Five-Seven-Five

A poetry blog, featuring original haiku

[irynith]

[beguines]

[nixscriptum]

the lover’s almanac : part one.

[juicemetal]

oh im gonna be weird about this for so long

[katieleighrobinson]

[camillamaecaulay]

graves grow no green that you can use.

gwendolyn brooks

[tabgore]

miss you. would like to grab that chilled tofu we love. / miss you. would like to take a walk with you. (gabrielle calvocoressi)

[moniquill]

[oumaimas]

Sleeping In the Forest, Mary Oliver

[kvothes]

it is indeed quite aphoristic and fun to pull individual quotes. but if you want to read “october” by louise glück in its entirety, which i highly recommend, you can find it here

[kvothes]

friends, devastated to report that louise glück passed away today in this very october. if you haven’t read the poem before, i recommend doing so now.

[metamorphesque]

Missed Time, Ha Jin

[oneheadtoanother]

[ripempezardexerox]

[firstfullmoon]

Ada Limón, from “The Hurting Kind,” in The Hurting Kind

[text ID: Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort / of horse he had growing up. He said, / Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it / rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong. / I have always been too sensitive, a weeper / from a long line of weepers. / I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.]

[pangur-and-grim]

The Two-Headed Calf, Laura Gilpin // The Kitten, Mary Oliver // Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

the Poetry Animal enamel pins are now live at greerstothers.shop

these are all dear to my heart, and I’m probably going to get emotional wearing them around like little poetry amulets

[prairie-boy-deactivated20230616]

Poems under cut

Keep reading

[cithaerons]

Megan Arkenberg

[nymori]

I visited the sea and the seals came to me, rushing and sliding over coarse grains to call me sister, sister, you’ve returned - returned to a place I’d never been before - yet after generations of missing they still recognized one of their own, stolen or runaway or just simply lost, it didn’t matter anymore. They asked me to come into the water, to come with them, to come home, but if I ever had a selkie’s skin I lost it long ago. The only salt water I have lives in my eyes, safely controlled and these days mostly run dry. Even as they returned, unwieldy on land as I would be in their breathless water, the seals reminded me: you can never go back home, so anywhere can be your home if you decide it. They slipped beneath the waves, webbed tails tossed up as they dove to a land I could never know, and I tasted it, the sea crashing within me.