the kids at school say my eyes are too big

[buglarvainspector]

I'll love my own posts if I have to. ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[loveandlexapro]

“But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home To a leaky castle across the sea, - To lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, And hear the nightingale, and long for me.”

— Short Story, Edna St. Vincent Millay (via crisolyn-uendelig, dialogues) (via back2-thebeginnings) (via deeplystained) (via goslinq) (via alonesomes) (via ibecamethesun)

[soulinkpoetry-deactivated202505]

Music, poetry and a cup of coffee brings us back to ourselves.

.

.

[buglarvainspector]

If Spotify shuffles in a completely different song, I am sorry.

[metamorphesque]

🌼 poems that held my hand in may 🌼

Nocturne, Li-Young Lee

Your Name, Vahan Tekeyan

Sonnets to Orpheus 2;29, Rainer Maria Rilke

I stopped going to therapy, Clementine von Radics

Miyazaki Bloom, Nina Mingya Powles  

The Quiet Machine, Ada Limón

When we two parted, Lord Byron

Fragment, Amy Lowell

The Want of You, Angelina Weld Grimké

When Did It Happen?, Mary Oliver

Alone, Sara Teasdale

Peace XVIII, Khalil Gibran

[buglarvainspector]

Lord Byron, why.

[squimp]

happy Tuvok Tuesday, lads

[lt-kaollumn]

happy tuesday

[buglarvainspector]

Happy Tuvok Tuesday

[perfeqt]

“Be a good listener. Your ears will never get you in trouble.”

— Frank Tyger

[buglarvainspector]

I love dogs at the beach.

Great galloping wallops of

jubilant glee,

breaking paces forbidden

by human civility,

turning their tracks behind them into

distant memory,

forgotten.

Great idiot dogs,

hurtling the beach --

too much for themselves --

owners hollering

idiot names after wonky forms

perfected by abandon.

[thoodleoo]

insane way to start out a paragraph in a biology text. thanks aelian

[buglarvainspector]

Trigger warning: female genitals, clinical setting

Interlude in stirrups,

knees high, riding light and hope --

I never wanted children --

The doctor stirs a cocktail of me.

My knees still high:

Is it supposed to be red?

Red is normal.

Outside, nurses populate spreadsheets:

"She wouldn't want dick."

"She'd have to be sedated."

"She would!"

I'm terrified their words prescribe.

On the bus ride home I imagine a red craft beer called "Ya Olde Bloody Cunt" while nodding off.

The pain isn't me.

[buglarvainspector]

Weighted noon haze of the mid-Summer Winter

Flood the broad bay with a light burnished gold.

Halcyon days later draw down in honey,

Payment in kind for a few days of cold.

[buglarvainspector]

The joy of all things,

Leaping, living, holding through the wind,

Facing, diving, leaping again.

The air, the water, the air and water meeting, the aim in between.

The good clacks of joints.

The rumble of going, the good of staying, the bumps of stems from jumping things.

The wave of flowers, of grasses, of cereals, and the sunlight -

O blessed sunlight -

Catching the surf of their shadow.

[buglarvainspector]

I, a liar, love the loss

of going too far beyond the lode stone of wisdom,

while death's bitter flag-drop crimps to signal an effortless folly.

When from the first sight of light tumbles wild certainty in normal circuit;

When, by the lie of the land, pass haunts of knowledge reined loose;

When, apart from that laminar needle of hope, there is neither recovery nor memory,

I, a liar, hate.

[For #NaPoWriMo prompt no. 30 from @ayaskala "What do endings really mean?"]

[buglarvainspector]

I have the Mer-man priest skin.

[buglarvainspector]

Dear future self: someone lovingly created this timeline to beat every Idle Apocalypse event.

[buglarvainspector]

Sharing for today's prompt for ekphrasis poetry. ♥️ @ayaskala #napowrimo

Oh, Georgia

(On seeing a small painting by Georgia O'Keeffe at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan)

Her brush strokes are so clear on closer inspection,

Populating the landscape so freshly they might still be drying.

This woman who I've seen only in photographs, long dead, unknown to me,

Painted these living, lively strokes.

[afrotumble]

[pipe-tobbaco-deactivated2024072]

Ingrid Bergman by Gordon Parks "Stromboli" 1949