Tumpik
#american poetry
feral-ballad · 3 months ago
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Katherine Larson, from Radial Symmetry; “Gardens in Tunisia”
[Text ID: “There are days that walk through me / and I cannot hold them.”]
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newvision · 23 days ago
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— Rachel McKibbons, Blud (2017)
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lodeur-de-la-pluie · 4 months ago
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“God I want you in some primal, wild way animals want each other. Untamed and full of teeth. God I want you, In some chaste, Victorian way. A glimpse of your ankle just kills me.”
Clementine von Radics, Desire.
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gennsoup · 2 months ago
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As imperceptibly as grief The summer lapsed away,-- Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy.
Emily Dickinson, As imperceptibly as grief
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malformaty · 7 months ago
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— Jane Hirshfield from, “The Silence”, Each Happiness Ringed by Lions: Selected Poems
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badinstinct · 4 months ago
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Checklist:
One:
always respect a caring mom
Two:
dont talk if you have no clue
Three:
be what you want your kids to be
Four:
always search for more
But five:
dont take more than you need to survive
And six:
dont use dirty tricks
Seven:
believe everyone could reach heaven
Because eight:
you don’t need to be great, straight or perfect
weight
Nine:
Treat yourself divine
Ten:
because nobody else can
-B.I
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dreams-in-blk · a year ago
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100 years ago: Young Langston Hughes publishes his first poem in 1921
Excerpt from his first published poem
"“The Negro Speaks of Rivers” (1921): Written when he was 17 years old on a train to Mexico City to see his father, “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” was Hughes’ first poem which received critical acclaim after it was published in the June 1921 issue of the NAACP magazine The Crisis." -From biography.com:
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the-hearth-and-the-wild · 14 days ago
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I depart as air - I shake my white locks at the runaway sun;
I defuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags,
I bequeath myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again, look for me under your boot soles.
You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre to your blood.
Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
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persephonediary · 6 months ago
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“To write is to suffer, but there is so much meaning in it that I must fight my battles on the page.”
— Ha Jin
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daymarkist · 5 months ago
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Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Time does not bring relief; you all have lied"
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dauen · a month ago
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— October by Robert Frost (A Boy's Will, 1915)
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feral-ballad · 8 months ago
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Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; “You are on the floor crying”
[Text ID: “And you have been / on the floor crying / for days. / And that is you / being brave. / That is you getting through it / as best you know how. / No one else can decide / What your tough looks like.”]
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4eternal-life · a month ago
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You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
Mary Oliver,  “Dogfish”
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okultystyczny · 10 months ago
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Earlier poems of William Carlos Williams, 1938/1951
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gennsoup · 11 months ago
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Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Sarah Williams, The Old Astronomer to His Pupil
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malformaty · 7 months ago
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— Jane Hirshfield from, “Salt Heart”, Each Happiness Ringed by Lions: Selected Poems
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