Rhyming Poems Quotes

#1. Protect us bees,
Don't burn our hives.
Protect us bees
And spare our lives.
We pollinate trees,
And now you know,
Without us bees,
Some plants won't grow. #Quote by Wayne Gerard Trotman

#2. I am bothered by poems I don't understand. #Quote by Joyce Rachelle

#3. The passages in which Milton has alluded to his own circumstances are perhaps read more frequently, and with more interest, than any other lines in his poems. #Quote by Thomas B. Macaulay

#4. I have come more and more to the belief that we owe our arts a thousand times what we are paying them. We support our cigarette factories, soap manufacturers, beauticians, all the luxury and pleasure businesses of our over-indulged civilization, but we pay our painters an average wage ... and yet when the future digs us from the past they won't care how we smell, what we smoke, or if we bathed. All they'll know of us will be our architecture, our paintings, sculpture, poems, laws, philosophy, drama, our pottery and fabrics, the things which our hands made and our minds thought up - oh, the machines they'll dig up too, but perhaps they'll point to them as our destruction, the wheels that drove us down to death. #Quote by Vincent Price

#5. Heartbreak was the impetus to me writing poems and music in the first place. Over the years, I had my heart broken so badly that if I didn't find a way to get all the pain out, I was going to lose my mind. I was crazy! Like, wanting to slash tires and smash car windows. Crazy! I was so hurt that I had to write. #Quote by Jill Scott

#6. It's difficult to learn poems off by heart that don't rhyme. #Quote by Seamus Heaney

#7. There are all kinds of pedants around with more time to read and imitate Lynne Truss and John Humphrys than to write poems, love-letters, novels and stories it seems. They whip out their Sharpies and take away and add apostrophes from public signs, shake their heads at prepositions which end sentences and mutter at split infinitives and misspellings, but do they bubble and froth and slobber and cream with joy at language? Do they ever let the tripping of the tips of their tongues against the tops of their teeth transport them to giddy euphoric bliss? Do they ever yoke impossible words together for the sound-sex of it? Do they use language to seduce, charm, excite, please, affirm and tickle those they talk to? Do they? I doubt it. They're too farting busy sneering at a greengrocer's less than perfect use of the apostrophe. Well sod them to Hades. They think they're guardians of language. They're no more guardians of language than the Kennel Club is the guardian of dogkind. #Quote by Stephen Fry

#8. The critics could never mortify me out of heart - because I love poetry for its own sake, - and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation. #Quote by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

#9. I am sorry I am not the girl with the golden crown.' The insecure girl said.
The boy put his arm around her.
'But you are the one with the silver wings. #Quote by Giovannie De Sadeleer

#10. I got $30 from Nation magazine for a poem and $500 for my first book of poems. #Quote by Jim Harrison

#11. everything i know about love
is that it hurts
and is almost always never returned
the way you want it to.

but i have hope
because i do not know everything. #Quote by AVA.

#12. Your skin is a thousand stars
being born at once.
I want to drown in your light.

Pour.
Pour the light of your body on me.

Your hair is the night's skirt
whose folds hide a thousand moons.
I want to drown in your night.

Pour.
Pour the night of your body on me.

Your eyes have orphaned me from certainty:
Oh, the freedom of knowing nothing!
I only understand this moment
that contains all of eternity.

This moment
that you are here
and I am here
and we make a world.
This moment
is all we need to know.
You and I
were always made
for this moment.

Let life have us.
And pour.
Pour the life of your body on me. #Quote by Kamand Kojouri

#13. These ears aren't to be trusted.
The keening in the night, didn't you hear?
Once I believed all the stories didn't have endings,
but I realized the endings were invented, like zero,
had yet to be imagined.
The months come around again,
and we are in the same place;
full moons, cherries in bloom,
the same deer, the same frogs,
the same helpless scratching at the dirt.
You leave poems I can't read
behind on the sheets,
I try to teach you songs made of twigs and frost.
you may be imprisoned in an underwater palace;
I'll come riding to the rescue in disguise.
Leave the magic tricks to me and to the teakettle.
I've inhaled the spells of willow trees,
spat them out as blankets of white crane feathers.
Sleep easy, from behind the closet door
I'll invent our fortunes, spin them from my own skin.

(from, The Fox-Wife's Invitation) #Quote by Jeannine Hall Gailey

#14. I've always felt that poetry was particularly erotic, more than prose was ... I say that you read poems not with your eyes and not with your ears, but with your mouth. You taste it. #Quote by Donald Hall

#15. As the virtual world of electronic communication becomes the world many of us inhabit all the time, in turning to imaginative literature we may not be seeking mere reassurance nor be impelled by mere nostalgia. To enter with heart and mind into the world of the imagination may be to head deliberately and directly toward, or back toward, engagement with the real world. In one of T. S. Eliot's poems a bird sings, "Mankind cannot bear very much reality." I've always thought that bird was mistaken, or was talking only about some people. I find it amazing how much of the real world most of us can endure. Not only endure, but need, desire, crave. Reality is life. Where we suffocate is in the half-life of unreality, untruth, imitation, fakery, the almost-true that is not true. To be human is to live both within and beyond the narrow band of what-happens-now, in the vast regions of the past and the possible, the known and the imagined: our real world, our true Now. #Quote by Ursula K. Le Guin

#16. All writers recognize this surge of striking; in its energies the objects of the world are made new, alchemized by their passage through the imaginal, musical, world-foraging and word-forging mind.

