Aching to be touched but never talking about the thorns. I dreamt about juice running down my chin for months. I can see it even now in the pile of dishes in the sink. That real men have tunnel vision and treat girls like subway cars. Like nothing more than a space to parallel park our genitals.
Dedicated to your stories and ideas.
A hole to bury seeds and leave orchids in our rear view mirrors. They say you gotta peel a woman like a tangerine. And your job as a man is to chameleon your self into her trees. Bite a piece of her fruit and leave the rest hanging crooked and confused. Get you home way after hours. Woman zydeco-ing into her own decade. Thirty years pleated behind her like the wail of a San Antonio accordion. And now the good times are coming.
Girl, I tell you, the good times are here. All night I was rolling over and smelling you. All night I was rolling over and thinking about how you make me forget which way all my limbs are supposed to go. And all I can think is how I want to bury my face in the painful velcro of your neck and rub myself raw.
17 Heart-Punching Quotes That Will Make You Fall In Love With Poetry (Part Two) | Thought Catalog
Like the gentlest hand reaching out of a grave. There is one order of composition which requires the union of poetry and incident, each in its highest kind, the dramatic. Even there, the two elements are perfectly distinguishable, and may exist of unequal quality and in the most various proportion. The combination of the two excellences is what renders Shakespeare so generally acceptable, each sort of readers finding in him what is suitable to their faculties.
To the many, he is great as a story-teller; to the few, as a poet. In limiting poetry to the delineation of states of feeling, and denying the name where nothing is delineated but outward objects, we may be thought to have done what we promised to avoid,to have not found, but made, a definition in opposition to the usage of language, since it is established by common consent that there is a poetry called descriptive. We deny the charge. Description is not poetry because there is descriptive poetry, no more than science is poetry because there is such a thing as a didactic poem.
But an object which admits of being described, or a truth which may fill a place in a scientific treatise, may also furnish an occasion for the generation of poetry, which we thereupon choose to call descriptive or didactic. The poetry is not in the object itself, nor in the scientific truth itself, but in the state of mind in which the one and the other may be contemplated. The mere delineation of the dimensions and colors of external objects is not poetry, no more than a geometrical ground-plan of St.
Peter's or Westminster Abbey is painting. Descriptive poetry consists, no doubt, in description, but in description of things as they appear, not as they are; and it paints them, not in their bare and natural lineaments, but seen through the medium and arrayed in the colors of the imagination set in action by the feelings. If a poet describes a lion, be does not describe him as a naturalist would, nor even as a traveller would, who was intent upon stating the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
He describes him by imagery, that is, by suggesting the most striking likenesses and contrasts which might occur to a mind contemplating a lion, in the state of awe, wonder, or terror, which the spectacle naturally excites, or is, on the occasion, supposed to excite.
Now, this is describing the lion professedly, but the state of excitement of the spectator really. The lion may be described falsely, or with exaggeration, and the poetry be all the better: Thus, far, our progress towards a clear view of the essentials of poetry has brought us very close to the last two attempts: There is in either definition a near approximation to what we are in search of.
Every truth which a human being can enunciate, every thought, even every outward impression, which can enter into his consciousness, may become poetry, when shown through any impassioned medium; when invested with the coloring of joy, or grief, or pity, or affection, or admiration, or reverence, or awe, or even hatred or terror; and, unless so colored, nothing, be it as interesting as it may, is poetry. But both these definitions fail to discriminate between poetry and eloquence. Eloquence, as well as poetry, is impassioned truth; eloquence, as well as poetry, is thoughts colored by the feelings.
Yet common apprehension and philosophic criticism alike recognize a distinction between the two: A question will sometimes arise, whether some particular author is a poet; and those who, maintain the negative commonly allow that, though not a poet, he is a highly eloquent writer. The distinction between poetry and eloquence appears to us to be equally fundamental with the distinction between poetry, and narrative, or between poetry and description, while it is still farther from having been satisfactorily cleared up than either of the others.
Poetry and eloquence are both alike the expression or utterance of feeling: Eloquence supposes an audience. The peculiarity of poetry appears to us to lie in the poet's utter unconsciousness of a listener. Poetry is feeling confessing itself to itself in moments of solitude, and embodying itself in symbols which are the nearest possible representations of the feeling in the exact shape in which it exists in the poet's mind. Eloquence is feeling pouring itself out to other minds, courting their sympathy, or endeavoring to influence their belief, or move them to passion or to action.
All poetry is of the nature of soliloquy. It may be said that poetry which is printed on hot-pressed paper, and sold at a bookseller's shop, is a soliloquy in full dress and on the stage.
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It is so; but there is nothing absurd, in the idea of such a mode of soliloquizing. What we have said to ourselves we may tell to others afterwards; what we have said or done in solitude we may voluntarily reproduce when we know that other eyes are upon us.
But no trace of consciousness that, any eyes are upon us, must be visible in the work itself.
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The actor knows that there is an audience present;, but if he acts as though he knew it, he acts ill. A poet may write poetry, not only with the intention of printing it, but for the express purpose of being paid for it.
That it should be poetry, being written under such influences, is less probable, not, however, impossible; but no otherwise possible than if he can succeed in excluding from his work every vestige of such lookings-forth into the outward and every-day world, and call express his emotions exactly as he has felt them in solitude, or. But when he turns round, and addresses himself to another person; when the act of utterance is not itself the end, but a means to an end,viz. Poetry, accordingly, is the natural fruit of solitude and meditation; eloquence, of intercourse with the world.
Love Poetry Quotes
The persons who have most feeling of their own, if intellectual culture has given them a language in which to express it, have the highest faculty of poetry: The persons and the nations who commonly excel in poetry are those whose character and tastes render them least dependent upon the applause or sympathy or concurrence of the world in general. Those to whom that applause, that sympathy, that concurrence, are most necessary, generally excel most in eloquence.
And hence, perhaps, the French, who are the least poetical of all great and intellectual nations, are among the most eloquent; the French also being the most sociable, the vainest, and the least self-dependent. Take, for example, music. We shall find in that art, so peculiarly the expression of passion, two perfectly distinct styles,one of which may be called the poetry, the other the oratory, of music. This difference, being seized, would put an end to much musical sectarianism.
There has been much contention whether the music of the modern Italian school, that of Rossini and his successors, be impassioned or not.
A Poet's Heart - Poem by Khairul Ahsan
Without doubt, the passion it expresses is not the musing, meditative tenderness or pathos or grief of Mozart or Beethoven; yet it is passion, but garrulous passion,the passion which pours itself into other ears, and therein the better calculated for dramatic effect, having a natural adaptation for dialogue. Mozart also is great in musical oratory; but his most touching compositions are in the opposite style,that of soliloquy. We imagine it over heard. Purely pathetic music commonly partakes of soliloquy. The soul is absorbed in its distress; and, though there may be bystanders, it is not thinking of them.
When the mind is looking within, and not without, its state does not often or rapidly vary; and, hence the even, uninterrupted flow, approaching almost to monotony, which a good reader or a good singer will give to words or music of a pensive or melancholy cast. But grief, taking the form of a prayer or of a complaint, becomes oratorical: