@mayascoffsky - Tumblr Blog

jan. 20th 2016

the simpleness of the moon & my books on the windowsill as we cross our shadows looking for the cat howling in the alley traps these feelings again. & snow is coming. the first of the year. sort of late, & like when i touch your hand or face, especially this morning it’s a sort of anticipation of the thing itself as much as the result. the cause & causation of cold, of heat, of blankets & our nakedness silent for the night. if you asked me what it was like starting over maybe this is the feeling that comes just before that starting. two people, having just fucked, trying to shut up some cat who wants the same thing but doesn’t know anything but how to wreck itself in the night & call up towards the lonely spotlight frozen over Brooklyn.

#cats #the moon #poetry #spilled ink

2016 is starting off not too bad. here's some poems that i hope will kick start a lot of publishing for me this year. "A Poem For Occupy, 4 Years Later" & "Election Cycle" at Maudlin House "Natural History, I-VII" at Stonecoast Review

#poetry #maudlin house #stonecoast review

penamerican

"The language you use for your poems should be the language you use with your friends." – Robert Bly, born on this day in 1926

These Days I’m listening to The Stone Roses’s “I Wanna be Adored” a lot these days. And writing Nico lyrics over and over. In my dreams I walk around Tompkins until I see my brother just ahead of me. The morning is sparse. The music from boomboxes fades in and out. I try to catch up to him. Everyone disappears these days. Everyday I practice the art of self-obsession with those around me like a good poet. When I talk, I like to think about how to get out of talking. My mother calls me late at night sometimes. When she’s driving home from the hospital after work and I count the time -- knowing how long it takes her to drive home. I’ll tell her how I spend my days. How much time I spend staying still. How my room feels like it’s collapsing. How I’m waiting all day for it to inhale me. I want to live in another time where I can see the end of the horizon like peering across Cadillac Mountain in reverse during the winter and fall. It’s not that I want to jump in, scale across the improbable black of idle mornings. It's just that I've been losing so long.

#poetry #nico #stone roses

pop-skeet

ayoson-blog

Inbox me (1) thing you want to know about me.

"Often we ask ourselves to make absolute sense out of what just happens, and in this way, what we are practicing is suffering, which everybody practices, but strangely few of us grow graceful in." -Tony Hoagland, from "Self-Improvement"

#tony hoagland #suffering

Sorrow

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain, — Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start. People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow and brown: Standing up or sitting down Little matters, or what gown Or what shoes I wear. -Edna St. Vincent Millay

#Edna St. Vincent Millay #sorrow

in the inevitability, there is a suffering. the inevitability of work. the inevitability of sleep. the inevitability, like the stars who plot their movement across the unrelenting map; the sky full of itself drunk on their shifts. together, they roll across the inevitable black. i’m waiting. in my pockets i have holes full of waiting. there is a story about a man who for everything, the answer is maybe. he is finding comfort in the unknowable weight held between the tiniest spaces composing everything.

#poetry #spilled ink

cheer up emo kid

thank you dear reader for your deep concern. i assure you, from great sorrow comes great art. but why do you hide your condolences behind anon?

The work of one’s life is to discover and name the harm one has suffered.

trashingdays

If life were merely a habit, I should commit suicide; but even now, more or less desperate, I cannot but think, ‘Something wonderful may happen.’ It is not optimism, it is a rejection of self-pity (I hope) which leaves a loophole for life… I merely choose to remain living out of respect for possibility. And possibility is the great good.

Frank O’Hara, Early Writing, 108-9 (1/22/49)

mythologyofblue

It isn’t happiness I am concerned with but experience.

Raymond Queneau, Witch Grass (via mythologyofblue)

But grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth, The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.

Lord Byron

#Lord Byron

twominutemissionary

"He exclaimed mentally, Marry me! Be my wife! End my troubles!—and was staggered by his rashness, his weakness, and by the characteristic nature of such an outburst, for he saw how very neurotic and typical it was."

Herzog, Saul Bellow (via twominutemissionary)