October 2011
16 posts
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you...
Night By Louise Bogan
The cold remote islands And the blue estuaries Where what breathes, breathes The restless wind of the inlets, And what drinks, drinks The incoming tide;
Where shell and weed Wait upon the salt wash of the sea, And the clear nights of stars Swing their lights westward To set behind the land;
Where the pulse clinging to the rocks Renews itself forever; Where,...
Portrait Of A Lady by William Carlos Williams Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky.
Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's
slipper. Your knees
are a southern breeze—or
a gust of snow. Agh! what
sort of man was Fragonard?
—As if that answered
anything.—Ah, yes. Below
the knees, since the tune
drops that way, it is
one of those white summer days,
the tall grass of your...
Women By Louise Bogan
Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead, Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.
They do not see cattle cropping red winter grass, They do not hear Snow water going down under culverts Shallow and clear.
They wait, when they should turn to journeys, They stiffen, when they should bend. They use against themselves that...
Time Does Not Bring Relief: You All Have Lied
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain ...
“Screw poetry, it’s you I want, your taste, rain on you, mouth on your skin.”
– Margaret Atwood
Excerpt from "Ode and Burgeonings Part III" by...
And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us. The light of each day, its flame or its repose, they deliver to us, taking them from time, and so our treasure is disinterred in shadow or light, and so our kisses kiss life: all love is enclosed in our love: all thirst ends in our embrace. Here we are at last face to face, we have met, we...
Here is a Wound That Will Never Heal, I know
Here is a wound that never will heal, I know, Being wrought not of a dearness and a death, But of a love turned ashes and the breath Gone out of beauty; never again will grow The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath Its friendly weathers down, far Underneath Shall be such bitterness of an old woe. That April should be shattered by a gust, ...
“—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a...”
– Gwendolyn Brooks, when you have forgotten Sunday: the love story (via grammatolatry)
Excerpt from "A Song of Despair"- Pablo Neruda
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds. Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies. Oh the mad coupling of hope and force in which we merged and despaired. And the tenderness, light as water and as flour. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. This was my destiny and in it was my...
