“Plant a garden in which strange plants grow and mysteries bloom.”
— Ken Kesey
Etikett: poetry
I still cling to the wreck of my hopes, before they sink for ever.
Lord Byron, from a letter to Annabella Milbanke; February 8, 1816.
“‘Don’t settle. Don’t settle for something that feels like a prison, or is hard, or hurts you. If it doesn’t feel like love, it’s not love.’”
— Michelle Williams In Vanity Fair.
Saturday and nothing.
Kurt Klinger, tr. by Beth Bjorklund, from “Miracle in Milan,” wr. c.1967
“I discover the ache / but not the why or how of it.”
— Ysabel Y. Gonzalez, from “[My brown body is inherited],” published in Tinderbox
“I don’t want to set things on fire anymore. / That’s all. That’s all.”
— Darshana Suresh, from “Birds on a Power Line,” Howling at the Moon
(via star-eaters)
“Velvet that is black and soft as sin,”
— G. K. Chesterton, from The Collected Works; “Lepanto,” c. 1911
The past I remember time cannot erase / The letter you wrote me it was written in shame / And I know that your conscience still echo’s my name
Rock, Salt and Nails by Bob Dylan
It’s fine, that all’s black,
That life’s – a cursed hell.
O, that you’d come back –
I was so certain, as well.
Anna Akhmatova, from White Night.
[Dionysos].
Swoony type,
long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.
Euripides, from ‘The Bakkhai’ (translated by Anne Carson)
beberequin 