October 2009
September 2009
225, Osip Mandlestam
poetry365:
After midnight the heart picks the locked silence
right out of your hands. Then it may remain
quiet, or it may raise the roof.
Like it or not, it’s the only one of its kind.
Like it or not, you may know it but you’ll never catch it,
so why shiver, now, like a thrown-out child?
After midnight the heart has its banquet,
gnawing on a silvery mouse.
crushed:
S,
Stop confusing the heck out of me every day.
— J
Dear Internet, I fucking hate you. That is all.
Demeter, Waiting, Rita Dove
poetry365:
No. Who can bear it. Only someone
who hates herself, who believes
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek
is to put love into her pocket—
like one of those ashen Christian
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier.
She is gone again and I will not bear
it. I will drag my grief through a winter
of my own making, refuse
any meadow that recycles itself into
hope. Shit on the...
“Oh, yes, I still have my eight months of what has been called freedom. And the...”
– Love Notes: Persephone (as a housewife of the 1950s)
quartertosleep:
This mere preview of our winter, my body warmed by yours, is nice.
damn.
384, Osip Mandlestam
poetry365:
How I wish I could fly
where no one could see me,
behind the ray of light
leaving no trace.
But you—let the light encircle you.
That’s the one happiness.
Learn from a star the meaning
of light.
If it’s a ray, if it’s light,
that’s only because
the whisper and chatter of lovers
strengthen and warm it.
And I want to tell you
that I’m whispering,
I’m giving you to the...
1 tag
here is something
God I hate crying. Because it started over something stupid and was just stress-tears and now it keeps coming and I’m crying about You the wrong You but I can’t do that here because these people don’t know.
1 tag
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Good God I miss You. But you’re the wrong You.
And just when I thought things were getting better.
announcement
poetry365:
So, as you probably know by now, I started this blog in November of last year. We’re actually getting close to the close of the first official 365 days of poetry and I’m sure there will have been more than 365 poems actually posted.
Well I’ve also debated what to do when this year ends. Since the blog-year end wouldn’t coincide with the calendar-year end I wasn’t sure whether I...
The Lovers, Dorianne Laux
poetry365:
She is about to come. This time,
they are sitting up, joined below the belly,
feet cupped like sleek hands praying
at the base of each other’s spines.
And when something lifts within her
toward a light she’s sure, once again,
she can’t bear, she opens her eyes
and sees his face is turned away,
one arm behind him, hands splayed
palm down on the mattress, to brace himself
so he...
For Her, Mark Strand
poetry365:
Let it be anywhere
on any night you wish,
in your room that is empty and dark
or down the street
or at those dim frontiers
you barely see, barely dream of.
You will not feel desire,
nothing will warn you,
no sudden wind, no stillness of air.
She will appear,
looking like someone you knew:
the friend who wasted her life,
the girl who sat under the palm tree.
Her...
announcement
justoneplace:
I know it seems that the only thing we’re posting anymore is announcements but I promise this will change soon! Wednesday, in fact!
The reason for this announcement is to inform every one that our shop is up and running! Not all of the pictures are in the shop, just the most popular ones. If you want an image printed that isn’t listed, please feel free to email us. You will find...
For You, Ed Ochester
poetry365:
How sad to be a casual girl,
how sad to be bounced
in the rear of station wagons
along the shores of shrunken lakes.
How sad to listen to the men play
blackjack in the cabin and believe
Kafka’s Castle is a hamburger joint
and Truffaut a kind of mushroom.
How sad never to understand anything at all,
How sad to walk along the lake at night
and not understand why the stars have...
Haikus, Eric Amann
poetry365:
A night train passes:
pictures of the dead are trembling
on the mantlepiece
The names of the dead
sinking deeper and deeper
into the red leaves
Winter burial:
a stone angel points his hand
at the empty sky
1 tag
here is something
I tell you to rest, it’s ok, sleep well, knowing it’s good I don’t have to use my voice or I’d be screaming I miss you I want you Please Come here.
But oh if you knew.
Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda
poetry365:
I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the...
announcement
justoneplace:
Hey everyone! Good news: JustOnePlace will be returning next week! Things are going to be a bit different but a whole lot better.
