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poem

“I was clever in a severely limited sense”

— Mark Bibbins, 13th Balloon, Share via Whatsapp

“Light is more important than the lantern, The poem more important than the notebook”

— Nizar Qabbani, Share via Whatsapp

“We turned an anthem into an assignment, a poem into a job description.”

— Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood, Share via Whatsapp

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem And he called it Chops because that was the name of his dog And that s what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo And he let them sing on the bus And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair And his mother and father kissed a lot And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X s and he had to ask his father what the X s meant And his father always tucked him in bed at night And was always there to do it Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem And he called it Autumn because that was the name of the season And that s what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars And left butts on the pews And sometimes they would burn holes That was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot And his father never tucked him in bed at night And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it. Once on a paper torn from his notebook he wrote a poem And he called it Innocence: A Question because that was the question about his girl And that s what it was all about And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her That was the year that Father Tracy died And he forgot how the end of the Apostle s Creed went And he caught his sister making out on the back porch And his mother and father never kissed or even talked And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup That made him cough when he kissed her but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed his father snoring soundly That s why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem And he called it Absolutely Nothing Because that s what it was really all about And he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn t think he could reach the kitchen.”

— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Share via Whatsapp

“Dreams like a podcast, Downloading truth in my ears. They tell me cool stuff. Apollo? I guess, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad. He put his finger to his lips. I m incognito. Call me Fred. A god named Fred?”

— Rick Riordan, Share via Whatsapp

“Come sleep with me: We won t make Love, Love will make us.”

— Julio Cortázar, Share via Whatsapp

“If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.”

— Sarah Kay, Share via Whatsapp

“He stepped back and threw his arms out. I m always crazy around you Rose. Here, I m going to write an impromptu poem for you. He tipped his head back and shouted to the sky: Rose is in red But never in blue Sharp as a thorn Fights like one too.”

— Richelle Mead, Shadow Kiss, Share via Whatsapp

“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”

— Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Volume One, Share via Whatsapp

“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.”

— Maya Angelou, Share via Whatsapp

“Roads Go Ever On Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon. Roads go ever ever on, Under cloud and under star. Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen, And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green, And trees and hills they long have known. The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. The Road goes ever on and on Out from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone. Let others follow, if they can! Let them a journey new begin. But I at last with weary feet Will turn towards the lighted inn, My evening-rest and sleep to meet.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, Share via Whatsapp

“If I knew what safety looked like, I would have spent less time falling into arms that were not”

— Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey, Share via Whatsapp

“I will not play at tug o war. I d rather play at hug o war, Where everyone hugs Instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles And rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, And everyone grins, And everyone cuddles, And everyone wins.”

— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Share via Whatsapp

“Magic Sandra’s seen a leprechaun, Eddie touched a troll, Laurie danced with witches once, Charlie found some goblins gold. Donald heard a mermaid sing, Susy spied an elf, But all the magic I have known I ve had to make myself.”

— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Share via Whatsapp

“There s a race of men that don t fit in, A race that can t sit still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain s crest; Their s is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don t know how to rest.”

— Robert Service, Share via Whatsapp

“My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”

— Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal, Share via Whatsapp

“l(a le af fa ll s)o ne li ne ss”

— e.e. cummings, Share via Whatsapp