soooooo does anyone read poems out loud anymore or should i not count on that as a poet?
Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
will byers stan first human second

if i look back, i am lost
d e v o n
🪼

blake kathryn
RMH

No title available
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pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
styofa doing anything
todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
$LAYYYTER

★
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@goosegeesemoosemeese
soooooo does anyone read poems out loud anymore or should i not count on that as a poet?
I am finding my way back to myself again. slowly, patiently, intricately. I am finding roads in between my heart and my mind that connect. I am finding melodies that taste good on my soul. I stray and i take detours occasionally, but I am finding my way back to myself again.
Unknown
#with help
“Never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary.”
— Oscar Wilde
If you're lamenting the fact that you used to be able to shoot through a 500-page novel in like a day when you were in middle school and now you can't, it's worth bearing in mind that a big part of that is because when you were in middle school, your reading comprehension sucked. Yes, mental health and the stresses of adult life can definitely be factors, but it's also the case that reading is typically more effortful as an adult because you've learned to Ponder The Implications. The material isn't just skimming over the surface of your brain anymore, and some of the spoons you used to spend on maximising your daily page count are now spent on actually thinking about what you're reading!
this validated the fuck outta me
inspired
talk to meh
most people dont even notice
the constricting tightness
in their own body
until it’s too late;
a chronic crick in the neck,
defensiveness, a hint of
subconscious regret.
the state of a bird-dog
made pet,
the unanimous qualm
all beings have
at the zoo.
If sleepfalls were sunsets,
a mindless collapse after a
wasted comfortable day
would be colorless, flat —
a picture nature never paints
but grief-stricken torment,
blood-chilling torrential dreams,
would dazzle creation —
exploding triumphant hues
brighter than gold,
inconceivable to the artist
<3
•
if you take it as a sign
it’s
a
sign
•
“Until you get comfortable with being alone, you’ll never know if you are choosing someone out of love or loneliness.”
— Mandy Hale
Louise Glück, from "Persephone the Wanderer", Averno
— Laura Gilpin, The Hocus-Pocus of the Universe (1977)
[ID: Four photos or scans of a poem titled A Toast to the Alchemists. The pictures are cropped so that the text is almost taking up the entire image. Behind the poem one can see the text on the back of the page shine through. The poem reads:
A Toast to the Alchemists
Alchmists, you were right, it is possible. We have the proof now. There are equations.
If you could come back for a day, if you could conjure yourself into this chemistry classroom, if you could read the textbook or watch the professor writing the answers on the board…
Alchemists, you would see that you were right, even though you didn’t know about alpha and beta radiation, even though you didn’t understand isotopes, you knew it was possible, that some elements can change into other elements, that transmutation can occur.
Alchemists, there is proof now that it is possible, although each new element, having a brief half-life, would keep changing into other things.
Alchemists, you were right, you can make anything, anything, uranium, plutonium, tel- lurium, mercury, copper, cobalt, platinum, silver, and gold, you can make gold, an isotope so radioactive it would sparkle before your eyes.
Alchemists, you were right. It is magic.
/end ID]
#alchemy is fucking sick
Flying at Night
by Ted Kooser
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care. All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
shout out to everyone who participated in the january-february mass depressive episode
Thank you everyone for another great turnout to the january-february mass depressive episode
“Your naked body should only belong to those who fall in love with your naked soul.”
— Charlie Chaplin in a letter to his daughter, Geraldine
how is going that poetry of life?
it’s going! haven’t been on tumblr much but i really appreciate you asking me.