March 2010
“Here’s a little secret, love: everybody comes undone.”
– Grant-Lee Phillips, Dirty Secret
A Contemplation of the Celestial World, Maurice...
poetry365:
Whoever had the thought to render bear fat
and burn it in a lamp was touched a bit,
or bored, or left alone to ponder light
too long in some dank cabin: bear fat pops
and stinks and brings no cheer to our condition.
My brother Squire would burn such lamps to read
the Scriptures: eyelids smudged, his head immersed
in smoke; his Bible, like a gutted beast,
spread open to...
“Words are for those with promises to keep.”
– Poetry 365: Their Lonely Betters, W. H. Auden
“you remember the one who touched you everywhere but there, who ran his hands all...”
– everybody’s makin love or else expecting rain.: what it looks like
1 tag
A Woman Clings to the Idea of What Might Have...
poetry365:
(after Leon Stokesbury and Vermeer)
She reads the whole note once again.
We can tell it is winter from the ermine—
lined jacket she wears indoors.In the morning
when he left he left his scent inside the rain—
dampened air.She was a kind of woman
who could cling to, if she had wanted, greater things—
a reputation in the town for some good use, omen
prophesying beneficence that...
“For some of us, all seasons are hurricane.
The winds gale up, working us like...”
– Poetry 365: Hurrican Season, Sheryl St. Germain
My Father at Grand Isle, Darrell Bourque
poetry365:
Whoever took this picture of my father loved him.
He is a boy still, but barely.He has separated himself
from all others he came here with at this watery retreat
his mother takes her family and friends and her priest
to in the summers.That is, everyone except this one
who gazes up at him leaning into the world, held back
by the railings on the balcony.Everything behind him
is a...
1 tag
here is something
Today I took pictures, read a book, spent time outside. The pictures are lovely and bright, yes, but I wish there were a way to convey the scents to you, the wonderful smells of spring, the breeze coming off the river, the dress-ready weather.
My town has never been more beautiful and yes, I have the time of year to thank for this. This is weather for falling in love, though, and I’d like...
Terry Richardson is really creepy: One Model's... →
feistyred:
arod:
Filed under DUUUH of the Day. Though, as NYMag says, ” The moral of the story is, if Terry Richardson had a small dick, none of this would’ve ever happened.”
This story was really disturbing.
At first I thought of TR as “edgy” and “oh so unique” but after my studio photography class (and a lot more exploration of classy nudes and even pornography) I...
1 tag
here is something
I saw your name and my stomach started to churn. I decided to investigate further, despite the feeling I was going to vomit. And lo! you still get it! Of course, of course you do. And if I were to explain that to anyone it would be so hard, especially to you. And even though it’s been over a year I can’t push down this terrible feeling. It’s only been two weeks from him and I...
Colors and the Kids, by Cat Power
(all this...
1 tag
crushes:
I could have sworn I loved you in 6th grade. Fell to pieces when you switched schools.
Found you again, and would reroute my walk to classes just to see you. Heard of you through friends of friends.
And right now you’re laying next to me 6 years later. It was worth it.
This actually felt like more of a punch in the stomach. You may know who this would be about for me
1 tag
Interruption: Imagining Louisiana: A Conversation...
poetry365:
This Thursday at Poets House in Battery Park City, Manhattan you’ll have the opportunity to hear two Louisiana poets (one of them state Poet Laureate!) speak and read about Louisiana, it’s poetic culture and how it’s changed since their childhoods. Both poets know the physical, emotional and historical landscapes of Louisiana personally and will be wonderful to hear if you have the...
2 tags
Half a Heart, Jan McLaughlin and Bruce Webber
poetry365:
she drew in the sand half a heart and spilled wine over the leaves
of summer. driving her car into the seven/eleven she dreamed
of whispering in the ear of a baseball player asking him to
stumble upon her tattoo, a thing not easy in itself to do without
invitation, with half a heart. the dream blue on green,
making yellow in defiance of afternoon sunlight among the thorns...
4 tags
here is something
There are things that I miss, of course. The sex is the first thing that comes to mind, and free museum admission. But there’s also the tangling legs before falling asleep and someone to wander around museums with. Also reading aloud in the morning, laughing about classical feminism. I also miss the potential and so many things that simply didn’t happen yet. Can you miss things that...
1 tag
What We Know by Miles Fisher
I was so full of...
But, Michael Palmer (for 3/6)
poetry365:
But the birth and death of stars?
The birds without wings,
wings without bodies?
The twin suns above the harbor?
The accelerating particles?
The pools of spilled ink?
Pages turning themselves
in The Paper House?
the imagery in this reminds me of C. <3
1 tag
i will learn how to love a person and then i will...
poetry365:
seen from a great enough distance i cannot be seen
i feel this as an extremely distinct sensation
of feeling like shit; the effect of small children
is that they use declarative sentences and then look at your face
with an expression that says, ‘you will never do enough
for the people you love’; i can feel the universe expanding
and it feels like no one is trying hard enough...
1 tag
Poof
dearoldlove:
Every night before I sleep, I reach out because some part of me believes that you’ll magically appear by my side. You always did like mystical things like that. Your feelings were also good at vanishing acts.
Hunger Artist, Rita Signorelli-Pappas
poetry365:
I believe I could have saved him.
What he wanted was easy: the poured
sweet wine of encouragement. A smile.
In another life he might have grown
a comfortable margin of flesh, he might
have kept all his teeth and been spared
translation into the skeleton’s cage.
I would have kept an eye on him,
fed him with words passed like bread
broken into a confession of trust.
I would...
Musee de Beaux Arts, W. H. Auden
poetry365:
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the...