Modern Poetry Quotes

“Modern poetry, for me, began not in English at all but in Spanish, in the poems of Lorca.”
― W.S. Merwin

“plastic flowers beside the highway
middle of somewhere”
― John C. Waugh, busted haiku

“We were never supposed to be in love; for everything that exists inside a heart eventually dies.”
― Laura Chouette, Profound Reverie

“You are the hybrids of golden worlds and ages splendidly conceived.”
― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

“I DON'T HAVE A MUSIC TASTE.
I HAVE A MUSIC SENSE.”
― Intensia, Words to Think. Or to Sing.

“Love fades where every gesture has a price.”
― Angelika Regossi

“we are the pain our forefathers decided to carry forward.”
― arihant

“Every house is haunted
With the ghost that says—
You're safe within the wall.”
― Ritu Negi, Cherry Blossoms: A Haiku Poetry Book

“God's Grand Weather Machine by Stewart Stafford

Some say: 'Send storm clouds back to sender;
Into God's omnipotent weather machine.'
Let them come, I say, and cleanse me,
Reborn for the second time as a teen.

Improvising with nature's gifted props;
Perspective in motion, despite the scene,
To go without sleep for fear of nightmares?
Insomniac strike - we're dreamers, not the dream.

Skies beyond our grasp caress down;
As raindrop punctuation marks careen,
Spin your watery partner on the floor,
Absent of weather critics venting spleen.

Thunderous applause greets our every move,
Hoping lightning's ovation strikes the forest trees.
We shuffle and shimmy as sky spray slicks steps,
Dancing to judges' scorecards of degrees.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“She writes poems about me
Ted Hughes-ing her life...

He's a feminist until there's housework”
― S.M. Field, Rival Covenants: Poetic Stories

“Now in the club, your side declared,
Can one retract a belief? Can one admit the vision
In your desert time was simply a mirage-path to
Nothingness?
Will your courage allow you to admit you were wrong?
Or stay quiet, your head bowed in shame not piety?
To waste your life in pretended belief, a chosen pity,
Or will you audaciously say
No more and walk the other way
Back along the Damascus road.”
― S.M. Field, Rival Covenants: Poetic Stories

“In time to come I would regret turning back. The salt of
Myself absorbed your tears, but left a pile for you
To walk over.”
― S.M. Field, Rival Covenants: Poetic Stories

“Carnal Carnival Mirror by Stewart Stafford

In a stalker's heckle, a conjoined choice;
Dead end track or a charlatan voice?
Life's a twisted, poised inquisitor,
With a human stopgap answer visitor.

Blank slates skimmed in stony throe,
Viscous channels tempt furlough,
Wrecks of the wild and sentient sea,
Begging a craven harbour's charity.

Hear the liar's mantra chant;
That siren's song will gallivant;
Gossip's billow finds our sails;
Cohesion falters, verity bewails.

Hypocrites don suits they see fit,
Self-fulfilling phallusies they commit.
Our rulers shame, an unmasked brute,
Leaves fall down from prophecy's youth.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Unspoken Sonata by Stewart Stafford

Love's lullaby's unheard duet,
Kisses of life drown shallow opinions,
Prejudged by logic, yet set apart,
Our oasis bars the negative legions.

Eternal tongues of a mother lode;
Looks of love, a second-sight ploy,
To visions beyond earthly interpretation;
Dance down darkest paths to ecstatic joy.

Spoiler seers nix romantic ideals;
Abyssal agendas in jealousy's biome,
A caterpillar doxxed for its butterfly shape,
Real love's navigator guides us home.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Saint Belfort’s Wood by Stewart Stafford

As I rambled through Saint Belfort’s Wood,
The Entrepreneurial Skag Lepus accosted me,
“I can get you hopped-up whether you want it or not,” he boasted,
Gesturing to a commune of defrocked Praying Mantises nearby.

They stood transfixed like Pointer dogs,
As they tried cleaning their antennae,
Failing miserably in the attempt,
Their eyes swirling cascades of hopelessness.

“You talk too much for a rabbit,” I replied,
My eyes moving over his tweed waistcoat,
“I’m a hare, actually,” he said, taking umbrage,
“Then you, sir, are a follicular f-f-falsity!” I shouted.

I turned on my heel and walked away,
“Don’t look a gift hare in the mouth!” he called after me,
“I have and only see two buck teeth!” I responded,
The hare huffed and hopped away to find another hophead.

© 2021, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“You can't fully love, without a little violence”
― Richard Rizo, Random Acts of Love and Violence: A Journey Through Love, Heartbreak, and the Unknown

“Foolish Boogie by Stewart Stafford

Court jester in cowboy boots,
Meditates on a Formica counter,
An over-caffeinated ventriloquist,
A kitchenette thrown-voice encounter.

Diary check on a chaise lounge,
Booked-up until the end of time,
Not even a day off to perish slowly,
The meek are bequeathed a dime.

