soft/animal/body

a visceral warmth. we stan mary oliver 🦊🌲

[agnes-martin]

Columns, 1966, Agnes Martin

[sakura-zen]

Invitation

Oh do you have time    to linger        for just a little while            out of your busy

and very important day    for the goldfinches        that have gathered            in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,    to see who can sing        the highest note,            or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,    or the most tender?        Their strong, blunt beaks            drink the air

as they strive    melodiously        not for your sake            and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning    but for sheer delight and gratitude—        believe us, they say,            it is a serious thing

just to be alive    on this fresh morning        in this broken world.            I beg of you,

do not walk by    without pausing        to attend to this            rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.    It could mean everything.        It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:            You must change your life.

- Mary Oliver, “Invitation.” Redbird

[handwrittenloveletter-deactivat]

heather havrilesky

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Clarissa Pinkola Estés, from  “Women who Run with the Wolves,” c. 1992

[shisasan]

Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (1924)

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” - Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

[weltenwellen]

Tony Hoagland, from “Peaceful Transition”, What Narcissism Means to Me

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“My childhood, closed to me forever, turned gold like an autumn garden,” - Louise Glück, Fugue

[lispectorisms-deactivated202301]

Vladimir Nabokov, from an interview for “BBC-2 (1969)”, Strong Opinions (1973)

[everythingfox]

Kekekeke *fox laugh*

Photo by Louise Beech

[lesbianartandartists]

“Everytime we let straights make out in bars while we couldn’t touch because of laws–It was an act of perversion.Everytime we put on the proper clothes to go to a family wedding and left our lovers at home–It was an act of perversion.Everytime we heard “Who I go to bed with is my personal choice–It’s personal and not political” and said nothing–It was an act of perversion.Everytime we let straight relatives bury our dead and push our lovers away–It was an act of perversion.”

— Excerpt from Pat Parker, “Boots are being polished” 1978.

[nietp]

full poem

[soracities]

Walt Whitman, ‘Song of Myself’, Leaves of Grass

[Text ID: “I think I will nothing for a long time but listen, To accrue what I hear into myself–to let sounds contribute toward me.”]

[danger]

[softanimalbody]

i woke up craving a gentle touch;

the old battle wound aching,

[neuseks]

“My soul is a collage of scenes …”

— Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941), from “Prayer’

[softanimalbody]

So many moments in life

required tenderness

when i was not equipped for it

[glazecake]