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#American poetry
gennsoup · 1 day
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Worse Even than your maddening Song, your silence.
Sylvia Plath, Lorelei
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feral-ballad · 3 months
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Kate Baer, from And Yet: Poems; “Idea”
[Text ID: “I will enjoy this life. I will open it like a peach in season, suck the juice from every finger, run my tongue over my chin. I will not worry about clichés or uninvited guests peering in my windows. I will love and be loved. Save and be saved a thousand times. I will let the want into my body, bless the heat under my skin. My life, I will not waste it. I will enjoy this life.”]
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"Some long-forgot, enchanted, strange, Sweet garden of a thousand years ago,"
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, from "Interim"
via southerncrossreview.org
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newvision · 10 months
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— Richard Siken, from ‘Birds Hover the Trampled Field’ in War of the Foxes
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philosophors · 10 months
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“In a world so rife with vulgarity, with brutality and violence, love exists. I'm grateful to know that it exists.”
— Maya Angelou, “Rainbow in the Cloud: The Wit and Wisdom of Maya Angelou”
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wondrousrainbow · 11 months
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The Silent Voice, Gerald Moira (1898)
When the dumb Hour, clothed in black,
Brings the Dreams about my bed,
Call me not so often back,
Silent Voices of the dead,
Toward the lowland ways behind me,
And the sunlight that is gone!
Call me rather, silent voices,
Forward to the starry track
Glimmering up the heights beyond me
On, and always on!
— The Silent Voices, Alfred Lord Tennyson (1892)
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pagansphinx · 2 months
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Black History Month
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Maya Angelou (American, 1928-2014)
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit
a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woma
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
from And Still I Rise • Copyright © 1978
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canihaveyouback · 1 month
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out of sync
In the dance of forgotten lovers, we twirl as strangers, our steps out of sync, our hearts distant echoes.
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bleuetfane · 11 months
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i love you through it all.
bombs are whistling / marie at the mill / little hand / no wonder, joanna newsom
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saint-daimon · 4 months
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rain, by raymond carver, 1996
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gennsoup · 2 months
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Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
Anne Sexton, Small Wire
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feral-ballad · 3 months
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Kate Baer, from And Yet: Poems; “40”
[Text ID: “because sometimes it is easier to / write yourself out of the play / than to face another breakfast.”]
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Emily Dickinson
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newvision · 1 year
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— Rachel McKibbons, Blud (2017)
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philosophors · 9 months
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“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.”
— Charles Bukowski, “Gamblers All”
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etudiantfantome · 3 months
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Night Walk
by Franz Wright
The all-night convenience store’s empty and no one is behind the counter. You open and shut the glass door a few times causing a bell to go off, but no one appears. You only came to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe a copy of yesterday’s newspaper — finally you take one and leave thirty-five cents in its place. It is freezing, but it is a good thing to step outside again: you can feel less alone in the night, with lights on here and there between the dark buildings and trees. Your own among them, somewhere. There must be thousands of people in this city who are dying to welcome you into their small bolted rooms, to sit you down and tell you what has happened to their lives. And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.
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