A giant with shrunken hubris,
Colossus with an Achilles heel,
Sore points prodded with sticks,
Karmic kamikaze at the wheel.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Let me posit 2 other divisions. The 1st is somewhat nebulous & entails some generalizations. I state that Shakespeare- despite claims for his universality- was a very limited thinker- at least thematically; although similar themes would often be twisted anew with metaphor & image. But compared to the aforementioned other sonneteers Shakespeare demonstrates a near tunnel vision in range of themes (let’s put aside the question of his own Shakespearean sonnet form). Even worse, he seemed to be obsessed with running said themes into the ground. In the sonnets there are only a handful of broad themes- with only occasional overlap. They are: beauty, sleep/dreams, love/friendship, despair/ parting, art/the Muse, &, of course, death. The riposte: But isn’t all Art about these things? Well, yes & no. Yes, in a broad sense, but no in the sense that Modern Poetry’s superiority to Classical or non-Modern [a term I prefer to pre-Modern because any number of poets today still write this type of poetry & it seems silly to label these contemporaries pre-anything!] poetry is its very multi-layered approach to these themes & relegating them to sub-themes at service to portraits of people, events, & moments. This is all dramatic technique centuries ahead of Shakespeare & while his best sonnets survive this his worst are telltale in their failure’s being tied to their time.”
― Dan Schneider

“Full schedules, empty hearts.
Maxed-out memory, corrupted essence.”
― Phoenix Moon, Emotional Roller Coaster: Confessions of a soul reborn from the ashes

“Everyone starving...
but not for food.
Starving for meaning.
Starving for touch.
Starving for soul.”
― Phoenix Moon, Emotional Roller Coaster: Confessions of a soul reborn from the ashes

“The soul knows: the sea, too, must rise in revolt so it doesn’t die standing still.”
― Phoenix Moon, Reliquary of the Soul

“Maybe your soul’s high tide is God turning the page of your waters — to teach you how to swim toward your own freedom.”
― Phoenix Moon, Reliquary of the Soul

“Good Morning Sinkhole by Stewart Stafford

Lucky birdshit on my window,
A split-second awakening,
Another landslide out of bed,
Flailing in duvet quicksand.

Clawing at the walls going down,
Assume precarious crab-walk position,
Straining every fibre to avoid collapsing,
Land ho! with a fingertip mattress grab.

Steadying myself, I drag my carcass up,
Shaky leg muscles gain some relief,
Retake Altar of Id with a drowning sweat,
Survive to face more nightmare carpet rides.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Outer Wastes by Stewart Stafford

Echoes across the cosmos
Supernovae of Gemini suns,
Truth storms of meteor showers,
Coronas flashing frigid guns.

Spinning stone bedrock cracks,
A diaspora exiled to the void,
Interstellar offspring pushing
Sentience for the ultra-paranoid.

Pandora's black hole gifts,
Astrologer spins a cosmic warning,
Scrubbing up, celestial enlightenment,
Serpentine Adam's apple ripe for boring.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Larktown Savannah by Stewart Stafford

Pierce the smog-shrouded end of town,
A wheezing, mirthless, blushing clown,
On the river, logs and sticks past me flew,
Ingredients of a swirling, brownish stew.

In the bait shop, the condemned crawl,
A carvery pub lunch next door for all,
The old cinema’s lights are long-dimmed,
A long grass lion’s zebra crossing skimmed.

Seagulls bomb the blustery bridge;
To the water, as to sunset, the midge;
An Elvis impersonator’s sparse crowd tell—
Rhinestone saviour in Wharf Street’s hotel.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“And Sartre’s resonant voice declared:
"Freedom?
It is the choice of your own noose."
And I have made my choice.”
― Muhammad Ijaz Ul Haq, Sapphire: The Blue Testament

“While the girl to my right places one final bet. She's praying I carry the cash for the room, As we hide from the dawn and the impending gloom.”
― Lokesh Tuli, Notes From Exile: The "Manual for the Broken”

“I don’t know how to like things. I only know how to obsess until I absolutely ruin them or they ruin me. There is no middle ground.”
― Lokesh Tuli, Notes From Exile: The "Manual for the Broken”

“The Hemlock Toast
by Stewart Stafford

The eternal orphan, courtesy of
Clean-room medieval alchemists.
The mirror's software crash loop,
Coining infinity’s counterfeit lucre.

Chimera revenue streams pour in
From the yawning, ethics-bored abyss.
A blind taste test of phantom brew —
A gun barrel spun with a hemlock bullet.

Reading market forecasts in our entrails,
On altars of a bought and sold society.
Accept the corrupt transfusion — deal done.
The commodified jury was never about truth.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Nothing you will become could ever disappoint me.

I don't have some grand, tragic preconception of what I want you to be or do.

I have absolutely no desire to try and foresee your next move!

That ain't my style.

My only plan is to stick around and discover you.”
― Lokesh Tuli, Notes From Exile: The "Manual for the Broken”