The changes:
1. We have a new URL. While you’ll still find us at justoneplace.tumblr.com, we now have our very own dot-com and it’s rather exciting: www.appleshavewings.com
It (along with the site’s title, Just One Place) is taken from a poem by the...
1 tag
here is something
Recently I’ve been missing You. And You. And You.
I’ll have these moments when I’m doing perfectly normal things like finding a seat on the subway or chewing a pen (always hoping it won’t explode in my mouth, ha-ha) and then I remember sitting and looking up at you and smiling my incredible “yes this is everything perfect everything wonderful” smile at you or...
Unpaid Internships – Common but Illegal →
superdoofus-stratodrive:
marco:
(via soupsoup)
The scenario is fairly typical: a company offers an opportunity to ‘break into the business’ in exchange for the intern working for free. You see many examples of this in the entertainment industry. […]
In order to qualify as an unpaid internship, the requirement is simple: no work can be performed that is of any benefit at all to the company....
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond, e....
poetry365:
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first...
“That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I...”
– Sylvia Plath
“(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me...”
– e. e. cummings
Haikus, Nick Avis
poetry365:
longing to be near her
i remember my shirt
hanging in her closet
the telephone
rings only once
autunm rain
1 tag
here is something
But oh, who am I kidding? I can’t do this. I can’t run around New York all night for someone that’s not a sure thing. I can’t handle freezing up every time I see a man who looks like you from a distance. I can’t lie about or be so very ashamed of my age. It was ridiculous to think I could make this my life. And such a shame as well.
“[The letters] were always torn into strips like bookmarks. I used occasionally...”
– Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Truman Capote
“I fall in love with someone about twice a week, but I’m starting to think...”
– ZACH VANDEZANDE
2 tags
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So I’m happy. And I’m swooning. For a boy whose name starts with the letter J and who is older than me. And he is the third of this kind and I haven’t learned whether “bad things come in threes” or “the third time’s the charm” but I’m hoping it’s the latter because he makes me smile and laugh and one other thing that no one else had made...
“This is how they lie there. Like crashed planes with one wing reaching out into...”
– “Flypaper,” Robert Musil
“Then they lie down with outstretched hindlegs, propped up on their elbows and...”
– “Flypaper,” Robert Musil
Poems of Air, Mark Strand
poetry365:
The poems of air are slowly dying;
too light for the page, too faint, too far away,
the ones we’ve called The Moon, The Stars, The Sun,
sink into the sea or slid behind the cooling trees
at the fields edge. The grace of light is everywhere.
Some summer day or winter night the poems will cease.
No one will weep, no one will look at the sky.
A heavy mist will fill the valleys,...
“That is what is wrong with cold people. Not that they have ice in their souls -...”
– Lorrie Moore, What is Seized
This story is from the collection Self-Help. GO BUY THIS BOOK RIGHT AWAY. (via thebronzemedal)
If you aren’t already following Ryan because He Knows What To Read, this should be proof enough. I pretty much sobbed my way through parts of this book. And that means...
Haikus, Jack Kerouac
poetry365:
Birds singing
in the dark
in the rainy dawn
Wine at dawn
—The long
Rainy sleep
Prayerbeads
on the Holy Book
—My knees are cold
After the shower
among the drenched roses,
The bird thrashing in the bath
Beautiful young girls running
up the library steps
With shorts on
Trial by Fire: Did Texas Execute an Innocent Man? →
thebronzemedal:
In mid-August, the noted fire scientist Craig Beyler, who was hired by the commission, completed his investigation. In a scathing report, he concluded that investigators in the Willingham case had no scientific basis for claiming that the fire was arson, ignored evidence that contradicted their theory, had no comprehension of flashover and fire dynamics, relied on discredited...
“He was tall, with a crew cut, and his voice was raspy from years of inhaling...”
– Cameron Todd Willingham, Texas, and the death penalty : The New Yorker
Now THIS is writing. Ryan is exactly right on this.
“Beware of bars lacking hooks. A proper bar has hooks attached to it in front of...”
– Bar Food Finding #7 from “Raising the Bar,” an article in the September Vogue by Jeffery Steingarten about the benefits of eating at the bar of a restaurant, rather than on the main serving floor—an experience I fully endorse.
When I first discovered bar hooks I was at Rope Bar...
Verse One
dearoldlove:
How many poems do I need to read without wanting to look up at you and say, “Listen to this one.”