Poem Poetry Tulips Quotes

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. ~ Sylvia Plath

Via Negativa

Sometimes it's too hard with words or dark or silence.
Tonight I want a prayer of high-rouged cheekbones
and light: a litany of back-lit figures,
lithe and slim, draped in fabrics soft and wrinkleless and pale
as onion slivers. Figures that won't stumble or cough:
sleek kid-gloved Astaires who'll lift
ladies with glamorous sweeps in their hair -
They'll bubble and glitter like champagne.
They'll whisper and lean and waltz and wink effortlessly
as figurines twirling in music boxes, as skaters in their dreams.

And the prayer will not be crowded.
You'll hear each click of staccato heel
echo through the glassy ballrooms - too few shimmering skirts;
the prayer will seem to ache
for more. But the prayer will not ache.
When we enter, its chandeliers and skies
will blush with pleasure. Inside
we will be weightless, and our goodness will not matter
in a prayer so light, so empty it will float. ~ Mary Szybist

I wish to stay
In every corner of your heart and
I wish to hide you heartfully ~ Jyoti Patel

A perfect poem owes its perfection to sounding the voice of the heart and the melodies of the conscience, as well as its ability to reflect the considerations, beliefs, opinions, and horizons of thought of the poet, but not due to its formal or mental aspects. ~ M. Fethullah Gulen

Light, The Hymn

Hail to the sun.
Hail to the stars.
Hail to the cosmos.
Hail to light!

In light we are made.
In light we are born.
In light we are raised.
In light we are enthroned.

In our minds it is wisdom.
In our hearts it is faith.
In our souls it is love.
In our lives it is God.

My mind honors light.
My heart esteems light.
My soul extols light.
How awesome light is.
How majestic light is.
How wonderful light is.

Feeding plants.
Nourishing animals.
Sustaining nature.
Serving people.
Supporting all.

Light illuminates the world.
Light illuminates the stars.
Light illuminates the universe.
Hail to the sun.
Hail to the stars.
Hail to the cosmos.
Hail to light!
Hail to God! ~ Matshona Dhliwayo

Silly girl, your different was your beautiful all along. ~ Atticus Poetry

Virtuous as a lady should need to be, And the kindness that spilled in her sovereign acts, I salute to her inward greatness, Blessed be her mother to bring forth such a princess… ~ Piyush Rohankar

I have to find a place to hide
An island in the sea
Surrounded by a racing tide
Where I can live with me ~ Laurie Matthew

with his words
in my head
I slept for thirty
or forty forevers
while the grass shrieked
and the trees tremored
it was crazy
letting my youth
pass like that
giving myself up
to the abstract fears
balconies collapsing
over the east river
as far as the eye could see
until all is miniature
wind over water
without end
when I am dead
I will have something
to say about death
& all the men stretched out
a girl must be a graveyard
I am a descendant of fields
and want to keep my mind off it, especially ~ Deborah Landau

The same hot lightning that burns your blood with passion–– cools your fears with peace. ~ Aberjhani

With each kiss that we shared we experienced the meaning of love. With the passing glances of passion we surrendered our hearts to the silence of the storm of intoxication. Holding on to each other till the roots of our souls have become entwined in the eternal desire of each other." Poem: "The Silence of Love ~ Anthony F. Rando

She's like an island
Made of rock, with one lone tree at the top
Of the only mountain. She's like the sole
Incongruous goat tethered to the tree,
Smiling almost as you approach, scraping
The ground with its horns, and then--
Lickety split--lurching hard, daring
The rope to snap. ~ Tracy K. Smith

There exists a chance of every poem getting changed while reaching every reader. This 'getting changed' is a form of 'getting translated', in a way. So, every assimilation of any poem is a translation. ~ Suman Pokhrel

Why do I feel
that you are dying
to escape?
Why do I feel
you have been dying
to say the words
that you said in anger?
I fear,
not in the dark
I fear,
with your memories
I fear,
even in a room
that is filled with sunshine
and among the colorful walls,
I feel blank! ~ Jyoti Patel

If Erik existed and lived life in despair,
We wish him to know we are here and we care. ~ E.A. Bucchianeri

People who are buried leave
Behind their memories.
People feel sad for them and
Worry, but for the living man,
They are never sorry.
This person, who is the sufferer,
Will never be able to withstand,
The chances snatched from him,
He thinks, "Am I under a ban?"
So he dies, and the world is
Forever in debt
For the man who faced
Death before his death. ~ Umera Ahmed

How - I didn't know any
word for it - how "unlikely" ...
How had I come to be here,
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn't? ~ Elizabeth Bishop

When Hughes writes, in the first two lines of his poem, "Let America be America again/ Let it be the dream it used to be," he acknowledges that America is primarily a dream, a hope, an aspiration, that may never be fully attainable, but that spurs us to be better, to be larger. He follows this with the repeated counterpoint, "America never was America to me," and through the rest of this remarkable poem he alternates between the oppressed and the wronged of America, and the great dreams that they have for their country, that can never be extinguished. ~ Harry Belafonte

Sister,
if he
wants to touch
that beautiful and rare diamond
between your legs,
if he
wants to slip into
that honey they swarm around,
always hungry, always go,
then he
will take it however you
give it to him.
And if you want to give it to him hairy,
that's how he's going to fucking take it.

