The Simple Truth by Philip Levine

blake kathryn
d e v o n
Three Goblin Art

No title available
DEAR READER

Andulka
Stranger Things
we're not kids anymore.

if i look back, i am lost
tumblr dot com
KIROKAZE
i don't do bad sauce passes
No title available

pixel skylines
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day

Kiana Khansmith

No title available
taylor price

Origami Around
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from China

seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Italy
@vittyviperfromvioletland
The Simple Truth by Philip Levine
'things there are no words for, but should be', tatheve simonyan
*
simone weil
*
ursula k. leguin
How can I choose immorality when you did not consider choosing morality for me?
A tour of the colour palette
What exists between red and yellow? The translucent body The body black A body made black A body so black it becomes the universe
Tea (It is not a poem about my love)
I say I am making tea I have my oven mitts over my hands to pick up the saucer You insist I hold the handle. You say, "You are well before you" I put on ornamental gloves now The tea is brewing simmering Between you and me The water boils You say you will hold the saucer You say you will do for me The act I smile and hold it The boiling water escapes to my hand And burns My skin and yours You say, "I never liked tea anyway."
to be seen without performing just to be seen attention is the highest form of love?
Robert Wood Lynn, “There is Only One Ocean”
Are you keeping something from me? Something very important?
A Word on Statistics
by Wisława Szymborska tr. Joanna Trzeciak
Out of every hundred people
those who always know better: fifty-two.
Unsure of every step: almost all the rest.
Ready to help, if it doesn't take long: forty-nine.
Always good, because they cannot be otherwise: four — well, maybe five.
Able to admire without envy: eighteen.
Led to error by youth (which passes): sixty, plus or minus.
Those not to be messed with: forty and four.
Living in constant fear of someone or something: seventy-seven.
Capable of happiness: twenty-some-odd at most.
Harmless alone, turning savage in crowds: more than half, for sure.
Cruel when forced by circumstances: it's better not to know, not even approximately.
Wise in hindsight: not many more than wise in foresight.
Getting nothing out of life except things: thirty (though I would like to be wrong).
Doubled over in pain and without a flashlight in the dark: eighty-three, sooner or later.
Those who are just: quite a few at thirty-five.
But if it takes effort to understand: three.
Worthy of empathy: ninety-nine.
Mortal: one hundred out of one hundred — a figure that has never varied yet.
One of my favorite poems
Megan Garber, "We've Lost the Plot: We're Already in the Metaverse", pub. The Atlantic [ID'd]
Jericho Brown, "To Be Asked for a Kiss"
Cherry Wine