Poetry is the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production read more

Poetry is the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production of an individual mind .

Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.

Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.

For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

When you write in prose you say what you mean. When you write in rhyme you say what you must.

When you write in prose you say what you mean. When you write in rhyme you say what you must.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his read more

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with read more

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.
-President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest,
about the Revolutionary War).