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#complete poems
derangedrhythms · 1 year
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Charles Baudelaire, Complete Poems: Spleen et Idéal; from 'The Alchemist of Sorrows', tr. Walter Martin
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soracities · 2 years
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e.e. cummings, from "o purple finch” (in 73 Poems), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
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beljar · 2 years
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Our sweetest songs are those of saddest thought.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Complete Poems, January 1, 1993
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tasteforrot · 2 years
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Why did Baudelaire — why does anyone — write poetry, in the teeth of all the evidence that one wants you to do so?  No one wants you to write it and having written it in spite of them, no one wants to read it.  Above all, no one wants to pay for it.  For better or worse, a poem has a hard time turning into a commodity.
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potatoesandsunshine · 8 months
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everything u need to know about me can actually be explained by the fact that i read that poem about the serving girl wearing the pearls so they're warm for her mistress when i was like 11 and it rewrote my brain chemistry forever
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like this Changed Me
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diracsea · 1 year
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"No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader."
- Robert Frost, The Figure a Poem Makes
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indecisivegloom · 1 year
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hrokkall · 4 days
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Mama gave me music lessons,
now I play the saddest songs
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liriostigre · 1 year
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Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sifter.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls
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derangedrhythms · 1 year
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The Devil jerks the strings that make us dance!
Charles Baudelaire, Complete Poems; from 'To The Reader', tr. Walter Martin
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soracities · 2 months
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Emily Dickinson, from Poem #1320 ("Dear March--Come in--"), The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson [ID'd]
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pencap · 21 days
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someone once told me there is no demon more frightening     than a good man     who has gone to war.
someone once told me      the only things we get to choose      are a hero's death      or a villain's life.
so they said. so they said. so they say.
but no one ever told me      what happens when a good man       goes to war      and becomes the demon.
but no one ever told me      you can die a hero     and be resurrected     to a villain's afterlife.
- by sylvie (j.p.)
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tasteforrot · 2 years
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A poet’s freedom lies precisely in the impossibility of worldly success.  It is the freedom of one who knows he will never be anything but a failure in the world’s estimation, and may do as he pleases.  The poet is a man on the sidelines of life, sidelined for life.  He belongs to the aristocracy of the outcast, the lowest of the low, below the salt of the earth.  A member of the most ancient regime in the world.  One that cannot, it seems, be overthrown.
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llovelymoonn · 1 year
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on november
nina maclaughlin the paris review: "on the first of november, the ghosts arrive" \\ emily dickinson in a letter to elizabeth holland (early nov, 1865) (via @flowerytale) \\ anna akhmatova rosary \\ philip jenks colony collapse metaphor: "november" \\ robert frost the complete poems: "my november guest" \\ ellis nightingale (@ellisnightingale) \\ @honeytuesday \\ nina maclaughlin the paris review: "the dark feels different in november" \\ l.m. montgomery anne of green gables \\ maggie stiefvater the scorpio races (via @metamorphesque) \\ sylvia plath the unabridged journals of sylvia plath (via @louisegluck)
kofi
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strykerlancer · 8 days
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— Marina Tsvetaeva, from “The Complete Poems.”
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geryone · 1 year
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The Renunciations, Donika Kelly
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