huminightingale

i yearn a lot.

[seraphinesaintclair]

Christina Rossetti, “In The Willow Shade.”

[apoemaday]

A Daughter of Eve

by Christina Rossetti

A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily. My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I slept, It’s winter now I waken. Talk what you please of future spring And sun-warm’d sweet to-morrow: — Stripp’d bare of hope and everything, No more to laugh, no more to sing, I sit alone with sorrow.

[shisasan]

Christina Rossetti, Bird Raptures (1876)

[weltenwellen]

An Interview with Richard Siken

[weltenwellen]

The Quiet Machine Ada Limón

[havingapoemwithyou]

I THINK LOVE IS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE by Michael Gray Bulla

[huminightingale]

in love and with love

‎when i think of me,

‎i think of moonlit skies and forgotten journal.

‎

‎i think of blue hours and empty streets.

‎

‎i think of dewy rain and crimson trickling down wherever i go.

‎

‎i think of sunset orange and the monster that resides under the bed.

‎

‎i think of me with ache and reverence.

‎i think of me with shame that coils the blackened heart.

‎i think of me and i hope of a different reality.

‎

‎i think of me and a forest burning under my ribs, with hunger that no flesh can satiate it with.

‎

‎and i think of me in longing and resilience, in heartache and grief,

‎in love and with love.

‎

[huminightingale]

firework

green blue and then red.

‎there is a war sound and im trembling like a leaf.

‎in my mother's arm, who cradles me to relief.

‎sky alit with love, hope and belief.

‎in these noises, i hear a crow hiding under the eave.

‎with agitating and no one to speak.

‎

‎green blue and then red.

‎now im looking at the sky alit.

‎cold embarce and nowhere to exist.

‎

[havingapoemwithyou]

Essay on Crying at Night by Ken Chen

[thistransient]

紗帽山步道

[weltenwellen]

Growing Up Joy Sullivan

[huminightingale]

[huminightingale]

‎sometimes i crave the summer of 6 years ago.

when i use to sit under the apricity, sipping grape juice and laughing till i gasped for breath. sweet and tangy flavor of cherries, the futile attempt at tying its stem to the tongue. june smelling like basket full of jasmine and the taste of custard apple from my garden.

‎

‎sometimes i crave the liberty which was taken away from me at a young age.

where i used to chase the fireflies along field of yarrow and watch butterflies dance around the ivy. when i used to sleep with a fulfilled heart and wake from dreams that felt like fantasy.

‎

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[weltenwellen]

Dreams in April Traci Brimhall

[weltenwellen]

Ellen Bass, “The Thing Is”, Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems

[huminightingale]

born to keep the track of time going by through the full moons, forced to mark the schedules on my calendars and be up to dates.