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“The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there
is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.”
― Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi

“I
Like
The Way
That when you
Tilt
Poems
On their side
They
Look like
Miniature
Cities
From
A long way
Away.
Skyscrapers
Made out
Of
Words.”
― Matt Haig, How to Stop Time

“And it seems people should not build houses anymore
it seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second floors
under electric lights
without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the house does not want to be built”
― Charles Bukowski, Love Is a Dog from Hell

“I will never hurt you.
I will always help you.
If you are hungry
Ill give you my food.
If you are frightened
I am your friend.
I love you now.
And love does not end.”
― Orson Scott Card, Songmaster

“But first, on earth as vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent,
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race.

There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life,
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse.

Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem.”
― Lord Byron

“I chase the wind and get lost in the clouds. I'm sweep into darkness in my search for the light.”
― Sherman Kennon, Chase The Wind: A Book Of Poetry

“I imagine what it must be like to stay hidden, disappear in the dusky nothing and stay still in the night. It’s not sadness, though it may sound like it. I’m thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it’s hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow.”
― Ada Limon, Bright Dead Things

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows
The West Wind goes walking, and about the walls it goes.
What news from the West, oh wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight?
Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?
‘I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey;
I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away
Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.
The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.��
Oh, Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar.
But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.

From the mouth of the sea the South Wind flies,
From the sand hills and the stones;
The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans
What news from the South, oh sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?
Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.
‘Ask me not where he doth dwell--so many bones there lie
On the white shores and on the black shores under the stormy sky;
So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing sea.
Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!��
Oh Boromir! Beyond the gate the Seaward road runs South,
But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey seas mouth.

From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides,
And past the roaring falls
And loud and cold about the Tower its loud horn calls.
What news from the North, oh mighty wind, do you bring to me today?
What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.
‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought
His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest;
And Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls, bore him upon its breast.��
Oh Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze
To Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls until the end of days.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

“when I die, do not waste a minute mouring me. I may go, but I will leave behind all my thousand & one lives �� a bookmad girl never dies.”
― Amanda Lovelace, The Princess Saves Herself in This One

“Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labor, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou li’st warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience-
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And no obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I asham’d that women are so simple
‘To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,
Should well agree with our external parts?”
― William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

“JARAK

dan Adam turun di hutan-hutan
mengabur dalam dongengan
dan kita tiba-tiba di sini
tengadah ke langit; kosong sepi”
― Sapardi Djoko Damono, Hujan Bulan Juni

“I am not a finished poem, and I am not the song you’ve turned me into. I am a detached human being, making my way in a world that is constantly trying to push me aside, and you who send me letters and emails and beautiful gifts wouldn’t even recognise me if you saw me walking down the street where I live tomorrow
for I am not a poem.
I am tired and worn out and the eyes you would see would not be painted or inspired
but empty and weary
from drinking too much
at all times
and I am not the life of your party who sings and has glorious words to speak
for I don’t speak much
at all
and my voice is raspy and unsteady from unhealthy living and not much sleep and I only use it when I sing and I always sing too much
or not at all
and never when people are around because they expect poems and symphonies and I am not
a poem
but an elegy
at my best
but unedited and uncut and not a lot of people want to work with me because there’s only so much you can do with an audio take, with the plug-ins and EQs and I was born distorted, disordered, and I’m pretty fine with that,
but others are not.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving

“Miracles are to come.
With you I leave a remembrance
of miracles: they are by
somebody who can love
and who shall be continually reborn,
a human being.”
― e.e. cummings

“What is this thing you call substance abuse?
All I wanna do is forget and get loose.
Drinking and smoking over and over
What's so great about a life that's sober?

There's nothing cool about being young
When the monsters of night have stolen the sun.

I'm tired of searching for words in the sky.
All I wanna do is drink and die.
Nothing is real. It's all a big lie.
All I wanna do is drink and die.

There's nothing cool about being young
When the monsters of night have stolen the sun.”
― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster

“we
sat there
smoking
cigarettes
at
5
in the morning.”
― Charles Bukowski, The Pleasures of the Damned

“But the sea
which no one tends
is also a garden”
― William Carlos Williams, Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems

“Very possibly this was the night my white-knight complex, as Solange put it, would get me killed. Someone had better write a poem about it. It was only fair.”
― Alyxandra Harvey, Blood Feud

“SHE is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, Renascence and Other Poems

“I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.
I don't don't know why know why,
I simply know that I I I
am am inclined to say to say
a lot a lot this way this way-
I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.

