Papilio Homerus @papiliohomerus - Tumblr Blog

fr. “Little Crazy Love Song” by Mary Oliver

Spring.

Sunday.

”And so finally I see how people turn into light and turn into music and eventually into other people. And how fluid the bones really are. They say you die three times. First when your heart stops. Second is when you’re buried or cremated. And third is the last time someone says your name.”

#laurieanderson #loureed

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Garden Dream

by Joy Laforme

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Sierra DeMulder, Your Love Finds Its Way Back / “what does love mean? see how 4-8 year-old kids describe love” by Ladan Lashkari / Nizar Qabbani, A Green Lantern on Damascus’ Door / Mabel, episode 15: Killing the Moon / Richard Siken, Saying Your Names / E. Kristin Anderson, from “Sleeping Through”

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Dulce María Loynaz, from “LVII,”Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems

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Carol Ann Duffy, ‘Name’

Greg Watson, ‘Now’

Hozier, ‘In the Woods Somewhere’

Afīf al-Dīn al-Tilimsānī, ‘Loving You is a Gilded Religion’

Marina Tsvetaeva, ‘Poems for Blok’

Tennessee Williams, ‘The Vine’

apoemaday

Summer Story

by Mary Oliver

When the hummingbird sinks its face into the trumpet vine, into the funnels

of the blossoms and the tongue leaps out and throbs, I am scorched to realize once again how many small, available things are in the world that aren’t pieces of gold or power– that nobody owns or could buy even for a hillside of money– that just float about the world, or drift over the fields, or into the gardens, and into the tents of the vines, and how here I am spending my time, as the saying goes, watching until the watching turns into feeling, so that I feel I am myself a small bird with a terrible hunger, with a thin beak probing and dipping and a heart that races so fast it is only a heart beat ahead of breaking– and I am the hunger and assuagement, and also I am the leaves and the blossoms, and, like them, I am full of delight and shaking

”You must learn to exist with no religion, no country, no allies. You must learn to live alone in silence.”

#williamsburroughs

”Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,

The diaphanous satins of a January window

White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!

It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.

Can you not see I do not mind what it is.”

#poetry #sylvia plath #january #shadowsandlight

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“I am proof against all those deadly defences–retreat, freezing, madness, despair–that a fearful soul puts up when refusing to face pain and come through it. I am not mad; just fighting mad.”

— Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ruth Tiffany Beuscher c. September 1962

mournfulroses

What’s beneath the words actually matters

apoemaday

Sleeping in the Forest

by Mary Oliver

I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.