Missing You Poetry Quotes & Sayings

I can't think offhand of any American poets who have Mandelstam's urgency, but it's a different country and a different time, and I don't think it would make much sense to say that this is something that's "missing" from contemporary American poetry. — Christian Wiman

Some poets write pages upon pages because their hearts have a song to sing and their melodies cannot be contained in a single stanza... and I find myself typing out a quote because my soul is still gasping for breath, and all the words form a single sentence: I miss us. — Alfa H

I'm just staring at him, mouth half-open. As soon as I realize it, I find something to say, anything. "Who the hell are you?"
"March," he tells me.
"That a name or an order? — Ann Aguirre

We measure the excellency of other men by some excellency we conceive to be in ourselves. — John Selden

The problem is that people have tried to look away from space and from the meaning of the moon landing. I remember seeing a picture of an astronaut standing on the moon. It was up at Yale and someone has scrawled on it, 'So what?' That is the arrogance of the kind of academic narrowness one too often sees; it is trapped in its own predictable prejudices, its own stale categories. It is the mind dulled to the poetry of existence. It's fashionable now to demand some economic payoff from space, some reward to prove it was all worthwhile. Those who say this resemble the apelike creatures in 2001. They are fighting for food among themselves, while one separates himself from them and moves to the slab, motivated by awe. That is the point they are missing. He is the one who evolves into a human being; he is the one who understands the future. — Joseph Campbell

And they can't understand, what hurts more - Missing the other person, or pretending not to. — Khadija Rupa

The study of silence has long engrossed me. The matrix of a poet's work consists not only of what is there to be absorbed and worked on, but also of what is missing, desaparecido, rendered unspeakable, thus unthinkable. It is through these invisible holes in reality that poetry makes its way - certainly for women and other marginalized subjects and for disempowered and colonized peoples generally, but ultimately for all who practice any art at its deeper levels. The impulse to create begins - often terribly and fearfully - in a tunnel of silence. Every real poem is the breaking of an existing silence, and the first question we might ask any poem is, What kind of voice is breaking silence, and what kind of silence is being broken? — Adrienne Rich

Isn't it worth missing whatever joy / you might have dreamed, to wake in the night and find / you and your beloved are holding hands in your sleep? — Galway Kinnell

I believed even then that if I could transform my experience into poetry I would give it the value and dignity it did not begin to possess on its own. I thought too that if I could write about it I could come to understand it; I believed that if I could understand my life - or at least the part my work played in it - I could embrace it with some degree of joy, an element conspicuously missing from my life. — Philip Levine

Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing. — Dejan Stojanovic

He could never admit to himself that it was death that had given his life meaning. — Richard Flanagan

I finally went
where everyone goes
and I realized
I was
never
missing
out. — Meraaqi

I taught myself Russian, which was very, very useful, especially for poetry and in fact if you can't read Pushkin in Russian, you're really missing something. — Clive James

I can't sleep alone anymore
and I get used to
company
too quickly. You're always gone too soon. — Charlotte Eriksson

What makes a poem a poem, finally, is that it is unparaphrasable. There is no other way to say exactly this; it exists only in its own body of language, only in these words. I may try to explain it or represent it in other terms, but then some element of its life will always be missing.
It's the same with painting. All I can say of still life must finally fall short; I may inventory, weigh, suggest, but I cannot circumscribe; some element of mystery will always be left out. What is missing is, precisely, its poetry. — Mark Doty

I think your most intimate thoughts are only honest when they're in your head. — Laura Marling

To be entirely free, and at the same time entirely dominated by law, is the eternal paradox of human life. — Oscar Wilde

For me, prose is never a poem. Because with prose there are so very few tools to create the music. And one of the most important tools missing is the ability to create silences, as you can in poetry by how you fashion the lines and breaks within the lines and stanzas. — Pattiann Rogers

I don't like political poetry, and I don't write it. If this question was pointing towards that, I think it is missing the point of the American tradition, which is always apolitical, even when the poetry comes out of politically active writers. — Diane Wakoski

In spite of my study, I have learned. Every grand religion begins in light. Yet only hearts hold light. Pages cannot. I have paper in my hands. Give these words to the world and they will be loved and understood by those who already know their truth. The truth doesn't burn. The truth waits for anyone who wishes to find it ... only these pages will burn. At one with the stars ... with the pages and their love ... one with everything that is, that ever was or will be. One. — Richard Bach

We tend to think of the rational as a higher order, but it is the emotional that makes our lives. One often learns more from ten days of agony than from ten years of contentment. MERLE SHAIN — Julia Cameron

Apples of Hesperides

Glinting golden through the trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night
Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,
Swaying to the kissing breeze
Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,
Apples of Hesperides!.

Far and lofty yet they glimmer,
Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,
Pushing forward just for these;
Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,
Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,
Always thinking soon to seize
And possess the golden-glistening
Apples of Hesperides!.

Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,
Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing, still transcendent,
Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,
Glowing with a saffron fire,
Splendid, unassailed, the golden
Apples of Hesperides! — Amy Lowell

It's probably unwise to romanticize everything- and I'll probably always do it. — Samantha Ellis

Never live life in your own shadow. Instead, break free and allow your soul to soar! — A.C. Willis

In the street, he turned west and walked against a tide of blank-eyed, gum-chewing faces. A taxi went over a manhole cover, clink-clank. Steam was rising from an excavation at the corner. The world was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. What was the pont of all these drab buildings, this dirty sky? — Damon Knight

Leila. Schoolgirls are like sports cars. They're nice to look at, but they're impractical. In the end, they don't do what you need them to do."
I had to stifle my smile, he looked so serious. Then I stole a glance back at the lithe-limbed shadows beneath the tress. "Is that so?"
"It's true. They won't let you take them up the arse. They're rubbish at sucking you. You want to ride them at a hundred miles a hour, but you end up doing forty in the sixty zone because you're too fucking scared of damaging them. — Lucy V. Morgan

The world is thinning
and the earth...it's still spinning

my world is thinning
and it's all because
of one person I'm missing. — Sanober Khan

On the Eighth Day Adam Slept Alone

It must have been
the eighth day.

A day the scribes and Pharisees conveniently
left out.

Adam was either inspecting goats
or naming the birds

when something pinched
my side.

I had to stop pruning the tree of knowledge
to catch my breath.

God had taken a long weekend.

At first I thought the solitude of gardening
was going to my head.

Was it loneliness?
An omen? A vision?

For a moment I thought I would
ascend.

Then I realized it was just a rib
missing.

How you found your way in
along the banks of the third river

I will never know
but I still shiver to recall

how perfectly your fingers
fell into place

along the ridges
of my ribcage.

Go ahead, Love,
take every last bone.

Make of me
what you will. — Nancy Boutilier

I will miss
my chest exploding
you coming home late
not turning on the light
always waking me up

I will miss
the sudden burst of safety
when you look at me
or hold my hand
or say something like
"let's go home"

I will miss
the years I lost
on something or someone.
The pieces didn't fit, shaped wrong
the timing slightly off.

I loved you like I always will. — Charlotte Eriksson

By perceiving ourselves as part of the river, we take responsibility for the river as a whole. — Vaclav Havel

So for now,
I will miss you like I'll never see you again,
And the next time I see you,
I will kiss you like I'll never kiss you again,
And when I fall asleep beside you
I will fall asleep as if I'll never wake up again,
because I don't know if I will.
I don't know if I will.
- I Will Love You Like The World Is Ending — Charlotte Eriksson

The Wishing Bones

A thousand grandmothers ago
Pyrrha and Deucalion repopulated
the world with rocks, bones of mother Earth,
a generation of my ancestors strained
from the mud of a drowned planet.

But I'm more interested in my earliest
grandmothers, their gills and wetness,
before they crawled from that blue expanse
and learned to carry the sea within them,
in their cells, between their cells, in their eyes.

The buoyancy of ocean has never left us.
It hides in skin's complex reservoir
where we're selectively permeable
and our bodies exchange the smallest life.

If we had no need to distinguish ourselves
from others we'd be missing the skin
that defines lovers and enemies
and opens itself to both. — Jalina Mhyana

I wonder if there will be a morning when you'll wake up missing me. That some incident in your life, would have finally taught you the value of my worth. And you will feel a surge of longing, when you remember how I was good to you.

When this day comes I hope you will look for me. I hope you will look with the kind of conviction I'd always hoped for, but never had from you. Because I want to be found. And I hope it will be you - who finds me. — Lang Leav

For who but I should understand love, with all its sorrow and joy? — Walt Whitman

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you. — Walt Whitman

I'm passing the bar
Where you first got in my car
I'm not ashamed to admit
That it's you I won't forget

I saved your cigarettes and
Bad habits I regret
But the hours flew by like clouds
Whenever I had you around

Parachute lover
Take me away
From the plane that went crashing
And the earth that's in flames

Saving you is saving me
High above the redwood trees
But down below I see shadows
And parachute debris

We're drifting like children
Along for the ride
Each time we find love
Another parachute arrives

Our madness will burn
As bright as the sun
And I'll keep finding lovers
But you were the one — Crystal Woods

I began missing you even before we met. — Kamand Kojouri

The wind has a purpose - to rattle the window panes, disturb the cat and make me miss you ... — John Geddes

What I want to know is how you go on when you look around
and don't see anywhere you want to go without the only person
you can't have. — Charlotte Eriksson

I fell in love with you in a hurry, like you were going somewhere fast - which you did. You came and went like an earthquake, like some sort of eclipse. I've spent hours, days, months, years missing you. But then something strange happened, and now I can't remember why I ever loved you at all. You didn't deserve it. I should have loved me more. — Christina Hart

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing. — Mark Strand

Mysteries never end," Silette wrote. "And we solve them anyway, knowing we are both solving both everything and nothing. We solve them knowing the world will surely be as poorly or even worse off than before. But this is the piece of life we have been given authority over, nothing else; and while we may ask why over and over, no one yet has been given an answer. — Sara Gran