Alba's room

Alba, 26. Love poetry, languages, and historical films. Only female writers. Sólo escritoras.

[catilinas]

Anna Jackson, I, Clodia

[lifeinpoetry]

You were so sick, so internally embattled       suddenly a soft touch to the shoulder ghost, maybe, until you glimpsed the opossum’s so-soft front foot      offering solace, companionship                    touch in the time of despair

— Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, from Look at This Blue

[bebemoon]

“It’s summer. She’s tired. / No one knows where she’s been.”

— Dorianne Laux, in “Mother’s Day” from The Book Of Men (via antigonies)

[poemaseletras]

Carol Ann Duffy

[text ID: E aqui vem você com um escudo no lugar do coração e uma espada no lugar da língua.]

[poesiasomostodas]

Capricho

Hoy he besado a un hombre hechura de la tierra,

elemental,

agreste,

sin linaje ni aroma.

Capricho en el desgaste de una tarde cualquiera.

Fragmento. Flor Alba Uribe.

[poesiasomostodas]

"Porque tú eres la espuma de ese río

que nace en tus llanuras de verano

y muere en mis crepúsculos de frío."

Laura Victoria en Cegada Luz.

[lifeinpoetry]

We did not waste our charisma on each other.

Did not dress for each other. Or did I dress for him a little bit. Did

I perform for him. I knew no other way. The last time I saw him.

Before he lost his mind and filled with ocean. Died. He said, “Di

your body changed.” I’d just given birth to a ten pound baby. Jesus

Christ. What do you want from me. What did you ever want from me.

— Diane Seuss, from “[He said it bummed him out his dick],” frank: sonnets

[draculasdaughter]

Clarice Lispector, Forgiving God

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Janet Fitch, from “White Oleander,” originally published c. July 1999

[lifeinpoetry]

“Some days one flag blows more strongly than the other and it feels too much like betrayal. Some days the only choice is to grab everything and flee, graft your branches onto another tree. Start again.”

— — Threa Almontaser, from “Guide to Gardening Your Roots,” after Natalie Diaz, The Wild Fox of Yemen

[lifeinpoetry]

“If one thing doesn’t kill us, / it’ll be another. Soon enough, / the warming earth will break through the snow / like the hide of a new animal.”

— — Donna Kane, from “Probability,” Orrery

[poesiasomostodas]

Tendré cuidado no sea, que, al abrirme, estalle el sollozo Y comprenda que delinco.

“Con desdén y oro”. Carilda Oliver Labra.

[poesiasomostodas]

He de tragar entonces, con locura, en tu vaso de tórrida hermosura la sangre poderosa que se queja

“Callados por la tarde, gravemente...” Carilda Oliver Labra

[malglories]

“This is what I have. The dull hangover of waiting, the blush of my heart on the damp grass, the flower-faced moon.”

— Mary Oliver, excerpt of “Crazy Little Love Song”, in Blue Horses (via readherandweep)

[notmanthelessbutnaturemore]

Mrs Midas, Carol Ann Duffy

[sofiazerkalo]

“Perhaps I should not have learned to adore pleasures that could not last?”

— Denise Levertov, from Candles in Babylon: Poems; “Her Lament,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[ligeia-of-the-rhine]

“O that my voice were a knife, that a knife could change anything,”

— Donika Kelly, from Bestiary: Poems.