the singing knives

40-something. Poet. Queer. they/she/he.

[dogfitch]

Ray Bradbury - Dandelion Wine

[joeinct]

Firebreak, above East Highland, California, Photo by Robert Adams, 1982

[beguines]

I Invite Certain Men to the Mountains

Kneel with me, men of Congress and cabinet, of gladhand and airport phone call. Men of winking currency. Men who know your names are known. Kneel with me, here, on this green, green earth. How does it feel, to know the sky as yours? How does it feel to ignite it? Look at the eons of rock jutting cloudward, indifferent. Kneel and let the fescue needle through your silk and gabardine. Are you surprised at how something so small can hurt you? Bow down to the upturned cup of the yellow poppy, the edelweiss. Touch the cracked bark of the larch. Men of streamline and hardline and hook, line, and sinker, do you see? Nothing is blood red but blood, Nothing is sky blue but sky. It's so much work to flatten a landscape into somewhere that might love you. What a relief it could be to say larkspur, milk vetch, shuttlecock fern. But you've never learned awe's language. This toothed green could eat you alive. Let me be there when it does.

Catherine Pierce, American Poetry Review Vol. 55 No. 4

[mikimeiko]

Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016)

[marinebeccarelli]

Ireland, juin 2024 © marinebeccarelli

Canon AE1 / Kodak Gold 200

[huariqueje]

Path to yhe Beach - Eileen David , 2024.

American , b. 1952 -

Oil on canvas , 34 x 36 in.

[thesingingknives]

She’s glad to lie down with trees towering all around. A certain euphoria sets in. She feels molecular,  bedeviled, senses someone gently pulling her hair,  tingles with kisses she won’t receive for years.

—Amy Gerstler, from “Bon Courage” (Poetry Magazine, March 2013)

[haciaelmar]

wanderings | Mamiya RB67 | expired Fuji NPS 160 | 2025

[disc80s]

[nixscriptum]

[petaltexturedskies]

July, let your warmth thaw whatever is left of our winters. Let our windows break themselves open to inhale the sea. Let afternoon naps, and outdoor showers, and books we can't put down, make us forget about mondays. about schedules. About heaviness. Let our dinners be late, and long, and filled with belly laughter. Let sea shells be our telephones. Let this long light never end.

Emory Hall, "Prayers for July"

[kitapkokansevgili]

Comfort era

[somedaywewillshinetogether]

french vintage olive green cargo maxi skirt

[rachalbradley]

Rose McDowall (Strawberry Switchblade)

Glasgow School of Art

Scotland, 1982

[postpunkindustrial]

Hireath - Kasteiung

Bandcamp HERE

[violettesiren]

Thursday, the 20th of July came to me and said, I will give you this one elastic day. Snap it shut or stretch it like bread dough. So I put my hands in kneading and pulling. It was a gauze-bag day. The blue bell flower opened at the tip of its stalk. I am a body not equipped to take every flag down hill, but looking at all the exists and entrances, I chose white wine in a plain glass goblet, and wearing a flannel nightgown, I went barefoot into the uncut grass. The temperature rose. The yeast began to work. Every spider took to the air. The cells of my skin puffed and tugged and with a great shout let go their tethers until looking up I saw myself like a cloud, like ectoplasm, like an angel among the branches of trees. Then peeling layer after layer I went to it letting go, until only the elemental worm remained letting itself down on a string of spittle.

Finding Myself by Ruth Stone

[achillesinhighheels]

Photography by Luo Yang