✶

[er-ic-ka]

Donde el mar está en todas partes, y todo lo que te hace reír, puro, simple. ༄

[msvhs-deactivated20251231]

The Color of Pomegranates (Նռան գույնը), dir. Sergei Parajanov (1969)

[undinesea]

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, “A Defence of Poetry,” from Toward the Open Field: Poets on the Art of Poetry 1800-1950

[undinesea]

But I am as real as my love and my despair.

Paul Éluard, from The Nakedness Of Truth (I Know It Well)

[metamorphesque]

Tired, Langston Hughes

[apoemaday]

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower

by Rainer Maria Rilke tr. Joanna Macy

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you. Let this darkness be a bell tower and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength. Move back and forth into the change. What is it like, such intensity of pain? If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night, be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses, the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you, say to the silent earth: I flow. To the rushing water, speak: I am.

[fortuneaday]

[havingapoemwithyou]

from let July be July by Morgan Harper Nichols

[blksouthernfemme]

hands hold memories

[dk-thrive]

If it is free, I am free.

I am attention.  Where attention is, there am I.  If the attention is weak, I am weak.

If the attention is mechanical, I am mechanical.  If it is free, I am free.

— Michel Conge, Inner Octaves. Translated from French by members of Gurdjieff Foundation Groups in Europe and North America (Dolmen Meadow Editions, 2007)

[mournfulroses]

Nikolay Punin, from a diary entry featured in The Diaries of Nikolay Punin: 1904 - 1953

[apoemaday]

"Although the wind..."

by Izumi Shikibu tr. Jane Hirshfield

Although the wind blows terribly here, the moonlight also leaks between the rook planks of this ruined house.

[mournfulroses]

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1947-1955

[journalofanobody]

Haiku

those small birds outside

may have more wisdom for us

than the greatest of monks

-- Michael Boiano

[nixscriptum]

[inkpressedpetals]

[apoemaday]

In a Dream

by Anna Akhmatova

Why are you crying? Come Give me your hand instead– Promise again To come in dreams.

You and I Are like grief and the mountain– We will not meet In this world. But sometimes Will you send across the stars A sign?