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Grief/ is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it

Denise Levertov

#grief #denise levertov

A book must be an ice axe to break the sea frozen inside us

Franz Kafka

#books #the trial

Delphiniums in a Window Box, by Dean Young

Every sunrise, sometimes strangers’ eyes.

Not necessarily swans, even crows,

even the evening fusillade of bats.

That place where the creek goes underground,

how many weeks before I see you again?

Stacks of books, every page, character’s

rage and poet’s strange contraption

of syntax and song, every song

even when there isn’t one.

Every thistle, splinter, butterfly

over the drainage ditches. Every stray.

Did you see the meteor shower?

Every question, conversation

even with almost nothing, cricket, cloud,

because of you I’m talking to crickets, clouds,

confiding in a cat. Everyone says

Come to your senses, and I do, of you.

Every touch electric, every taste you,

every smell, even burning sugar, every

cry and laugh. Toothpicked samples

at the farmer’s market, every melon,

plum, I come undone, undone.

#dean young #love #poetry

the west has helped me listen to myself/the west is a place that kills and kills and kills

Ed Skoog, “A mile outside of Yellowstone”

#ed skoog #a mile outside of yellowstone

no one is going to deny us the city we grew up in

Copper Canyon Press

My memory, my prison

Theodore Roethke

#my memory #theodore roethke

Red Cloth, by Jean Valentine

Red cloth I lie on the ground otherwise nothing could hold

I put my hand on the ground the membrane is gone and nothing does hold

your place in the ground is all of it and it is breathing

#red cloth #jean valentine #break the glass

"Deck of Cards" by David Huerta

The angels of lime

come unraveled

at a vibration

of chance and breakfast.

The demons were concealing

sands when they discovered

the spirit

of explosions.

Demons, angels

go on picking up

what corresponds to each

from the deck

of the afterworld:

From fatigue comes the star,

from the rose the rivers,

from the hand the path

... and from the white nets

the blackness of homicide.

#Monica de la Torre #reversible monuments #poetry #writing

How even colour can never be quiet

Homecoming, by Tishani Doshi

#tishani doshi #homecoming

rosettabooks

Which one is your ‘cup of tea’?

The Ocean, by Gordon Preston

has always

spoken to me

sometimes just blue

sharp as a thorn

and sometimes cold

like a human

and down

from the sea cliff

there are no strangers

to her sound

all her animals

know

waves

dance their way

to the shore

in shouts

at high tide

and dreamlike at low

when night comes in

its darkening face

climbs the horizon

and the poor bones

of driftwood

wait to rise as peaceful

smoke from a fire ring

to a heaven trailing

like a veil

between us

#love #the ocean #nature #gordon preston

Suppose you do change your life. / & the body is more

Ocean Vuong, “Torso of Air”

#torso of air #ocean vuong

I am ready to be every animal/ you leave behind

Ocean Vuong, “Thanksgiving 2006″

#thanksgiving 2006 #ocean vuong

She loves the invisible passages between questions. / What hurts, falls through her. The answer is always love.

Ales Steger, “Doormat”

#ales steger #doormat #poetry

"We take in the glowing eyes, the spectral hands, the starched collar, the frozen smile, and in that encounter a feeling—a story—begins to unspool in our minds."

Dustin Illingworth, “How Author Photos Change the Way We Read”

#dustin illingworth #authors #lithub

Let every river envy our mouths

Ocean Vuong, “A Little Closer to the Edge”

Show me how ruin makes a home / out of hip bones

Ocean Vuong, “Night Sky with Exit Wounds”

#ocean vuong #night sky with exit wounds

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