catchthedrearyrain
To Catch the Dreary Rain
Feel free to browse, I hope you enjoy
600 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
retrowave-racer
š¢š¼šØ
leemarcly
Untitled
sunflovver6
polina loves harry and believes in larry
royalblue31
Untitled
kamoteslice
love is best served with the utmost necessary.
Text
Giving Thanks to Apolloās Mother
Anthologia Palatina 6.272 = Perses (Hellenistic period)
To you, o Leto, Timaessa dedicated
Her girdle and her frock of flowery colors,
The band, too, curled tightly round her breasts-
Having in the tenth month escaped the grievous burden
Of a childbirth with fierce attendant pains.
Ā Ī¶įæ¶Ī¼Ī¬ ĻĪæĪ¹, į½¦ ĪĪ±ĻĻĪ, ĪŗĪ±į½¶ į¼Ī½ĪøĪµĪ¼ĻĪµĪ½ĻĪ± ĪŗĻĻĪ±ĻĻĪ¹Ī½,
ĪŗĪ±į½¶ Ī¼ĪÆĻĻĪ±Ī½ Ī¼Ī±ĻĻĪæįæĻ ĻĻĪ¹Ī³ĪŗĻį½° ĻĪµĻĪ¹ĻĪ»ĪæĪ¼ĪĪ½Ī±Ī½,
ĪøĪ®ĪŗĪ±ĻĪæ Ī¤Ī¹Ī¼Ī¬ĪµĻĻĪ±, Ī“Ļ
ĻĻĪ“ĪÆĪ½ĪæĪ¹Īæ Ī³ĪµĪ½ĪĪøĪ»Ī±Ļ
į¼ĻĪ³Ī±Ī»ĪĪæĪ½ Ī“ĪµĪŗĪ¬Ļįæ³ Ī¼Ī·Ī½į½¶ ĻĻ
Ī³Īæįæ¦ĻĪ± Ī²Ī¬ĻĪæĻ.
Hawaiian Mother and Child, Charles W. Bartlett, ca. 1920
142 notes
Ā·
View notes
Text
Watching the fire
It was the third time Notre Dame faced near ruin, but nothing like the flames racing over the roof, eating the last holy remains of a forest over 1,200 years old. Faith, in God and country and history and art and love, were all stores in the old stones growing dark. The city became listless as Our Lady of Paris slowly, slowly burned in front of them. Save the people, save the artifacts, save the memories, then save the body if you can. Hands with lost names built her first on the old temple site, hands with knowledge and talent now lost, or at least no longer perfected, brought her through century after century. The old organ at her heart drowned while the church burned. Around 8,000 organ pipes, many from instruments even older, may be cleared but the windchest may not breath again. Night fell and the smoke disappeared in the night, the flames seemed to glow even brighter. And the people of Paris sang for their burning, drowning Lady.
In a small Midwestern town 20 years ago a house burned so a church could grow. The old home had been abandoned years before, empty and condemned in the middle of town. Before it had been a home this a husband, a wife, their three children growing and learning and fighting then falling apart with a divorce. But that family had emerged from rubble and a father raised his three children while becoming the local saint and historian of an old farm town and an old farm church. His daughters clung to each other, cried and shared memories while their childhood home burned, freshface volunteers practicing a new craft where their family had been made, broken, and made again. Their fatherās picture hangs above the door in the churchās new addition and his daughters bring his soup to every potluck.
A different fire consumed my uncle. We could only watch. Beat it back once, but a little oxygen was all it took, just a slight breeze to bring the coals of his cancer back. Lumps and shallows appeared on his body. The color of his skin yellowed and purpled. The scaffolding of his body burned. We gathered around him as we watched him battle the spreading death in his cells. Most of the time we wanted to be quiet. But it was hard to breath and he didnāt want silence. He would push through it for each visitor who came to his room for one last story, one last word of wisdom, one last prayer, one last joke, one last time to hold his hand and see his smile. We tried, each of us, to memorize the curve of his face. Except for his children who could not bare to see him disintegrate and instead focused on his hands and voice. But his wife still watched his eyes until he could not keep them open.
2 notes
Ā·
View notes
Text
My mistakes
Iāve done a lot of things but Iād think itās easy to see where I went wrong,
Donāt take the only road I wish I never traveled,
Read the signs and warnings, honey, those good times wonāt last,
This doesnāt lead where you want to go,
Trust me, youāll end up circling back around a few years wasted,
And nothing much to show,
You donāt wanna go that way,
You donāt wanna take that name,Ā
You donāt wanna get what comes with all this shit
Youāre too smart, honey, too pretty, honey, too happy, honey,
To go taking up with my mistakes
Heās got a smile full of promises but he only meant half of them,
Donāt give out your trust where Iāve wasted mine,
Blue eyes and blue stories and blue nights are all he knows how to give,
Along with some bad debt and court fees,
It all comes with a high price tag for what you wouldnāt take for free,
And it wonāt be easy to get it out your door.
You donāt wanna go that way,
You donāt wanna take that name,
You donāt wanna get what comes with all this shit
Youāre too smart, honey, too pretty, honey, too happy, honey,
To go taking up with my mistakes
You donāt know what youāre getting with that white gold diamond ring,
Donāt throw your good years after my bad ones,
Every sweetĀ thing youāve gotta plant every year but the weeds grow back easy,
And the stairs squeak every night when he comes in late,
A pretty house with a bad foundation aināt worth the time it needs,
And the heart heāll keep breaking
You donāt wanna go that way,
You donāt wanna take that name,
You donāt wanna get what comes with all this shit
Youāre too smart, honey, too pretty, honey, too happy, honey,
To go taking up with my mistakes
Donāt go taking up with my mistakes
0 notes
Text
Holy Sonnet 10 (or 14) by John Donne
Batter my heart, three-personād God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurpād town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivād, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lovād fain,
But am betrothād unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
55 notes
Ā·
View notes
Text
convenience store at midnight -Ā
because my heart drove me here & my bodyĀ
is rusty in wanting you, I hover in the light likeĀ
a moth, my poor wings in desperate flutter.
my body, (I bring up because I have to)Ā flashes
in absolute firework; neon is a powerful thingĀ
to love - I hold it in my mouth like candy &Ā
pass it to you, spit-soaked & glowing,Ā
like crushed ice, cherry flavored.
