Broken House @broken-house-blog - Tumblr Blog

Sorrow implies value. We do not usually grieve over the fading of a bruise, or feel the scattering of a raindrop to be a melancholic matter.

Terry Eagleton, Sweet Violence: The Idea of the Tragic

#terry eagleton #theatre #books #sorrow

tenuous at first then tentative always hesitant reticent later

Thomas A. Clark, from ‘The Grey Fold’

#thomas a clark #poetry

the toppled woods were beautiful – palm needles, car tires, bark and heat. ash-plumes tickling the armpit of sky, cloud ribboned like cassette tape. we found Ozymandias submerged in a century of polymers, the gadgetry of bored children – playstations, waterguns, ancient tvs. the trash-amphitheatre sprawled like a city before us. we took tiny breaths, coughing up treacles as we spoke bilingual tongues of ghetto and dirt. later, we lay on sheet-metal counting space-junk and satellites, and yes, the toppled woods were beautiful but we were not crying. acid rain tiptoed down our faces like falling stars.

Elizabeth Morton, ‘Wasted’

#elizabeth morton #poem #poetry

perpetually scratching the surface my lost country scraps of language inside myself a lost child waving thin fabric in perpetual heat the high seas assume a wrongful place at a throne swallowed by green land distracted by faint traces of lack wind composing obituaries for silent birds i feel a blade of grass on my neck blue flowers sprout from fissures in my skin (what type of flower does not matter) talking points of sprawling space becomes faint(er and fainter) with tiring hands to feel young again in a different field with money which grew narrower breathing fast, his soft waist gradual accidents befall swatting at the darkness pretending we are strangers the truth of appearances fading monthly, ending reluctantly

Jane Joritz-Nakagawa, from [[terrain grammar]]

#jane joritz-nakagawa #poetry #[[terrain grammar]]

to always be be/side one (my/your/her)self in your telescopic arm(ament)[s] leaves consume my/a body (a) worm enters (me) (my) toes, now greying, begin to branch (toward) those suffering severe repression may feel alien (to themselves) we do not notice things in broad daylight if (they are not there)

Jane Joritz-Nakagawa, from [[terrain grammar]]

#jane joritz-nakagawa #poetry #[[terrain grammar]]

Little poppies, little hell flames, Do you do no harm? You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns And it exhausts me to watch you Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth. A mouth just bloodied. Little bloody skirts! There are fumes I cannot touch. Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules? If I could bleed, or sleep! If my mouth could marry a hurt like that! Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule, Dulling and stilling. But colorless. Colorless.

Sylvia Plath, ‘Poppies in July’

#sylvia plath #poem #poetry #isolated jellyfish #thank you

sad collision and what they both know

#poem