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#poetry project
holdoncallfailed · 2 years
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flyer advertising patti smith’s first poetry reading in 1971, at which gerard malanga was the headliner. “i was totally wired. i dedicated the evening to criminals from cain to genet,” she would later write of that night in just kids. (via)
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garadinervi · 6 months
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Poets for a Free Palestine, The Poetry Project, St. Mark’s Church, New York, NY, October 26, 2023
Participants include: Andrea Abi-Karam, Mirene Arsanios, Lara Atallah, Carolina Ebeid, Abou Farman, Isabella Hammad, Kaleem Hawa, Adham Hafez, Benjamin Krusling, Ladan Osman, Sahar, imogen xtian smith, H Sinno, Kamelya Omayma Youssef, and Mohammed Zenia Siddiq Yusef Ibrahim, with others to be announced
Image: From Feminist Collage collectives around the world, Feminist Collages NYC, Published online on October 22, 2023
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episodesbyb · 10 months
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Do not come walking into my Life
When you clearly have
No intentions
To water my plants
Nor see my flowers bloom
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trustonlystars · 1 year
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There is a constant tune you keep playing, a constant hymn that the winter keeps humming. Photographs once turned old become such a warm glimpse of memories, a warm glimpse of the way seasons touched you, with the people who made life so pretty for you, the thoughts that made poetry for you. And how twinkling it all felt, how glittery it seems now, and how bliss is what those memories were. There's a tune that won't sit still, there is still an urge to bring magic back home, there is a time that is wanting to stay, and one that is wanting to walk away, so you lead to another chapter of your own book before someone else's. There is a constant tune you keep playing, a constant hymn that the winter keeps humming.
- trustonlystars | Jannie F
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flowers-on-the-dash · 3 months
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Blood rushes to my head,
Deafening and blinding red.
I’m simply ignoring you now,
The other voice picking part how
My breaths are quick;
My knuckles tense and click;
My jaw is clenched,
Sore from swallowing the bile
That floods against it.
It urges me forward
One step taken,
Then my fists are raised toward
You look up,
It’s too late.
I blink and focus again
On whatever it is
You’re trying to say.
On Wrath: Anger Issues
Masterlist
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kostiukwilliams · 1 year
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idaofinfinity · 1 year
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Carnival
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An abundance of
beginnings cling to their palms.
Paint, flecks, in pieces.
Edited original photo. Annecy, France
@creativepromptsforwriting : February Prompts
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alexdelormepoetry · 1 year
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Paint me something
paint me in somewhere
make sure it's nice
paint me
pain me something
pain me
just pain
me
you
-
Alex Delorme
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poetryofmuses · 2 years
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Broke up with him because our signs weren't compatible, i am a Libra and he is horrible at giving presents.
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martyschoenleber · 2 years
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How are Your Taste Buds?
How are Your Taste Buds?
Greenville, SC in Fall (Left), and St. John’s Island, SC (Right) David writes to be remembered. It is not himself that he wants to be remembered. It is his God. David is enthralled with YHWH  ( יְהֹוָה ). He is intoxicated with a vision of God and the knowledge of God’s greatness. Sixteen times he invokes the name of Israel’s God. Sixteen times he remembers that it is God who preserved him from…
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View On WordPress
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foxbirdy · 1 year
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A short comic I made about my experiences as a seasonal worker, and the way places change you.
Prints & PDF
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my-youngworld88 · 6 months
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Breathe
It’s when I look at you,
I feel your eyes,
When I look at you,
Just thinking about you brings me light,
I find myself in your eyes,
In your smile,
I’m no longer able to breathe,
Or think,
I know I’ll be okay…
The only thing I need to inhale…is you…your smile…your eyes…your love…
Words By Janeen G.
✨🌹✨
Website: www.wordsbyjaneeng.wordpress.com
Instagram: @wordsbyjaneeng
Twitter: @wordsbyjaneeng
Facebook: Facebook.com/janeenmg25
TikTok: @janeenmg25
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garadinervi · 1 year
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From: Notebook of Bernadette Mayer, Project Director of St. Mark's Poetry Project, [Poetry Project], 1980 (pdf here) [St. Mark's Poetry Project Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.]
(via Nick Sturm)
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episodesbyb · 1 year
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To all those wishes written on the beaches
And to all those dreams built out of sand castles
May they be taken far far away from the shore
Where no waves could ever wash them away
And may they be filled in with life
For they are not just dreams to be accomplished
But also memories to be reminisced
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trustonlystars · 2 years
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It's broad daylight out there, but midnight in my heart, feels like the clock is just a piece of art on the wall. And time, this time, really feels like an illusion, but memories are real. It still feels like we are listening to music under the stars, the sun is the only one shining but there is no sunshine.
It takes a while for hearts to blend with the seasons, they can walk through complications and resolve mysteries but it takes a while for hearts to learn simple things.
I told them, it's midnight in my heart. And it will be till my heart learns how to accept love in all its forms. It has to learn that it can't feed on words, it's okay to not hear 'I love yous' and still know that love sits warm between us two.
Our love has no shape, maybe that's why they don't get it. It's so unreal and magical, they don't understand it. It's broad daylight out there but midnight in my heart, and it will have to sit in solitude, sit through solace to reach a point where it warmly fades off all that excess darkness.
It's daylight out there, but midnight in my heart.
- trustonlystars | Jannie F
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flowers-on-the-dash · 3 months
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Mother of sin,
We’ve been acquainted.
Too proud to recognize your kin,
But it’s your name
Hidden under my tongue.
Intoxicating influence,
Bite down.
Sinking my teeth into
Your delusions;
Drunken off your ego,
God complex by proxy.
-On Pride: Introductions
Masterlist
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