From the icy niche where men placed you I lower your body to the sunny, poor...– Death Sonnet I, Gabriela Mistral (via serpentinesleekness)
Everything I Have Been Trying to Tell You: The War... →
itsalwaysnecessary: The War on Drugs Lines drawn on prison walls His record sits underneath his pillow He can feel his head spinning His ears ringing with the pulsing depth of wine and jazz Lines drawn on the insides of arms Scars He has two tattoos that run from the curl of his wrist to the fold…
dirty projections: Conglomeration of Dreams →
dirtyprojections: A triumph! Though I missed the bus and lost my bags, I found a map of dreams on a seat in the train. Softly you came, dressed in sea, moon, enchanting mountains, beckoning me to sudden sleep. First Avenue, Twin Peaks, Missouri. Little blue house with no roof, dinner table constructed of my old books.
You can't spell "smart"
Ma Rat Sam Tar(s) Mart(s) Sat Tram(s) Ram(s) Arm(s) At ATM(s) Mar(s) Mars Art(s) Ms Mrs Sr Mat(s) AM lastwaltz: without art. ha ha.
the transcendental modernist: In a Boat →
thetranscendentalmodernist: See the stars, love, In the water much clearer and brighter Than those above us, and whiter, Like nenuphars. Star-shadows shine, love, How many stars in your bowl? How many shadows in your soul, Only mine, love, mine? When I move the oars, love, See how the stars are tossed, …
a wallflower is still a flower
littlemystic: searching for the sun a little mystic wonderfully mystified your gemini sister roaming this earth and sometimes others living to learn and love made of coffee grinds and earth and sunshine dust a soul finding comfort in this skin
sidewalk sundae strawberry surprise: In that last... →
In that last dance of chances I shall partner you no more. I shall watch another turn you As you move across the floor. In that last dance of chances When I bid your life good-bye I will hope he treats you kindly. I will hope you learn to fly. In that last dance of chances When I know…
Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.– Leonardo Da Vinci (via yama-bato)
catharticthoughts-deactivated20 asked: Hi! Thanks for following, but I'd rather you not reblog any of my personal posts...those are not meant to be reblogged. Could you please remove this post (http://viapoems.tumblr.com/post/3248877321/let-these-thoughts-escape-wow) from your blog? Thanks :) It just makes me uncomfortable.
Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your...– Franz Kafka (via badmilktooillegal)
I want to say somewhere: I’ve tried to be forgiving. And yet. There were times...– The History of Love, Nicole Krauss (via thediarists)
Men are probably nearer the central truth in their superstitions than in their...– Henry David Thoreau (via travelsoftwoteens)
onewholemindblab: “What’s the worst possible thing you can call a woman? Don’t hold back, now. You’re probably thinking of words like slut, whore, bitch, cunt (I told you not to hold back!), skank. Okay, now, what are the worst things you can call a guy? Fag, girl, bitch, pussy. I’ve even heard the term “mangina.” Notice anything? The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you...
dentintheflow: traftra: what do we do in a world like this? picking from spoons ends to see who goes first. and late in the afternoon the reflection gets the best of you the sip touches your tounge and the memory is gone. i need to start turning these random writing sessions into songs.
When the spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where...– Ernest Hemingway from A Moveable Feast (via dentintheflow)
blacksilhouettes: “I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because “romantic” doesn’t mean “sugary”. It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.” — Catherine Breillat
Cecilia Woloch, “Slow Children at Play
not-ideal: All the quick children have gone inside, called by their mothers to hurry-up-wash-your-hands honey-dinner’s-getting-cold, just-wait-till-your-father-gets-home- and only the slow children out on the lawns, marking off paths between fireflies, making soft little sounds with their mouths, ohs, that glow and go out and glow. And their slow mothers flickering, pale in the dusk,...
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us...– Ralph Waldo Emerson (via longlivejava)
pinksubmergence: in a sea of suit I am a glittering gown society has frowned.
Our real journey in life is interior; It is a matter of growth, deepening, and...– Thomas Merton (via noornalini)
Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things I don’t want to do.– Charles Bukowski (via henrycharlesbukowski)
You know what charm is; a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any...– Albert Camus (via vut)
Some drink deeply from the river of knowledge. Others only gargle. – [Woody Allen] (via paradigmeraki)
A lark in a hazelwood tree:: I wish that love did... →
khfanforall: I wish that love did not excist then I wouldn’t be so pissed all the time while I’m awake and my hands would cease to shake. I never knew a hate so strong then that of love’s siren song. It’s deadly poison to my ears that will not pass for several years. I cannot stop it’s horrid spell that it…
The Writers of Tumblr
open-jar-of-thoughts: Tumblr writers and poets We all run in sort of the same circles Circles that overlap We know most of the same people And others we have heard of But we’re sort of the same Misunderstood by society Some of us, okay, most of us Unlucky in love Love is but a figment Of our imaginations We know but we have not experienced We have been hurt and broken Unrequited feelings sting...
snow, snow, snow, oh snow-
dirtyprojections: and before you’re home, riptide or ragged clothes, dress the limbs your tooths and spine, let me sleep craned neck alone, call me call me call me, don’t- things are worse than some better- wake up and smile, dress for the weather.
confessionsofananalyst: the moth continued to batter itself around every corner of my roof, making an unpleasant thud as it’s wings tried to redirect it’s denouement. the sound ungratefully maddening, as the suffering of another became nothing but a nuisance to my evening.
Whale Blue Review: Forget Village Love Poems →
whalebluereview: by Saadia Rais muddled between fairytales and your fingers and an old couple’s aged hands wrapped around each other i wonder if this loose grip is the only thing that holds - if fragile bones and weathered skin are necessities for giving in entirely and making love work my skin is still…
I’m loosing days into the white abyss,...
via dirtyprojections: tea pot whistling, belly full of green beans and spinach leaves as i pick at my freckles as if they’ll peel right off, like say, an orange’s skin would-i’d do this as a child while laying in tall grass waiting to be found- i’d always leave maps around the house to let everyone know where i’d be if they wanted to go looking for me- no one ever came- i wanted to...
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we...– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (via pseudopoetry)