#poetry is in the air | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

batri-jopa · 2 months

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Found on satisfyingusa instagram

#I thought I am the only one doing this #why would you need any art tools when you have a blanket?#blanket #art is everywhere #poetry is in the air #instagram

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tanyaluca · 1 month

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Mesmerizing Mimosas…

Tanya Luca

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feral-ballad · 9 months

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June Gehringer, “Jenny talks about massage”

[Text ID: “your skin which breathes / the sun and air / and sings like silk / in winter dark.”]

#june gehringer #love #sun #air #winter #dark #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #poetry collection #typography

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adrasteiax · 2 years

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When will you have a little pity for every soft thing that walks through the world, yourself included?

Mary Oliver, from Pen And Paper And A Breath Of Air in “Blue Pastures”

#poetry #mary oliver #pen and paper and a breath of air #blue pastures #literature #poem #lit #from my collection

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missmargaretcarter · 18 days

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High Flight by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee Jr.

#masters of the air #mota #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #buck cleven #gale cleven #bucky egan #john egan #ken lemmons #kenneth lemmons #hbo war #hbo war trilogy #my gifs #my edit #high flight #poetry #poet #john gillespie magee jr #writing

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smittenskitten · 8 months

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You seem to be following the steps of the poet, Phraya Sisunthonwohan. Soon you'll have about 10 wives under your arm. Lovers? One is enough for me.

#i feel you linger in the air #thaidramaedit #i feel you linger in the air the series #nonkul chanon #bright rapheephong #asianlgbtqdrama #asiandramaedit #perioddramaedit #ifylitaedit #prangon gifs #khun yai! you can't just recite love poetry while laying on a man's lap!!!#you sir! are romancing the heck out of him #both of you caressing each other's hand. wrist. fingers #please i am unwell #they have captured me body and soul #don't send help #let me stay here forever

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tdsharkgirl · 10 months

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are we brave enough for gwawn

#no they have never breathed the same air. yes they would be INSTANT soulmates. trust me #dawn would LOVE gwens drawings and weird journal poetry and cool self expression.#gwen would LOVE dawns mysterious vibe and her love of nature (lest we forget gwen is a nature loving girlie too!!)#werid girls unite basically #tdi #total drama island #td gwen #td dawn #dare i…#gwawn #also yes i will confess i was the gwawn anon on real td takes

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keepingitneutral · 6 months

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Patrick Bergsma, "Abandoned Air II," 2023,

Ceramics & Bonzaï, 42 x 33 x 43

#art #design #nature #sculpture #ceramics #air #abandoned #surreal #poetry #patrick bergsma #banzai #ikebana #kintsugi

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apoemaday · 5 months

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Torso of Air

by Ocean Vuong

Suppose you do change your life. & the body is more than

a portion of night -- sealed with bruises. Suppose you woke

& found your shadow replaced by a black wolf. The boy, beautiful

& gone. So you take the knife to the wall instead. You carve & carve

until a coin of light appears & you get to look in, at last,

on happiness. The eye staring back from the other side --

waiting.

#poetry #ocean vuong #torso of air

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batri-jopa · 8 months

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Wisława Szymborska

There Are Those Who

There are those who conduct life more precisely. They keep order within and around them. A way for everything, and a right answer.

They guess straight off who’s with who, who’s got who, to what end, in what direction.

They set their stamp on single truths, toss unnecessary facts into the shredder and unfamiliar persons into previously designated files.

They think as long as it takes, not a second more, since doubt lies lurking behind that second.

And when they’re dismissed from existence, they leave their place of work through the appropriately marked exit.

Sometimes I envy them – it passes, luckily.

>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<

Wisława Szymborska

Są tacy, którzy

Są tacy, którzy sprawniej wykonują życie. Mają w sobie i wokół siebie porządek. Na wszystko sposób i słuszną odpowiedź.

Odgadują od razu kto kogo, kto z kim, w jakim celu, którędy.

Przybijają pieczątki do jedynych prawd, wrzucają do niszczarek fakty niepotrzebne, a osoby nieznane do z góry przeznaczonych im segregatorów.

Myślą tyle, co warto, ani chwilę dłużej, bo za tą chwilą czai się wątpliwość.

A kiedy z bytu dostaną zwolnienie, opuszczają placówkę wskazanymi drzwiami.

Czasami im zazdroszczę - na szczęście to mija.

#there are those who #są tacy którzy #poetry #wisława szymborska #(how come this is not everybody's favorite poem?! if I were to pin the post this would be the one)#(with greetings to all those who are rather want to have doubts than to toss persons into files)#wislava szymborska #wislawa szymborska #polish poetry #polska #poetry is in the air #neurodivergent #(probably?)

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rinconliterario · 18 days

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A veces creo que estamos todos rotos, quizá siempre estemos solos.

Michelle Buletti.

