cold clay

nobody IG: milkeyedmenders

[mesogeios]

From Marjane Satrapi’s The Complete Persepolis

[bostonpoetryslam]

Humor is a way to defamiliarize experience, just like a poem. What a poem does is makes what is familiar to us feel new again, and that’s what a stand-up comedian does too, right? A stand-up comedian says, you know, this thing that you do every day that feels very normal and mundane to you is, in fact, actually absurd. That’s what a poem is doing. I think humor is native to poetry and probably a closer cousin to poetry than even prose or non-fiction, because of that core impulse.

Kaveh Akbar, interviewed by Thora Siemsen for Literary Hub (via bostonpoetryslam)

[lifeinpoetry]

When you left I walked into the ocean. Not to drown but to be held by something reluctant to let go.

Leila Chatti, from “Postcard from Gone,” published in wildness (via lifeinpoetry)

[masseduction]

[newsomberg]

Well, I do think I was aware, when making those recordings and I continue to be aware, every time I play these songs - that they drum up something particular for me. It’s like playing Bloody Mary as a little kid, standing in the dark bathroom, staring at the mirror, saying her name three times and promising yourself that you’re not gonna get scared… but every fool time, like clockwork, you get so scared. With these songs, every time I play them, a particular mood and a particular set of thoughts wells right up and sits there lumping in my throat. Not bad thoughts or bad feelings… just sort of, very strong I guess.

Joanna Newsom on The Milk eyed Mender (via newsomberg)

[titleofoursextape]

Joanna Newsom drinking Starbucks and staring incrediously at the photographer. (Date Unknown)

[folkremedies]

Despite what they say, I believe poetry is in good hands, mostly because it is in our hands.

Ocean Vuong (Sarah Lawrence College Poetry Festival April 22, 2017)

[bostonpoetryslam]

To the ditch lily I say I am in love. To the Jeep parked haphazardly on the narrow street I am in love. To the roses, white petals rimmed brown, to the yellow lined pavement, to the house trimmed in gold I am in love.

Donika Kelly, “The moon rose over the bay. I had a lot of feelings,” via poets.org (via bostonpoetryslam)

[sisyphusshrugged]

[vesselsofmercy]

she dies in April 2019 of alcohol and indescribable longing most people blush before death she just steps off

Anne Carson, Powerless Structures Fig. II (Sanne)

[honeyfaced]

This is a really random question but when you moved to Portland how did you meet people/make friends/find people with similar interests? I just moved and want to find people similar to me to be friends with but I’m not in school or anything and social situations freak me out sometimes. Thanks!

oh i have no idea haha i don’t have very many friends. the ones i do have i met by working with them or thru social media. i have no idea how people actually meet ppl in real life honestly

[newsomberg]

Joanna Newsom by Annabel Mehran for PAPER Mag

[blogging-at-your-funeral]

Visit Original Link

[yourbedroomwall]

Visit Original Link

look at the sky tonight, all of the stars have a reason; a reason to shine, a reason like mine and i’m falling to pieces

[lifeinpoetry]

like the sky I’ve been too quiet everyone’s forgotten I’m here

Kaveh Akbar, from “Calling a Wolf a Wolf (Inpatient),” Calling a Wolf a Wolf (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

You will come away bruised. You will come away bruised but this will give you poetry.

Yrsa Daley-Ward, from “poetry,” bone (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

i’m trying to love the shattered window of myself: the hands: the rocks: the broken religion left behind: my inheritance is a body of vandalized cathedrals: light me on fire: strip my god from my breath: watch as i dance amidst the flames:

George Abraham, from “Apology,” published in Tin House (via lifeinpoetry)