Nº. 1 of  105

o wayward star

"She did not speak for she had no speech
She was a mermaid who had lost her way
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears
Her eyes were the color of distant love."

The words you speak become the house you live in.

—Hafiz (via lazyyogi)

(Source: lazyyogi, via portermoto)

crying at the poetry reading, by rob walker

weissewiese:

there is a poet crying. she read her poem earlier, 
now it is not her turn to read. it’s her time to cry. 

perhaps the cheap cardboard wine loosened a sad memory, 
sent it spilling onto the floor, a moan leaking from her eyes. 

the other poets ignore her, embarrassed. dictionaries with hair. 
bower birds of words. after all, she’s had her turn. 

besides, they prefer their emotions to be distilled to an essence, 
boiled away to leave a black residue on white paper. 

fables-of-the-reconstruction:

A soul is something we have every now and then.
Nobody has one all the time
or forever.

Day after day,
year after year,
can go by without one.

Only sometimes in rapture
or in the fears of childhood
it nests a little longer.
Only sometimes in the wonderment
that we are old.

It rarely…

“They’d never been lovers, of course, not in the physical sense. But they’d been lovers as most of us manage, loving through expressions and gestures and the palm set softly upon the bruise at the necessary moment. Lovers by inclination rather than by lust. Lovers, that is, by love.”

— Gregory Maguire, Out of Oz

I defend
Not my voice, but my silence.

—Anna Akhmatova, trans. M. M. Kralin, quoted by Judith Hemschemeyer, in The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova  (via volaream)

imickeyd:

Dali’s Ladder by tomas reynoso

imickeyd:

Dali’s Ladder by tomas reynoso

(via portermoto)

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought…
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.

David Ray, “Thanks, Robert Frost.”

(via literarymiscellany)

(via journalofanobody)

هي لا تحبك، يعجبها مجازك
أنت شاعرها و هذا كل ما في الأمر



She does not love you.
Your metaphors thrill her,
You are her poet
But that’s all there is to it.

Mahmoud Darwish, from “She Does Not Love You” in Almond Blossoms and Beyond (Ka-zahr al-lawz aw ab’ad), trans. by Mohammad Shaheen. Interlink Pub Group, 2009

(via metaphorformetaphor)

(Source: inderacinable, via gypsji)

Nº. 1 of  105