This altered vision is the secret happiness of poems, of poets. It is as if the poem encounters the world and finds in it a hidden language, a Braille unreadable except when raised by the awakened imaginative mind. #Quote by Jane Hirshfield

#17. My songs were influenced not so much by poetry on the page but by poetry being recited by the poets who recited poems with jazz bands. #Quote by Bob Dylan

#18. The poems that used to entrance me in the days of Miss Violence now struck me as overdone and sickly. Alas, burthen, thine, cometh, aweary - the archaic language of unrequited love. I was irritated with such words, which rendered the unhappy lovers - I could now see - faintly ridiculous, like poor moping Miss Violence herself. Soft-edged, blurry, soggy, like a bun fallen into the water. Nothing you'd want to touch, #Quote by Margaret Atwood

#19. As for all your latest Mayan discoveries and poems, I want to hear every word of it if you want to transmit it, or tell it when we meet, but don't expect me to get excited by anything anymore. #Quote by Jack Kerouac

#20. What kind of shit was I? I could certainly play some nasty, unreal games. What was my motive? Was I trying to get even for something? Could I keep on telling myself that it was merely a matter of research, a simple study of the female? I was simply letting things happen without thinking about them. I wasn't considering anything but my own selfish, cheap pleasure. I was like a spoiled high school kid. I was worse than any whore; a whore took your money and nothing more. I tinkered with lives and souls as if they were playthings. How could I call myself a man? How could I write poems? What did I consist of? I was a bush-league de Sade, without his intellect. A murderer was more straightforward and honest than I was. Or a rapist. I didn't want my soul played with, mocked, pissed on; I knew that much at any rate. I was truly no good. I could feel it as I walked up and down on the rug. No good. The worst part of it was that I passed myself off for exactly what I wasn't - a good man. I was able to enter people's lives because of their trust in me. I was doing my dirty work the easy way. I was writing The Love Tale of the Hyena. #Quote by Charles Bukowski

#21. That night I said, "I love you"
There was no Plan B,
Only us and forever #Quote by Eric Overby

#22. Babies are like poems. They're beautiful to their creator, but to other people, they're silly and they're irritating. #Quote by Doug Stanhope

#23. Writing the poems, I came to think that regarding is a form of love, but the regarding is not necessarily accurate. In the poems, people are always misperceiving one another. But misperceptions are a part of being alive to others. You don't need truth or beauty. All you do is perceive. That's all you need to have loved and lived fully. #Quote by Joy Katz

#24. His velvet brush dips deep and lingers there in the warm inkwell of her endless desire. The ink of passion flows for him tonight, so he may show her how it feels for his muse to be so truly needed by an ardent lover.

His hunger to write poems of love's power upon the warm supple parchment of her skin, secret words that only she can comprehend until his brush runs dry and he returns to dip again in ink made by the gods for calligraphy of wanton desire. #Quote by Brianna Hughes

#25. I am preparing myself for death. When I go to sleep, I try to keep myself smiling. So that when I die, I have a smile on my lips. I want an electric cremation. I don't want any poems or fuss after that. And for heaven's sake, don't bring back my ashes. Flush them down the toilet if the crematorium refuses to keep them. If they tell you that I am dead, I want you to give a big laugh. #Quote by Zohra Sehgal

#26. To lose somebody is to lose not only their person but all those modes and manifestations into which their person has flowed outwards; so that in losing a beloved one may find so many things, pictures, poems, melodies, places lost too: Dante, Avignon, a song of Shakespeare's, the Cornish sea. #Quote by Iris Murdoch

#27. Did you know Grandfather would give the poems to me?" I ask.
"We thought he might," my mother says.
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"We didn't want to take away your choices," my mother says.
"But Grandfather never did tell me about the Rising," I say.
"I think he wanted you to find your own way," my mother says. She smiles. "In that way, he was a true rebel. I think that's why he chose that argument with your father as his favorite memory. Though he was upset when the fight happened, later he came to see that your father was strong in choosing his own path, and he admired him for it. #Quote by Ally Condie

#28. The poet drafts his work as a writer but edits it as a sculptor, with his pen as a chisel and his mind a hammer. #Quote by Agona Apell

#29. Southern poets are still writing narrative poems, poems in forms, dramatic poems. #Quote by Robert Morgan

#30. Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross? #Quote by Alexander Pope

#31. 2.07 WALK OF LIFE
Life but like a cycle that you be riding,
You will fall if you ever stop peddling,
Life not of good cards you be holding,
But those held and how you be playing.
[68] - 4 #Quote by Munindra Misra

#32. loved the poems so much that I decided to try writing one. Feels real good to just write out lines about whatever you're feeling. You should try it sometime." "It sounds very good, sir." "I wrote one for Cindy, but she didn't like it much, so I just write for myself now. #Quote by Imbolo Mbue

#33. Don't ask her to be a rock
for you to lean upon
instead, build her wings
and point her to the sky
and she will teach you both to fly. #Quote by Atticus Poetry

#34. Each word was shaped with certainty, and I felt, more strongly than ever before in my life, that I had at last found my true path. I knew the story would change as I told it. No one can tell as tory without transforming it in some way; it is part of the magic of storytelling. Like the troubadors of the past, who hid their messages in poems, songs and fairy tales, I too would hide my true purpose [ ... ]
It was by telling stories that I would save myself. #Quote by Kate Forsyth

#35. I reached for the notebook which was always close by. All thoughts of composing epic poems of Greek heroes had left me. The words that often burst from my onto the paper in recent days would be considered mere nothings to the world, but they were everything to me ... They were the pourings of my heart FOR my heart ... #Quote by Nancy Moser

#36. Songs live longer than kingdoms. #Quote by Atticus Poetry