Aug10
inthelowlight:

Sky Light, Saul Leiter

inthelowlight:

Sky Light, Saul Leiter

Aug10
Carrie Fountain,  from “Want” in Burn Lake (Penguin Books, 2010)

(Source: apoetreflects, via inthelowlight)

[…] this
is the heart’s constant
project: this simple
learning; learning
how to hold
hopelessness
and hope together;
to see on the unharmed
surface of one
the great scar
of the other; to recognize
both and to make
something of both;
to desire everything
and nothing
at once and to desire it
all the time;
and to contain that desire
fleshly, in a body;
to wash it and rest it
and feed it; to learn
its name and from whence
it came; and to speak
to it—oh, most of all
to speak to it—
every day, every day,
saying to one part,
‘Well, maybe this is all
you get,’ while saying
to the other, ‘Go on
break it open, let it go.’
Aug9
apoetreflects:

Bernard Creely, Rose On Slate, 2014

apoetreflects:

Bernard Creely, Rose On Slate, 2014

(Source: splendiddisgrace)

Aug9

elina-astra:

Last Dawn

Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
How much we are who are so little!
Outside a taxi passes
with its load of ghosts.
The river that runs by
is always
running back.
Will tomorrow be another day?

Octavio Paz, from The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz, 1957-1987 (New Directions, 1987)

(via apoetreflects)

Aug9

apoetreflects:

"This one’s now for July. This one’s now for August. This one’s now in the wave pool, buoyed by the chlorine and sense of possibility, as if the water were in me and churning and could this feeling last forever and that seagull, you don’t have to think. Sometimes you have to be shot in the heart in order to stop dreaming."

Thomas Heise, from Moth; or how i came to be with you again (Sarabande Books, 2013)

Aug9
Randall Jarrell, from “Woman,” The Complete Poems: Randall Jarrell (The Noonday Press, 1990)

(Source: apoetreflects)

But be, as you have been, my happiness;
Let me sleep beside you, each night, like a spoon;
When, starting from my dreams, I groan to you,
May your I love you send me back to sleep.
At morning bring me, grayer for its mirroring,
The heavens’ sun perfected in your eyes.
Aug9

salonduthe:

“The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.”

—Barry H. Gillespie

(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege, via apoetreflects)

Jul22
magnoliaviolette:

franciscodossantos:

by Dorina Costras

biseeeee :)

magnoliaviolette:

franciscodossantos:

by Dorina Costras

biseeeee :)

Jul22
pseuglam:

Antonio Solario (lo Zingaro), “Saint Catherine of Alexandria and an Angel” (detail)
XVI century
288 x 140 mm
National Gallery, London

pseuglam:

Antonio Solario (lo Zingaro), “Saint Catherine of Alexandria and an Angel” (detail)

XVI century

288 x 140 mm

National Gallery, London

(Source: badwaters, via tierradentro)

Jul22
Jack Spicer, "A Book of Music," from My Vocabulary Did This to Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer (Wesley University Press, (via apoetreflects)
Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves’ boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.