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tys-kitty · 2 months

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Me and Kit when Ty casually dropped the iconic line “You may not yourself be luminous, but you are an extraordinary conductor of light.“ in QoAaD

#he‘s a man of poetry #cassandra clare #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #twp #the wicked powers #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #queen of air and darkness

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crowleys-hips · 2 months

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Touch Forbidden

another Crowley pov poem

i have never known how to be human i watch them, and i mimic try to replicate their gestures, the way they breathe, move, speak, love my hands itch for touch forbidden so instead i’ll bury my hands in soil grow a garden in barren land watch plants starve for light they have never known as they inch closer, closer, closer to the sun i’ll light flames from my fingertips and paint the whole sky until time crashes and all my creations explode in supernovas i’ll stroke piano keys no, pummel them until i or the instrument bleed i’ll drown the silence in the violence of grieving sonatas let the black and white between my fingers blur into shades of gray as i try not to think of how your hands would feel interlaced with mine instead i’ll write you love letters you will never read until my hand cramps and breaks until i run out of ink or my veins are drained i’ll sink to the bottom of endless bottles of liquor until the image of you is a cloudy haze until i can’t feel my skin anymore crying out for the touch of yours i’ll render my hands useless as i grip the wheel of my car and try to outrun my thoughts bolting out at lightspeed going interstellar and try to find a home hidden among dead planets that have never known warmth i’ll dig myself a hole there and become rootbound maybe then my soiled hands will forget your shape my skin will dissolve and cry no more for touch forbidden

tag list under the cut:

@wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @halcyonnnn @celestialcrowley

if anyone wants to be added/removed let me know

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serotinals · 6 months

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A Long Winter | The Thirteen Letters | Not Easily Conquered

ao3: dropdeaddreams, WhatAreFears

#nec #not easily conquered #sorry poetry moots! ignore me 💋#the thirteen letters #stucky #stevebucky #this took WAY. too long to make #I hope some nec lover out there likes it Im kinda blind to if it strikes a chord or not after staring at it for 3 days #yeah its 10 minutes! yeah there's 3 songs! my bad!#and yes this is the ship I hyper fixated on in high school thank you for asking #we are so back!#stucky edit #stucky video #I wanna edit this further so bad but alas my 7 year old MacBook Air can not handle my 10 minute canva video

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sweatermuppet · 1 year

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from that air of ruthlessness in spring by heather christle, published in the trees the trees

[Text ID: are you sad / did you touch the world / the wrong way? /End ID]

#currently reading #heather christle #the trees the trees #that air of ruthlessness in spring #poetry #quotes #ID included

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iscreammutiny · 2 months

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Primroses

Jude x Cardan

Post Qon/Cardan's pov/Angst/Hurt/Comfort if you squint/Cardan is traumatised/Jude is also traumatised damn/bit of fluff in the end

(FIRST EVER JURDAN FIC HELLOOO sorry if the pacing is off and if there are some horrendous mistakes guys english is not my first language☝️ but I'll get there someday ong)

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Several jagged branches snake over a glass window, covering it, as dusk spills onto the High King's sleeping form in slits of pale, shifting light.

But the land, drowsy as it is with the slow rise and fall of his breath, isn't fast enough to stop the cold from creeping in and nipping at his fingers–a troublesome little gift from winter's last of evenings.

He stirs, slumber disrupted from the sudden sharpness in the air, blearily stretching his hand out to grasp for more warmth, fingers splaying out across the bed for the familiar dip of a waist, only to be met with cold, bare sheets. Cardan stills then, eyes snapping open in alarm.

The High King of Elfhame has never been fond of the colder weather. Not only does he find it dull and dreary, he finds it to be cruel too, ironic as that would've been a few years ago.

It irked him then, the fact that there was too much to miss, too much to long for. And It irks him now–now that it holds too many reminders. Of wretched times, of his own year of hollow hands, pierced with the stinging absence of sharp blades and even sharper eyes.

It terrifies him still, the idea of winter returning.

He lies there, frozen in his spot, staring at the ceiling as the branches and leaves covering it start to writhe, coalescing into a dense, panicky mass of rot, sprouting and resprouting again.

Fear is familiar, his one constant, he should be used to it by now. But this...this is entirely separate. A kind of sickness he can't seem to shake off, a bone deep terror, of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the arrow to find its mark, the price of his undeserving head to finally catch up to him.

He doesn't dare turn his head to the side or tear his eyes off the ceiling, doesn't want to look. Because what if he finds out that he's been dreaming all this time–another one of those illusions borne out of plum wine?

That, drunk and slumped over, he's awoken just now to realize that the other side of the bed has been empty all along?

"Jude?", he whispers into the near dark, heart sinking when he hears nothing but the sound of his own breathing. A brief vision of empty palace halls at dusk flashes in his mind, looming above him, echoing with the ghostly voices of distant revels as he shuffles along, moth eaten fur pelts trailing behind his small form. He closes his eyes, allowing the dark to have its way with the unwelcome memory.

