[peelsofpoetry]

The Fist by Derek Walcott The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has moved past love to mania. This has the strong clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of unreason, before plunging howling into the abyss. Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

[geryone]

Trouble the Water, Derrick Austin

[allloversbetray]

From "Late May" by Kate Baer

[adderalldust]

Andrea Gibson - An Insider’s Guide on How To Be Sick

[adderalldust]

Hi Kim. Happy 2024! I hope you’re doing well. Anything interesting going on in your life? I miss your presence on tumblr so much, but I understand and respect your privacy!

Not much interesting going on! I am however THIRTY which feels normal until I sign into tumblr and remember my wretched youth 👀

I am happy with my girlfriend of 6 years! I yearn for a baby but we haven’t figured that one out yet

[petaltexturedskies]

As for the poem, not this poem but any poem, do you feel its sting? Do you feel its hope, its entrance to a community? Do you feel its hand in your hand?

Mary Oliver, from "Good Morning" in Blue Horses

[petaltexturedskies]

Alone, watching the Moon rise: tonight, a full circle,

Louise Glück, from "From the Japanese" in Poems: 1962-2020

[adderalldust]

“I died for my sins and because of this, I am in the woods now,aching. It is June. I am used to being a certain kind of alone.”

— Morgan Parker, “The Black Saint & The Sinner Lady & The Dead & The Truth” in There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé (via merulae)

[arooomofmyown]

“June, July, August. Everything wrong, and nowhere to go.”

— Mary Oliver, from Devotions: The Selected Poems; “August,” (edited)

[tristealven]

“Does it matter where the birds go? Does it even matter what species they are? They leave here, that’s the point, first their bodies, then their sad cries. And from that moment, cease to exist for us. You must learn to think of our passion that way. Each kiss was real, then each kiss left the face of the earth.”

— Louise Glück, from “Parable of Flight” (via sonnywortzik)

[watchoutforintellect]

“This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us. Surely it is a privilege to approach the end still believing in something.”

—

Louise Gluck, from October

[adderalldust]

“She takes trips, looks at great art. But she’s floating. Like some child’s balloon that gets lost the minute it isn’t held. Or like an astronaut who somehow loses the ship and has to drift in space knowing, however long it lasts, this is what’s left of being alive: she’s free in that sense. Without relation to earth.”

— Louise Glück, from Poems 1962-2012

[adderalldust]

“Or do you believe you have no home, since god never meant to contain you?”

— Louise Glück, from Vita Nova

[adderalldust]

“She stands by the pool saying, from time to time, I was abducted, but it sounds wrong to her, nothing like what she felt. Then she says, I was not abducted. Then she says, I offered myself, I wanted to escape my body. Even sometimes, I willed this.”

— Louise Glück, A Myth of Innocence (via deema-rain)

[adderalldust]

“it will feed you, it will ravish you, / it will not keep you alive.”

— Louise Glück, The Seven Ages (via henrydear)

[adderalldust]

“[…] You get on a train, you disappear. You write your name on the window, you disappear. There are places like this everywhere, places you enter as a young girl, from which you never return.”

— Louise Glück, from “Averno” (Averno)

[adderalldust]

“…whatever/ returns from oblivion/ returns to find a voice.”

— Louise Glück, The Wild Iris (via mossful)