#english poet

[poetrybyonur]

Read my lips, as they write these words silently on your skin: You are mine.

An older spoken word that I had to redo on another image, again because of Pinterest having issues with certain images. Click to hear me speak.

Background music by AKMusique.

[his-heart-hymns]

I see life in nothing but the certainty of your love convince me of it,my sweetest.If I am not somehow convinced I shall die of agony.

-John Keats,Letter To Fanny Brawne

My greatest revolt against this meaningless world is the happiness I feel because of you.

-Albert Camus,Letter to Maria Casarès

Hisab-ae-umr ka etna sa goshwara hai,tumhe nikal ke dekha toh sab khasara hai.

Translation:Such is the accounting statement of life, excluding you; everything else is just loss.

-Amjad Islam Amjad

[internationalemeteorologie]

Nicolas Delort

Ozymandias. 2023

"I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away." P. B. Shelley, 1817

[tresfoufou]

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls, must dive below. John Dryden

[proverbiumseniorum]

"For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love."---John Donne, English poet, 1572-1631

[collectingforgottenpoetry]

My lonely chamber next the sea Is full of many flowers set free           By summer's earliest duty: Dear friends upon the garden-walk Might stop amid their fondest talk           To pull the least in beauty. A thousand flowers- each seeming one That learnt by gazing on the sun           To counterfeit his shining; Within whose leaves the holy dew That falls from heaven, has won anew            A glory, in declining. Red roses, used to praises long, Contented with the poet's song,           The nightingale's being over; And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much,           Of dreamer turned to lover. Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you,           Without a thought disloyal; And cactuses a queen might don, If weary of a golden crown,           And still appear as royal. Pansies for ladies all- (I wish That none who wear such brooches, miss           A jewel in the mirror); And tulips, children love to stretch Their fingers down, to feel in each           Its beauty's secret nearer. Love's language may be talked with these; To work out choicest sentences           No blossoms can be meeter; And, such being used in Eastern bowers, Young maids may wonders if the flowers           Or meanings be the sweeter.

A Flower In A Letter, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. As featured in A Victorian Posy: Penhaligon's Scented Treasury of Verse And Prose, 1987 edition.

[shayriara]

I to Heart

[lemurs-lionsmanes]

This is the first thing I have understood: Time is the echo of an axe within a wood.

This Is The First Thing by Philip Larkin, from “The North Ship”(1966)

[crystalclaire]

To a Pianist by Geoffrey Bache Smith

When others’ fingers touch the keys

Then most doleful threnodies

Chase about the air, and run

Like Pandæmonium begun.

Rhythm strained and false accord

In a ceaseless stream are poured;

Then sighs are heard, and men depart

To seek the sage physician’s art,

Or silence, and a little ease,

When others’ fingers touch the keys.

When your fingers touch the keys

Hark, soft sounds of summer seas

In a melody most fair

Whisper through the pleasant air,

Or a winding mountain stream

Glitters to the pale moonbeam,

Or a breeze doth stir the tops

Of springtime larches in a copse,

Or the winds are loosed and hurled

About the wonder-stricken world

With immortal harmonies,

When your fingers touch the keys.

[ross-nekochan]

William Wordsworth - The Borderers (1842)

[flimythings]

"you cant heal if you pretend you're not hurt"

-filmythings

[poetrybyonur]

I cling to the fabric of your soul, not to keep the winds of change from blowing you away, but to go with you when they do.

A short spoken word from a while back. Click to hear my Londoner voice. 🗣️

(Background music by Jordan Critz)

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Quotes by Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

[imsayak]

People aren't homes, they never will be. People are rivers, always changing, forever flowing. They will disappear with everything you put inside them.

~ Nikita Gill

[tresfoufou]

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,

1806 –61

[proverbiumseniorum]

"Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside."---Alexander Pope, English poet, 1688-1744

“Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”—Alexander Pope, English poet, 1688-1744