Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
Anne SextonStichwörter: poetry moderation exuberance poem poets saints
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Poems are never finished - just abandoned
Paul ValéryDas Zitat auf Deutsch anzeigen
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The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings
Lewis CarrollStichwörter: poem alice-in-wonderland carpenter walrus walrus-and-the-carpenter
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He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!
Stichwörter: friend love poem wit heretic rebel
blessing the boats
(at saint mary’s)
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back
may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
Stichwörter: poetry poem continuing
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and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive
Stichwörter: fear silence poem survival afraid speaking-of survivors
An orphans curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! How more horrible that that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Stichwörter: poem mariner nautical
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Stichwörter: poem
to live in this world
you must be able
to do three things
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go
Stichwörter: poetry poem excerpt-from-in-blackwater-woods
I once broke up with a boy because he wrote me an awful poem.
Karen Joy FowlerStichwörter: poetry poem breaking-up
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