pulp, seed, some pith @a-curious-bird - Tumblr Blog

Frequency

There are proven properties in sound frequency that stir and influence the living. In the coffee house, the man who sits at the table behind me comes over to join mine. He tells me stories of the way he plays music for his honeybees. "There's something in the resonance of vibration," he tells me, "it rhythms a kind of meditation for the bees. Would you like a jar of honey?" We go on talking about the magnetism of sound over the body, how my Chinese great grandfather had shrines of boomboxes set up throughout his gardens so his plants could enjoy the classical music of NPR. Overhead, in the cafe speakers, Billie Holiday rasps and crackles, our conversation carrying the same cadence of her song.

#prosetry #poetry #poem #writing #words #lit #creativewriting #daily #poemaday #billieholiday #prose #prose poetry

#poetry #poem #daily #writing #lit #poemaday

It's the particular expression you wear when, standing bare at the foot of my bed, resplendent with every beam of moonlight that comes barreling in through the window, you ask me, "Are you hungry?" (Knocking down defense, bullets ricocheting in my ribs).

#poetry #poem #writing #lit #creativewriting #daily #poemaday #poet

#poetry #poem #words #writing #creativewriting #daily #poemaday #lit

The Doorway. #daily #poem #poetry #poem #words #writing #literature #education #life #creativewriting

#poem #life #literature #creativewriting #poetry #daily #writing #words #education

Understand that I have nothing more to offer than what fits in the cup of these small hands. Nothing less and nothing more than the flux of who I am. It's not that I am only human, It's that I am entirely human. For all the curiousness of creation, I have only a single pair of sandals to remove. For all the holy ground that is yours, I need only unbuckle my straps and step out.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink

I mean to stretch myself into all the places where light gathers, watch it dance as morning dust in front of a sunlit window, fill my mouth with sticky plum sap and too much wine, press my face against all the goodness I know exists.

#poetry #spilled ink #creative writing

Hurricane

Heavy is the moisture in the air, the way it sticks to skin like gum on hot pavement. The air is eerie, sinister, quiet. You hold your breath knowing it is coming but not knowing in what shape it will arrive. There is no silence louder than the calm before a storm, no telling when it will hit, no softening the fist of destruction, only bracing yourself when it comes, only waiting and waiting and waiting.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink #hurricane

The summer I was born, ghosts of trees haunted my crib until my heart turned to soil. This is one of the things I failed to mention upon our meeting. (It is fair to say you were not given a fair saying into these things.) Even so, you noticed the vessels in my forearms, the way they were a picture of oak roots traveling under earth, So that when I said I was thirsty, you did not hesitate to pick up a watering can and pour.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink

Undercurrent

Do you know how well I have studied the ocean tide, just so my mouth can course over your skin with the same kind of torrent. It is alarming how violent the Pacific can be.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink #ocean

In the dark before day, an old tea cup measures me once, cuts me twice; I have chosen to drink lilies and bones from its belly.

A rooster calls for morning and the 3 young ones flicker awake.

A mother measures her years by the length of her children’s shadows, And I remind myself: Stretch further.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink #motherhood

When the years come that my skin begins to show the same patina that covers my soul, and you’re still around, I’ll know you have been brave.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink

sundownkiss-deactivated20111104

Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self-portrait. Everything is a diary.

Chuck Palahniuk (via fromthismountaintop)

Sensible is the taste of his mouth in the kitchen, the sizzle of over-easy eggs sputtering in butter, the coolness of tile under bare feet. Predictable are the the mornings, Abstruse are always the evenings. I could cut the familiarity with a spoon.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink

Counterpoise (to stand on the cusp of both)

This is me remembering what it was like when the avocados were uncomplicatedly creamy, and the sticky tang of a tangerine could burst a floodgate across my tongue. Afternoons tasted like a thick slice of watermelon in grandma’s backyard, and summer meant watching swarms of gnats swirl in the dipping sun. Making love is to the evenings, as drinking coffee is to the mornings, and I think: This life is a minefield of delight.

This is me remembering what it was like when the summertime gnat rested on his forehead, how he couldn’t swat it away because his arms were pressed against his sides, in a coffin. The wildflowers growing at the mortuary that day looked like a stranger I once knew. Summer always gives way to an autumn of dying, and a friendship gone broken is a merciless fist to the ribs- like my soul has been in the boxing ring with Muhammad Ali. I’ve never been able to swallow food when I’m sad, a stomach bulging with tears instead, and I think: This life is a minefield of mourning.

#poetry #creative writing #spilled ink #pain #delight

gerogogerigege-deactivated20170

When I met you, flowers started growing in the darkest parts of my mind

(via hiruty)

thegirlwhocrieswolf

New book Love & Misadventure now available online from Amazon + Barnes & Noble and major bookstores including Barnes & Noble, Kinokuniya, Fully Booked, Periplus, Waterstones, Indigo/Chapters + more.

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