Notes: 311 / 1 year ago
is wrapped silently in the snow’s winding sheet,
I hear—long, doleful, blood-curdling—the howl of wolves
Notes: 103 / 1 year ago
Notes: 177 / 1 year ago
"To change your language you must change your life."
Notes: 516 / 1 year ago
from frenchtwist (originally from onestonedcrow)
"Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."
Notes: 419 / 1 year ago
"Tonight I think
Notes: 106 / 1 year ago
from yama-bato (originally from growing-orbits)
"Spring has returned! Everything has returned!
The earth, just like a schoolgirl, memorizes
Poems, so many poems."
Notes: 1294 / 1 year ago
"Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn."
Notes: 92 / 1 year ago
"I smashed my sickening face
in the mirror
I love you — I said — I love you
I love you more than anything in the world"
Notes: 343 / 1 year ago
"When it comes, you’ll be dreaming
that you don’t need to breathe;
that breathless silence is
the music of the dark
and it’s part of the rhythm
to vanish like a spark."
Notes: 228 / 1 year ago
"Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one’s own pleasure is shared."
Notes: 93 / 1 year ago
Djuna Barnes, portrait, circa 1920s
Inscribed on verso: “I can operate in the dark — bodies are phosphorescent. I (See a condition of a poeta. Astreal light — condition of round & above a lovely spiritual message dearie.”), Photograph, 10.2 x 6.9 cm, Djuna Barnes Papers, Special Collections, University of Maryland Libraries. thanks to arttattler
Notes: 465 / 1 year ago
"I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone."
- Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Hours
Notes: 319 / 2 years ago
"To know the future
there must be a death.
Hand me the axe."
Notes: 121 / 2 years ago
"In the past we listened to photographs. They heard our voice speak.
Alive, active. What had been distance was memory."
Notes: 131 / 2 years ago
"The poem, even a short time after being written,
seems no miracle; unwritten, it seems
something beyond the capacity of the gods."