It was funny, really. A soundless twilight still seemed to him like a token of his own misery, one he can trace all the way back to the sour tang of cat's milk on his breath, long before the days he’d spent on hollow hall's floor crouching and heaving, finding a detached sort of similarity between his own soul and those terribly vacant halls in his childhood.

And yet, of all the weapons that have ever been used on him, his queen's silence is, by far, the one that has wounded him the most.

Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude-

His chest heaves, straining as the panic fully sets in. He kicks at his sheets and scrambles upright to check, to see for himself because, miraculously, he might just be wrong. Perhaps he has been worrying for naught–and yet.

And yet, a part of him is already thinking: just rip the bandaid off, just rip it and be done with it.

He turns to look and, immediately, the rush in his head goes quiet. The branches overhead cease twisting as breath stutters out of his chest in a faltering sigh. Everything stills, then eases back into place because there it is, silken sheets rumpled on the far side of the bed. There she is, whole and hale, pale light tracing the familiar outline of her silhouette. Must've rolled off to the edge of the bed in her sleep, the chestnut of her hair spilling onto a half occupied pillow, the slow rise and fall of her sleeping form, curled into a scythe of a girl and stars above, could he get more foolish than this?

He uncurls his hands from fists he'd unknowingly wounded them into, watching the crescents buried into his palm turn red. Haltingly, Cardan scoots forward and reaches out towards her. His hand shakes, a whisper of a touch, barely there as he tries to brush the hair out of her face. Her lovely, and for once, untroubled face. He has to be careful because Jude is a light sleeper and any manner of respite is rare for her(and if she is a figment of his imagination—he doesn't want to let go just yet).

Unconsciously, she nestles into his palm as he gingerly traces the hollow of her cheekbone. A sick little laugh crawls up his throat, turning into a quiet sob as he tries to steady his heart. She's here, he tells himself, be still, be still, be still.

Instinctively, his fingers curl around the shell of her ear, thumb caressing its soft, mortal curve. And as his nails lightly press into the skin behind her ear, a hand grips at his wrist, and Jude is bolting upright, taught as a bowstring, shoulders squared as if to attack.

She pins his arm to the bed frame and uses her other hand to push his shoulder backwards. Cardan stiffens.

Her eyes, momentarily wild and unseeing, focus onto his face and she falters mid twist. Her hand on his wrist immediately relaxes, the other one trailing up to rest against the side of his neck, an apologetic frown already crossing her features.

"I'm sorry I–" she sees the stricken expression on his face and stops short – "what is it?"

Her thumb brushes the edge of his jaw and Cardan lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes stinging.The gesture is simple, one he hasn't gotten used to yet, but it is involuntary. The familiarity in her touch has him unspooling.

He covers her hand with his own and shakes his head in what he hopes is an assuring gesture, not trusting his voice at the moment, struggling to collect his thoughts. He knows he's doing it again. That old trick with the mask, trying to smooth its edges over his face. A game of hiding where no one seeks him out–even though he knows now that she will. She'd drag him by the scruff if it came to that. But old habits die hard.

A long moment of silence passes and he realizes that Jude is waiting for him to speak, gently stroking the inside of his wrist, entirely at odds with the smooth, unperturbed set of her face.

And yet, even in the near dark room, where the old wood of her eyes is illuminated only by a thin slash of dusky light, he finds in them a scrap of fear akin to his own–one he knows will take longer than anything else for them to wrestle with and have it buried along with the rest of those who have threatened this fragile peace.

He tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear, as he'd been meaning to do before, and presses his mouth to her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of verbena. "It's nothing. You're here." he whispers.

She tilts her head back to look at him, eyes searching, "Of course." She says, lacing their hands together, and then peers around to stare at the window. She waits for a moment while the branches recede to give a clear view of the sky, which is now a luminous ink blue. Humming in thought, she turns back to him and says, "We are to attend council in another hour or two."

"Yes." He answers tiredly, dragging a hand over his face.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rest for a little while longer, no?"

Cardan smiles a little at that, already nestling back into the sheets and dragging her along "No, of course, it won't." He pulls her in to tuck her head under his chin, "Besides," he continues, "you'll require it if you have to deal with Randalin today."

At that, Jude groans into his chest and he can already feel the cogs turning in her head, coming up with more ways to outmaneuver the council. He chuckles into her hair and rubs her back, "Rest, first." He murmurs and she hums, sleep prodding at the edges of her voice again.

Primroses bloom along the edge of the bed frame, wilder and whiter than any other.

Right there, with his fearsome queen tucked under his chin, the king of Elfhame knows this too: That no fear could ever be stronger than the weight of her battle worn body in his arms. And even that pales in comparison to the ruthless glint in her eyes for when she wields her blade to kill.

#jurdan #jude x cardan #tfota #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #the cruel prince #folk of the air #holly black #jurdan fanfic #poetry #books #writing #books and art #fantasy #fanfiction

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