waldeinsamkeit @frozenseawithin - Tumblr Blog

teddypng

Patricia Highsmith, Her Diaries and Notebooks: 1941-1995

#poetry #poems #poem

whimsigothwitch-deactivated2026

Witches garden

frozenseawithin

i missed you tumblr

firstfullmoon

If you persevere, in time you will have an entirely different problem – not that life is meaningless, but rather that life has almost too much meaning. As the scales fall from your eyes the world rushes into focus, presenting itself with a kind of vibrational eloquence that can, at first, be almost overwhelming. Everything shimmers, everything clarifies, everything wrestles for your attention. Trees feel super-real, their roots plunged into the earth, their branches stretching to the sky, birds are flesh and blood souls, fragile with life, the sky unfolds and rolls, the ocean crashes, people fascinate, books are beautiful, children are whirling dynamos of chaos, dogs bark and cats meow, flowers shout, your neighbour glows, and God runs like a helix through all things. The world awaits you, humming with meaning. You are alive with potential. You are not dead.

— Nick Cave on getting clean, Red Hand Files #258

digsdigsdigs

"To Myself," by Franz Wright

You are riding the bus again burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80, the sole passenger

with an overhead light on. And I am with you. I’m the interminable fields you can’t see,

the little lights off in the distance (in one of those rooms we are living) and I am the rain

and the others all around you, and the loneliness you love, and the universe that loves you specifically, maybe,

and the catastrophic dawn, the nicotine crawling on your skin— and when you begin

to cough I won’t cover my face, and if you vomit this time I will hold you: everything’s going to be fine

I will whisper. It won’t always be like this. I am going to buy you a sandwich.

Continually pulling this one

Why?

baddreamland

“Glass float from an old submarine net, used by a peasant of Iona Island, Scotland, for crystal-gazing. It should be laid on a bed of heather & gazed into to see visions.“

Donated to Pitt Rivers Museum in 1922.

enchantedbook

'Jubilee Procession in a Cornish Village' by George Sherwood Hunter

carnageandculture-deactivated20

Canto XLV With Usura With usura hath no man a house of good stone each block cut smooth and well fitting that design might cover their face, with usura hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall harpes et luz or where virgin receiveth message and halo projects from incision, with usura seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines no picture is made to endure nor to live with but it is made to sell and sell quickly with usura, sin against nature, is thy bread ever more of stale rags is thy bread dry as paper, with no mountain wheat, no strong flour with usura the line grows thick with usura is no clear demarcation and no man can find site for his dwelling. Stonecutter is kept from his tone weaver is kept from his loom WITH USURA wool comes not to market sheep bringeth no gain with usura Usura is a murrain, usura blunteth the needle in the maid’s hand and stoppeth the spinner’s cunning. Pietro Lombardo came not by usura Duccio came not by usura nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin’ not by usura nor was ‘La Calunnia’ painted. Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis, Came no church of cut stone signed: Adamo me fecit. Not by usura St. Trophime Not by usura Saint Hilaire, Usura rusteth the chisel It rusteth the craft and the craftsman It gnaweth the thread in the loom None learneth to weave gold in her pattern; Azure hath a canker by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered Emerald findeth no Memling Usura slayeth the child in the womb It stayeth the young man’s courting It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth between the young bride and her bridegroom CONTRA NATURAM They have brought whores for Eleusis Corpses are set to banquet at behest of usura.

Ezra Pound

#poetry

For most of human history medicine was not seen as separate from the world of ritual. There was an understanding that healing is not as simple as a pill. It is a complex performance act that primes a person’s immune system and boosts a person’s confidence such that they are more likely to heal. The extraordinary ability of placebos to outperform drugs shows us that this performance is often even more important than the pill or surgery. We have forgotten the theater of healing. And so we have been putting on terrible theater. This can have fatal consequences. -https://sophiestrand.substack.com/p/dear-patient-on-a-scale-of-1-to-10

disir-hex-machina

"God may indeed be dead, but when has death ever stopped the cornucopia of powers and presences that flow and flux? That burn in the deep, rich, blackness, and honeyed intoxicant goldings found in loam and fungus and ten thousand forms of excreta?"

-Craig 'VI' Slee (@coldalbion), from Goêtic Atavisms

hangsawoman

shirley jackson’s self portrait, 1942

Dream Song 29

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart so heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. Starts again always in Henry's ears the little cough somewhere, an odor, a chime—

And there is another thing he has in mind like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind. All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears; thinking.

But never did Henry, as he thought he did, end anyone and hacks her body up and hide the pieces, where they may be found. He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing. Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up. Nobody is ever missing.

-John Berryman

#poetry #poem #poet

mother's day

you can claim an identity but not a community, or a relationship - they claim you. there are few greater pains than moving through life unclaimed

"she's one of ours" my neighbors said

"a citizen like you" they say. "my colleague" they say.

since childhood I have been - out of sync, marginal; other women have never claimed me, nor have other mothers called me as one of their own or their kind

though I am in fact a female, I am in fact, material fact, a mother, I feel I have a form of invisibility or the way I live into it is unintelligible to the powers that be. I wear dresses, I menstruate, I have a womb. I like you live under the same moon. still I elide their attention, the gaze. I find I don't qualify.

but the baby calls for me, and so I am claimed

#mother

When I had only one child, she was so heavy. Now I can see that children are as light as air. They float past you, nudging against you like balloons as they ascend.

Dear mother, don’t worry about enjoying your life. Your life is hard; your life will be hard. That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong—it means you’re doing it right.

-Simcha Fisher

An Old English Galdru

The wisest Lord made those worts, Holy in heaven, when he hung. He set and sent them into seven worlds As a cure for all, the unhappy and the blessed. She stands against poison, it stuns poison, The power against three and against thirty, Against the fiends’ hand and against sudden fraud, Against the witchcraft of wicked wights. Now these nine worts against nine who flee glory Against nine poisons, against nine flying powers, Against red poison, against running poison, Against white poison, against purple poison, Against yellow poison, against green poison, Against black poison, against blue poison, Against brown poison, against crimson poison, Against snake-blister, against water-blister, Against thorn-blister, against thistle-blister, Against ice-blister, against poison-blister. If any poison comes flying from the east, Any come from the north, Any from the west over the welter of peoples, Christ stood over every sickness. I alone know the running river, Where nine adders see it narrow. May all the weeds spring up as worts, The seas slip apart, every salt water, When I blow this illness away from you.

-https://www.dappledthings.org/poetry/three-old-english-galdrun

Trans. Jacob Riyeff

#poetry #poet #poem #poems

From "Like a Vocation"

But somewhere always, nowhere particularly unusual,

Almost anywhere in the landscape of water and houses,

His crying competing unsuccessfully with the cry

Of the traffic or the birds, is always standing

The one who needs you, that terrified

Imaginative child who only knows you

As what the uncles call a lie,

But knows he has to be the future and that only

The meek inherit the earth, and is neither

Charming, successful, nor a crowd;

Alone among the noise and policies of summer,

His weeping climbs towards your life like a vocation.

-WH Auden

#poetry #poem #poems #poet

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

waldeinsamkeit