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#nearly poetry
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Anna Quindlen
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Franz Kafka
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Shannon Wiersbitzky, What Flowers Remember
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Anna de Noailles, tr. By Norman R. Sharpiro, from “Your Hidden Fleshly Grace"
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Shirley Jackson, “Raising Demons"
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Katherine Paterson
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lena-oleanderson · 5 months
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i talk about god a lot.
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beyondthisdarkhouse · 11 months
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If you ever think, "This book is so horrible. How was it ever published?"
Just remember:
Commercial publishers do not pick books because they're good. They pick books they think they can sell.
And those are, unfortunately, sometimes two very different things.
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apoemaday · 11 months
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Nearly a Valediction
by Marilyn Hacker
You happened to me. I was happened to like an abandoned building by a bull- dozer, like the van that missed my skull happened a two-inch gash across my chin. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse. A new- born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone, swaddled in strange air I was that alone again, inventing life left after you.
I don’t want to remember you as that four o’clock in the morning eight months long after you happened to me like a wrong number at midnight that blew up the phone bill to an astronomical unknown quantity in a foreign currency. The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me. You’ve grown into your skin since then; you’ve grown into the space you measure with someone you can love back without a caveat.
While I love somebody I learn to live with through the downpulled winter days’ routine wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine- assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust- balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust that what comes next comes after what came first. She’ll never be a story I make up. You were the one I didn’t know where to stop. If I had blamed you, now I could forgive
you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox- imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind, want where it no way ought to be, defined by where it was, and was and was until the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled through one cheek’s nap, a syllable, a tear, was never blame, whatever I wished it were. You were the weather in my neighborhood. You were the epic in the episode. You were the year poised on the equinox.
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haunt-i-ng · 9 months
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WHO IS TO BLAME? ARE FISH AT FAULT FOR DYING? AM I AT FAULT FOR DREAMING?
or
how to stay blameless and docile, become a body of water
(A5 zine created by me for a local 24hr zine making challenge)
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finelythreadedsky · 3 months
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 On one level the book is about the life of a woman who is hardly more than a token in a great epic poem, on another it’s about how history and context shape how we are seen, and the brief moment there is to act between the inescapable past and the unknowable future. Perhaps to write Lavinia Le Guin had to live long enough to see her own early books read in a different context from the one where they were written, and to think about what that means.
-Jo Walton
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strawberry-jan · 10 months
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got carried away with a warm-up doodle because I was thinking too hard about minekata, as one does
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trickstersaint · 22 days
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april 7 2024 // portraiture
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dreamerslovechaos · 1 year
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the applicant, sylvia plath // revolutionary girl utena
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onceuponaweirdo · 5 months
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12yro me obsessed with eroticism in poetry after Portuguese classes about poetry: *writes an erotic poem about women for my Portuguese homework*
My teacher:
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My mum seeing it after: Me:
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queenlucythevaliant · 7 months
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Happy birthday TS Elliot. I never liked your poetry
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perilegs · 15 days
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i miss my husband <- guy who has to go to the store before he can sit on the computer and kiss elliott sdv
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citrucee · 6 months
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on bpd & splitting
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maggiecheungs · 8 days
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snippet from my translation of du fu's 'song of the army carts' (兵車行)
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(original: 君不見青海頭,古來白骨無人收, 新鬼煩冤舊鬼哭,天陰雨濕聲啾啾)
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im-an-anthusiast · 24 days
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Far Too Sweet
A sickening something lives in my throat
It makes my neck bulge, and I start to choke
I pray that it goes, though I know it won’t
It has been there ever since I first woke
A gap in reason, and in my insides
They are what it causes, and where it hides
Hard to breathe, yet even harder to think
Choking on my blood – thick and black, like ink
Always comes back, after I swallow it
Teeth rotten black, for it’s all sickly sweet
Can’t find a way, to stop feeling like it
Tongue burnt away, for it’s all far too sweet
A sickening something squirms in my throat
I claw at my neck, so that I won’t choke
It evades my fingers, will not be caught
My collar turns red, as it starts to soak
A billowing smoke, caused by doubts and fears
Spews up and out my throat, then disappears
Wipes the slate clean, gone is thought and worry
Erases the sight, that was once blurry
Without regard for myself, or for it
My lips are scarred, for it’s all sickly sweet
I hear words hushed, which I fear to repeat
My jaw is crushed, for it’s all far too sweet
A sickening something feasts in my throat
It constantly grows, and it makes me choke
My neck follows suit, as it starts to bloat
Airway blocked up by all the ink and smoke
A pit yawns open, awaiting my fall
If I were to beg, would that help at all?
My wounds yawn open, at touch of my own
My body sags – cold and heavy like stone
I am untouched, and yet, I have been hit
My gums, all cut, for it’s all sickly sweet
Lost on this street, though I grew up on it
Now, I can’t eat, for it’s all far too sweet
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dislocatedwishbone · 1 year
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while we’re all talking about the z-lib takedown -- I thought I’d share my go-to spot for cheaper books: BookOutlet. 
it’s definitely not the same as having thousands of books and your fingertips for free, but it’s a good alternative to traditional bookstore prices. I’ve had carts of 20+ books for under $200CAD -- and they’re having a black friday sale right now! They sell minor misprints/excess prints at super discounted prices. 
I know that right now, it’s only available in Canada and the US, but there’s probably a similar site for folks from other areas?
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