- Stop trying so hard. Find your own beautiful. ~ Vironika Tugaleva

Whenever I write a dramatic poem I can't understand why the characters should ever want to be anything but poets themselves. ~ Saul Bellow

Fuck You Poem #45

Fuck you in slang and conventional English.
Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes.
Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked, and defaced.
Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste.
Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side.
Fuck you humidly and icily.
Fuck you farsightedly and blindly.
Fuck you nude and draped in stolen finery.

Fuck you while cells divide wildly and birds trill.
Thank you for barring me from his bedside while he was ill.
Fuck you puce and chartreuse.
Fuck you postmodern and prehistoric.
Fuck you under the influence of opiun, codeine, laudanum, and paregoric.
Fuck every real and imagined country you fancied yourself princess of.
Fuck you on feast days and fast days, below and above.
Fuck you sleepless and shaking for nineteen nights running.
Fuck you ugly and fuck you stunning.

Fuck you shipwrecked on the barren island of your bed.
Fuck you marching in lockstep in the ranks of the dead.
Fuck you at low and high tide.
And fuck you astride
anyone who has the bad luck to fuck you, in dank hallways,
bathrooms, or kitchens.
Fuck you in gasps and whispered benedictions.

And fuck these curses, however heartfelt and true,
that bind me, till I forgive you, to you. ~ Amy Gerstler

I am a city of sounds.
I will keep you safe.
I know I am supposed to feel ugly.
They all tell me that no woman
should look so well-traveled,
but they do not know.
I am earth. I am sun and skies.
I am the high road, the low road.
I am every poem about skin.
I am a world that cannot be explored in one day.
I am not a place for cowards. ~ Caitlyn Siehl

One must write poetry in such as way that if one threw the poem in a window, the pane would break. ~ Daniil Kharms

Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

the flames are silent,
Peace is violent,
Tears are frozen
'cause massacre was chosen.

~~ 26/11– Mumbai terror attack memories ~ Ankita Singhal

I told her it takes
a lot of solitude to write a poem.
She told me it takes a lot of solitude
to die. ~ Ronald Baatz

But how wonderful when the tale is told,
And the message that is meant for us
Opens like the scents of a mountain flower! ~ Mazisi Kunene

In the land of poetry commentary, you will encounter those who take poetry too lightly, and those who take poetry too seriously. The former will give you no real indication of their true opinion of the merits of the poem, while the latter shall reject it out of hand, or be entirely unsatisfied until you write it to their liking. Neither are worth paying attention to. ~ Jasper Sole

We hold that the most wonderful and splendid proof of genius is a great poem produced in a civilized age. ~ Thomas Babington Macaulay

Brush your teeth with gasoline.
Sleep all day and climb trees at night.
Be a monk and drink buckshot and beer.
Hold your head under water and play the violin.
Do a belly dance before pink candles.
Kill your dog.
Run for mayor.
Live in a barrel.
Break your head with a hatchet.
Plant tulips in the rain.

But don't write any more poetry. ~ Charles Bukowski

She slammed the door and
was gone.
I looked at the closed door
and at the doorknob
and strangely
I didn't feel
alone. ~ Charles Bukowski

A poem is a piece of semiotic sport, in which the signifier has been momentarily released from its grim communicative labours and can disport itself disgracefully. Freed from a loveless marriage to a single meaning, it can play the field, wax promiscous, gambol outrageously with similar unattached signifiers. If the guardians of conventional morality knew what scandalous stuff they were inscribing on their tombstones, they would cease to do so immediately. ~ Terry Eagleton

It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound-that he will never get over it. ~ Robert Frost

...and when we die
we die alone
I cry, I cry alone
Like a piece of stone
I am thrown
into the wavy ocean of life
to atone...to atone
Only to atone... ~ Munia Khan

Sadness is an invitation to God. ~ Kamand Kojouri

I know that I myself have felt that prickling of the scalp that Emily Dickinson tells us is the sign of recognition before a true poem. ~ May Sarton

There was a girl named Claire.
For her, life was lonely, it was so unfair.
She longed for happiness, but found it nowhere.
And felt that when she is gone, no one will care.

Then, one day, she decided, and took the dare.

Years gone by, her family still lives their nightmare.
Her mother's eyes, they are never without a tear.
Cause, death without grief is rather rare.
Someone, somewhere will always care ~ Shon Mehta

I wondered: what happens when a hundred thousand people memorize the same poem? Does anything change? ~ Madeleine Thien

I don't speak a word about you but,
You are there in every word I speak.

I may forgive you
On the day when my heart no longer
Whispers your name or
On the day
I no longer see you in my dreams.

You were my dream in the day time
Now, I am going to hide you
In my silence
All through the night.

I don't speak a word about you but,
You are there in every word I speak. ~ Jyoti Patel

The room was the poem, the day I was in. Oh Christ. What writes my poem is the second ring, inner or outer. Poetry is just the performance of it. These little things, whether I write them or not. That's the score. The thing of great value is you. Where you are, glowing and fading, while you live. ~ Eileen Myles