I love you as much as I need to buy gasoline.
convenient, I could have mistaken you
for the same thing.
368 notes
Ā·
View notes
Text
āQuell our rage,ā Pt. 32
There was little sleep on the temple floor
Higher on the mountain, the winds were stronger and he could not tell if those were whispers in the wind
Sunrise must have ended his battle with Hypnos but he could not be sure with the binding around his eye blocking out even light
The wounds of restlessness carried throughout the day
He heard the gorgon move about, constantly humming
Twice she set a bowl and cup in his hands then took each when he finished
Perseus did not know how long it went on like this
He lost track of time without much to mark its passing outside of his two meals a day
She did not stop him when he crawled around, or when he finally stood and started to carefully walk around the ancient site
āHaltā
It was the first word she had said to him in what must be days
Perseus froze like her statues
āIf you move and farther to the left, you will fall down the templeās front stairsā
Edging is foot in that direction he found where the first step dropped
He then bowed toward her voice
Swishing fabric, louder than he was use to from her, followed her to the back of the back of the temple.
āCome, I have your supperā
Cautiously he went after her voice, and she directed him up the steps to the altar space
Eating quietly, likely curled at her feet, he felt warm for the first time since entering the temple
āYouāve been here for eight daysā
The words were soft and small emotions seemed to be woven through them, but he was too unskilled to pick out the threads
āTonight, you will sleep out of winds. Tomorrow you will decide how you will die.ā
1 note
Ā·
View note
Text
āQuell our Rage,ā Pt. 31
He kept crawling into large pillars of stone strewn throughout the temple court
After carefully placing his hands on the fifth, he found his hand wrapped around a smooth, strong calf
Sick gathered in his mouth and the former priestess chuckled
āI have been given a stone garden by the goddess of wisdom
āShe sends them to death like her brother, whom she sees as the ruler of lesser wars
āIf you were not soon joining them, I would tell you they were a lesson
ā Cold vengeance kills just as bright rage. All war is war, all death is deathā
He heard her move and then sit on what must be the steps to the alter
āIf I could differ...goddessā
Her voice cracked over his prone form,Ā āI am no goddessā
He swallowed then continued,Ā āThere is war better than hollow peace. There is death better than torturous life.ā
The gorgon was there in a second, her robes barely making a noise in the time it took for her to cross the temple
A hand grabbed his chin, forced his head up with his neck stretched
āDeath is not a victory when you play against the gods.ā
1 note
Ā·
View note
Quote
When my best friendās heart breaks,
I watch him brick and mortar a bomb shelter
into his body. He pencils her name
into all the wet cement.
Right in front of me, he is holding a wake
for the person he used to be and
I am not invited. Later,
he will thunder or earthquake, but
he will not accept any tenderness.
In the close-out sale of his heartache,
everything gentle must go.
exerpt from NOT THE BULLET by Ashe Vernon
(full text available through my patreon)
2K notes
Ā·
View notes
Text
āQuell our rageā, Pt. 30
He began to open his eyes, then shut them tight when he heard a heard aĀ āhissā
It must be her. She had come down from the temple itself to reach him. Perseus would not become another stone figure in her garden because she would not let him get that far.
He would be the first dire warning to all who came near.
A scared, cowering boy taking up space on the ancient stairway.
āKeep you eye closed and your mouth silentā
The gorgon hissed her words as well.
Perseus felt his heart beat like a rabbit stuck in a trap. He remembered a small hare found and caught by a large snake. It had been paralyzed in fear, though it still shook as the strong jaws clenched around it neck.
He was shaking himself. The gorgon held his chin in her cold hand. He kept his eyes screwed shut as she turned his head, inspecting him.
He heard something rip.
Then she wrapped a fabric around his head, tying it around the back of his head.
āIf you want to live, you will be silent. Or my sisters will kill you before I decide what I want to do with the child Athena sends to do her gruesome work.ā
Perseus heard her move past him and back up the stairs.
He stayed still until he was told to follow.
Stumbling up the steep steps he tried to stay quite. He believed she was silently and cruelly laughing at him, crawling up behind her.
But the only way he would be freed from her was if she retracted her fangs and let him go.
But the only way he would strike her down instead was if he remained close.
1 note
Ā·
View note
Quote
Here, I am the only kind of holy,
and there is no room
for nonbelievers.
Ashe Vernon,Ā from āA Lesson in Sugarglass,ā Not a Girl (via lifeinpoetry)
3K notes
Ā·
View notes
Quote
Weāve left words
under stones with buried shadows,
on the hill that guards the echo
of the ancestors whose names are not
in the family tree.
What we have said without witnesses
will long haunt us.
Nikola Madzirov, from What We Have Said Haunts Us
(via nemophilies)
166 notes
Ā·
View notes
Quote
I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke.
Meredith Grey
(via purplebuddhaquotes)
3K notes
Ā·
View notes
Photo
Atlas and the Hesperides by John Singer SargentĀ
American, 1922-1925
oil on canvas
MFA Boston
486 notes
Ā·
View notes
