@k-hepri - Tumblr Blog

vexheart

#poetry

Summer, Winterthur, 2026

#winterthur

gardenofgod

Tight Quarters, by Stephanie Wallace.

havingapoemwithyou

i am offering this poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca

apoemaday

"Will there really be a morning..."

by Emily Dickinson

Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor! Oh, some wise man from the skies! Please to tell a little pilgrim Where the place called morning lies!

I’m so dulled. Blunt. Edgeless.

I feel when I’m out of meds that my mind cuts like glass. It bites in bleeds, it races. It’s quick and agile. It skips and runs through fields of flowers and off of cliffs that I tumble down.

I’m molasses now. Stable. Sticky. Slow.

I want to run l want to shout I want to cry I want to jump off a cliff I want to dive into the ocean I want to live and I want to suffer. I want to feel the world around me instead of the fog that holds me.

I’m swaddled, a babe. Bound. Restrained.

I want to crawl for the top of the stairs and look out over the stairway and feel the feeling of looking down from above, and start to climb on the bannister to slide

#poetry

dduane

Via @judgedewie at Bluesky:

"The new statue of the Madonna at Santa Teresa di Gallura is an 'abstract of Mary's form'"

anyskin

Brigitte Helm on the set of the movie Metropolis 1927

urgetocreate

Fritz Lang (German), director

Winterthur, Summer 2025.

#winterthur #summer #deer

havingapoemwithyou

gastronomy by Jessica Poli

May Flowers, Winterthur, 2025

#spring #may #Winterthur

anxeious

oncewild

thinking about this bit from an article by Ann Druyan in 2003:

“When my husband died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me – it still sometimes happens – and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again. Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous – not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful… The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived.

That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday.

I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.”