I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.
My mom my mom gets mad gets mad,
it irritates my dad my dad,
it drives them up a tree a tree,
that's what they tell they tell me me-
I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.

I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.
It gets me in a jam a jam,
but that's the way I am I am,
in fact I think it's neat it's neat
to to to to repeat repeat-
I often repeat repeat myself,
I often repeat repeat.”
― Jack Prelutsky, A Pizza the Size of the Sun

“If we meet and I say, "Hi,"
That's a salutation.
If you ask me how I feel,
That's a consideration.
If we stop and talk awhile,
That's a conversation.
If we understand each other,
That's communication.
If we argue, scream and fight,
That's an altercation.
If later we apologize,
That's a reconciliation.
If we help each other home,
That's cooperation.
And all these ations added up
Make civilization.

(And if I say this is a wonderful poem, Is that exaggeration?)”
― Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic

“عشق جان است
عشقِ تو
جان تر

"مولوی&�����ܴ�;
― مولوی

“Don't let a king
or a prince
or a fairytale
tell you you are smaller than that or who you are meant to be.”
― Nikita Gill, Wild Embers: Poems of Rebellion, Fire and Beauty

“DAISIES

It is possible, I suppose that sometime
we will learn everything
there is to learn: what the world is, for example,
and what it means. I think this as I am crossing
from one field to another, in summer, and the
mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either
knows enough already or knows enough to be
perfectly content not knowing. Song being born
of quest he knows this: he must turn silent
were he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead

oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly
unanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies display
the small suns of their center piece, their -- if you don't
mind my saying so -- their hearts. Of course
I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and
narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know?
But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given,
to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly;
for example -- I think this
as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch --
the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the
daisies for the field.”
― Mary Oliver, Why I Wake Early

“as long as there are
human beings about
there is never going to be
any peace
for any individual
upon this earth (or
anywhere else
they might
escape to).

all you can do
is maybe grab
ten lucky minutes
here
or maybe an hour
there.

something
is working toward you
right now, and
I mean you
and nobody but
you.”
― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

“I belong to no religion. My religion is love. Every heart is my temple.”
― Rumi

“all theories
like cliches
shot to hell,
all these small faces
looking up
beautiful and believing;
I wish to weep
but sorrow is
stupid.
I wish to believe but believe is a
graveyard.
we have narrowed it down to
the butcherknife and the
mockingbird
wish us
luck.”
― Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

“be the kiss in my hair
that no one sees

move, when i move
sigh, when i sigh...

be that line from a poem
that i hold in my eyes.”
― Sanober Khan

“Let me also say I wanna make you sandwhiches,
And soup,
And peanut butter cookies,
Though, the truth is peanutbutter is actually really bad for you 'cause they grow peanuts in old cotton fields to clean the toxins out of the soil,
But hey, you like peanutbutter and I like you!”
― Andrea Gibson

“در اتاقي كه به اندازه ي يك تنهاييست
دل من
كه به اندازه ي يك عشقست
به بهانه هاي ساده ي خوشبختي خود مي نگرد
به زوال زيباي گل ها در گلدان
به نهالي كه تو در باغچه ي خانه مان كاشته اي
و به آواز قناري ها
كه به اندازه ي يك پنجره مي خوانند”
― Forough Farrokhzad

“A JEWELRY STORE NAMED INDIA

If you hold this
Dazzling emerald
Up to the sky,
It will shine a billion
Beautiful miracles
Painted from the tears
Of the Most High.
Plucked from the lush gardens
Of a yellowish-green paradise,
Look inside this hypnotic gem
And a kaleidoscope of
Titillating,
Soul-raising
Sights and colors
Will tease and seduce
Your eyes and mind.

Tell me, sir.
Have you ever heard
A peacock sing?
Hold your ear
To this mystical stone
And you will hear
Sacred hymns flowing
To the vibrations
Of the perfumed
Wind.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem