Pedestrian Evening

A tumblr blog for my poetry, a lot of landscapes and fantasy and a little bit of history. Not all good, but I like them. And I imagine I will also reblog a bunch of other people's poems and art that I think is cool. So a bit of an aesthetic blog as well.

[noise-vs-signal]

“Piercing the Veil” - The “Flammarion Engraving” (1888).

[stories-in-the-wind]

I desperately have the desire to draw but the heat makes it hard to have motivation. This is a 30 minute sketch to wind down the night after getting frustrated with a different composition I scrapped (completely unrelated to this drawing). If there's something I can count on it's Pidge being the source of a stress free drawing.

[lonelyvampx]

Anastasia Trusova

[enchantedbook]

White dragon by Natalya Mosyagina

[unusual-suspects]

x

[j-tee]

[iamjapanese]

FUDEZUKA Toshihisa（筆塚稔尚 Japanese, b.1957）

1. Shining Water 2  輝く水  2015  etching  21 × 15 cm  2. Rain Song 4  2015  etching 15.5 × 21.5 cm  3. Rain Song 3  2014  etching  25.5 × 39 cm   via

[thedancingemu]

Little Faerie Imp ACEO painting

2.5"x3.5" watercolor / multimedia

[enabianca]

[sab3rtooth]

patterns left by woodworms on driftwood

[sfemonster]

A parade of empty beasts. Art from a zine i made called moon chase ♥︎

[holespoles]

"Shimmering night" by Inaslind.

[nevver]

Glimmerati, Claudia Keep

[moonchild-77777777777]

- Marie Muravski.

[sashayed]

Springtime in the Rockies, Lichen

All these years I overlooked them in the racket of the rest, this symbiotic splash of plant and fungus feeding on rock, on sun, a little moisture, air — tiny acid-factories dissolving salt from living rocks and eating them. Here they are, blooming! Trail rock, talus and scree, all dusted with it: rust, ivory, brilliant yellow-green, and cliffs like murals! Huge panels streaked and patched, quietly with shooting-stars and lupine at the base. Closer, with the glass, a city of cups! Clumps of mushrooms and where do the plants begin? Why are they doing this? In this big sky and all around me peaks & the melting glaciers, why am I made to kneel and peer at Tiny? These are the stamps of the final envelope. How can the poisons reach them? In such thin air, how can they care for the loss of a million breaths? What, possibly, could make their ground more bare? Let it all die. The hushed globe will wait and wait for what is now so small and slow to open it again. As now, indeed, it opens it again, this scentless velvet, crumbler-of-the-rocks, this Lichen!

Lew Welch (1926-1971) in Ring of Bone, posthumous, 1973

[watsdaughter]

@lichenaday

[lichenaday]

Here it is, gang. The best poem ever written.

[pedestrianevening]

[calleido]

eight journeys abroad (1917)