bewitched chaos

[days-of-reading]

Sophocles, Elektra (trans. by Anne Carson)

[phantvsmagoria]

the first words uttered / from that silence / the silence where love emerges / sung by a ghost

All We Saw, Anne Michaels

[phantvsmagoria]

Smoke above / the field of broken feathers, / I'm flightless, slipping windward / without a bridge to home.

Toward Home, Mai Der Vang

[trovadora-de-versos]

I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.

[antigonick]

Your teeth burn.

Ross Gay, excerpt of “Because”, in Bringing the Shovel Down (via antigonick)

[phantvsmagoria]

I taste my own memories without the flavour of blood but as poetry.

Nikita Gill, Wild Embers

[lifeinpoetry]

“My suffering / Is that I try to make my suffering beautiful, and I’m no beauty. I’m told that // Nature’s an allegory in which the ego hides. Like the Dark-Throat Shooting Star / Cruelest was I who crossed Death Valley to the Valley of Life. By my own / Invention, I found a way. I’m no artifact. Between art and fact: I.”

— — Paul Tran, from “I See Not Stars but Their Light Reaching Across the Distance Between Us,” All the Flowers Kneeling

[weltenwellen]

Mary Oliver, from “The Kingfisher”, House of Light

[phantvsmagoria]

I can't help but think about the dead. Everywhere their flowers burn bright.

Marianne Boruch, In June

[phantvsmagoria]

I would like people to remember of me, how inexhaustible was her mindfulness.

Name, A Little Ado About This and That

[phantvsmagoria]

He was here: curled on my now bony chest, howling wet being I pulled from my open wound.

Cheryl Dumesnil, His Currency

[phantvsmagoria]

his arms felt like home but my house is haunted by the ghost of you

[phantvsmagoria]

Fear? Oh certainly it called to him wounded spiraling grief

[phantvsmagoria]

The dark before me, unfolded from bead-pressed earth, sparkles, groans, whistles / I breathe it in.

Sherwin Bitsui, Dissolve

[phantvsmagoria]

I am an archaeologist sifting the grit of my muddled blood.

Donika Kelly, Archaeology

[phantvsmagoria]

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Sarah Williams, The Old Astronomer to His Pupil

[phantvsmagoria]

The past is never where you think you left it.

Katherine Anne Porter