
And lonely rainy alley,
I wish for
A lilac-like girl
Nursing her resentment glide by. ~ Dai Wangshu

There's a poem by Adrienne Rich I first read twenty years ago called "Splittings" that I thought of when I read your letter. The last two lines of the poem are: "I choose to love this time fore once / with all my intelligence. ~ Cheryl Strayed

EMBRACE Will you walk in my garden Our hands to hold? Will we never be parting If we ever grow old? Will you stay with me As bad arises? Life writes its own rules Some with nasty surprises. When the sun no longer Smiles on my face Will your love be stronger As I dream in your Embrace? A poem by Karen Lyons Kalmenson ~ David Mezzapelle

That poem was not by me. It is among the things which quite overpower me; I have never been able to read it without tears coming to my eyes; it sounds like a voice for which I have been waiting and waiting since childhood. The poem is by my friend Lou ... She is as shrewd as an eagle and brave as a lion, and yet still a very girlish child, who perhaps will not live long. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche