I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. — J. Carter Brown
I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. — J. Carter Brown
I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. — J. Carter Brown
I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. — J. Carter Brown
I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits. — J. Carter Brown
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I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits.

— J. Carter Brown
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More “Poetry” Quotes

Love is who you are. — Earthschool Harmony
The gilded spiralOf longings within.Our very own cathedralThat points persistently to heaven. — Scott Hastie
I am sad, like the hot dust on the streetsAnd the music of fresh fallen leavesCaught in a sliding summer breeze. — Scott Hastie
On the canvas of life,Every sweep of the brush matters,Counts for something… — Scott Hastie
Since it has quietly began to snow,new distances have awakened within me. — Gerrit Achterberg, Snow Passage
A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions — Will Advise, Nothing is here...
Dear Forgiveness, you know that recentlywe have had our difficulties and there are many thingsI want to ask you. — Richard Siken, Crush
No matter how long you behest, to the fruit draped tree. It will do you no best, until a shingle you free. — Shahzad Ashraf
Unforgiveness,splinter in your breastbone, lives there lodged like a small tree.Withers in winter, looms in spring. Its — Katerina Stoykova Klemer, The Porcupine of Mind
i smile. things taken for granted have a way of catching you offguard when you least expect it, and then you're taken by — Yeow Kai Chai, lost bodies: poems between portugal and home
Pages burnt, memories buried, I wakeor think I'm awake. Or dreaming still? — Yong Shu Hoong, lost bodies: poems between portugal and home
You must remain. I must depart.Two autumns falling in the heart. — Buson