Sorex vagrans @sorexvagrans - Tumblr Blog

heyho-simonrussellbeale

That bucket down and full of tears am I, drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second, Almeida Theatre

Photos by Marc Brenner

apoemaday

How I Go Into the Woods

by Mary Oliver

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my ways of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

design-is-fine

Philipp Ferdinand de Hamilton, Four Vultures of different Species / Vier Geier verschiedener Art, 1723. Oil on canvas. Formerly Supraporte in the Paradise Bedroom of the Upper Belvedere Palace. © Belvedere Vienna

laughingsquid

Doing a Donut Around a Pumpkin Pie

apoemaday

Who Hurt You So?

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Who hurt you so, My dear? Who, long ago When you were very young, Did, said, became, was…something that you did not know Beauty could ever do, say, be, become?– So that your brown eyes filled With tears they never, not to this day, have shed… Not because one more boy stood hurt by life, No: because something deathless had dropped dead– An ugly, an indecent thing to do– So that you stood and stared, with open mouth in which the tongue Froze slowly backward toward its root, As if it would not speak again, too badly stung By memories thick as wasps about a nest invaded To know if or if not you suffered pain.

joshpeck

this changed me as a person

rob-pattinson

EZRA MILLER for GQ Style (2018), ph. Yoshiyuki Matsumara.

filmforfancy

“Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent.” - Virginia Woolf, The Waves.

keatonpatti

jellyfishjulie

ladies invented your favorite science fiction subgenres

Margaret Cavendish - Mary Shelley - Emma Orczy - Catherine Lucille Moore

ii----------------------ii

need more WOC on this board

jellyfishjulie

You’re right!

Pauline Hopkins - Begum Rokeya - Octavia E. Butler

greatpoetrydaily-blog

Funeral Blues, W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

apoemaday

To One Who Might Have Borne a Message

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Had I known that you were going I would have given you messages for her, Now two years dead, Whom I shall always love. As it is, should she entreat you how it goes with me, You must reply: as well as with most, you fancy; That I love easily, and pass the time. And she will not know how all day long between My life and me her shadow intervenes, A young thin girl, Wearing a white skirt and a purple sweater And a narrow pale blue ribbon about her hair. I used to say to her, “I love you Because your face is such a pretty colour, No other reason.” But it was not true. Oh, had I only known that you were going, I could have given you messages for her!