#favorite poems

[museaway]

#tumblr polls #the tiger #favorite poems

[love-margaret]

Fav :)

Love, Margaret ♡

#coquette #classic literature #lana del rey #girl blogger #coquette dollete #booklover #film #americana #books #poetry #Walt Whitman #body electric #lana del ray lyrics #lana del rey aesthetic #music #favorite #favorite poems #light acadamia aesthetic #light feminine

[soulinkpoetry]

IF YOU FORGET ME

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine. -Pablo Neruda

.

#favorite poems #Pablo Neruda #poetry #thoughts #feelings #love poems #sad poem #poets on tumblr #if you forget me

[blueberryshelves]

_______________________________________________

Golden by Wilder Poetry, page 5

*full book review coming soon*

Update: Book Review!

#booklr #poetblr #reading #favorite poems #golden #wilder poetry #poetry #poetry collection #instapoetry #book blog #books #bookish #bookworm #books and reading #book photography

[tess-and-her-stress]

SAVE AZOVSTAL • SAVE MARIUPOL

—SAVE UKRAINE—

"I am fire, I am vortex, // For those ones weren't made to stop" — Olena Teliha

"Oh no! My people aren't smoke, they weren't just born to grieve, // And I will not give up on them, come hell or high water, // I'm not the feather on their proudful wings // I am their forceful sword, from Dnipro to the stars!" — Mykola Vinhranoskyi

"Every generation dreams its own nightmares" — Lina Kostenko

"Oh Lord, I'm praying for // Pure rage - yet don't mistake me for wicked - // So I could stand through days when my legs won't hold me. // I'm thankful for the fleet // Of human life, though I extend it / With my hope to centuries" — Vasyl Stus

—SAVE UKRAINE—

SAVE AZOVSTAL • SAVE MARIUPOL

#stand with ukraine #ukrainian poetry #ukraine #russia ukraine war #war in ukraine #ukraine will resist #ukrainian #favorite poems #poetry #save azovstal #save mariupol #save ukraine #ukrainian culture #ukrainian literature #ukrainian language #prayforukraine

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

"Faith" is a fine invention For Gentlemen who see! But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency!

-- Emily Dickinson (Poem 202)

@ The Poetry Foundation's website, here.

#emily dickinson #favorite poems #science!

[slut4poets]

I fell, as raindrops do

Into a puddle, a puzzle

Waiting to be figured out

Mostly understood

Paid attention to,

Delicately put together

By some patient user

Who didn’t mind

Putting in the time

The effort I required

One who was seen as

A loser, but didn’t care

About those types of things

As he found pieces of himself

Slowly building what he didn’t know

Was a bond

#this is one of my favorites #maybe my fav #faves #fav #favorite poems #poem #love #seasons poem #seasons #raindrops #rain #puzzle #puzzles #mind games #wants and needs #needs #build a man #kinda #bond #soul connection #patience #understanding #i want attention #idc #puts efforts in life #effort #effort is attractive

[thatwritererinoriordan]

"My Father and the Fig Tree"

For other fruits, my father was indifferent.

He'd point at the cherry trees and say,

"See those? I wish they were figs."

In the evening he sat by my beds

weaving folktales like vivid little scarves.

They always involved a figtree.

Even when it didn't fit, he'd stick it in.

Once Joha(1) was walking down the road

and he saw a fig tree.

Or, he tied his camel to a fig tree and went to sleep.

Or, later when they caught and arrested him,

his pockets were full of figs.

At age six I ate a dried fig and shrugged.

"That's not what I'm talking about! he said,

"I'm talking about a fig straight from the earth –

gift of Allah! -- on a branch so heavy

it touches the ground.

I'm talking about picking the largest, fattest,

sweetest fig

in the world and putting it in my mouth."

(Here he'd stop and close his eyes.)

Years passed, we lived in many houses,

none had figtrees.

We had lima beans, zucchini, parsley, beets.

"Plant one!" my mother said.

but my father never did.

He tended garden half-heartedly, forgot to water,

let the okra get too big.

"What a dreamer he is. Look how many

things he starts and doesn't finish."

The last time he moved, I got a phone call,

My father, in Arabic, chanting a song

I'd never heard. "What's that?"

He took me out back to the new yard.

There, in the middle of Dallas, Texas,

a tree with the largest, fattest,

sweetest fig in the world.

"It's a figtree song!" he said,

plucking his fruits like ripe tokens,

emblems, assurance

of a world that was always his own.

-Naomi Shihab Nye

(1) A trickster figure in Palestinian folktales.

The above is excerpted from 19 VARIETIES OF GAZELLE by Naomi Shihab Nye. Used with

kind permission from HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.

#Naomi Shihab Nye #my father and the fig tree #poems #favorite poems #palestinian-americans

[evergardenwall]

no one is watching,

so why does it have to be beautiful ?

you, in pain, are no closer to god than

you, in the drive-thru or

you, checking your email or

you, holding your own hand

elle emerson, « regarding the röttgen pietà »

#entries #my curations #poetry #elle emerson #regarding the röttgen pietà #queued #favorite poems

[carebearloveshp]

Happy National Poetry Day!

I wanted to share my favorite poem:

“Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe.

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

#favorite poems #edgar allan poe #national poetry day #poetry #poems #annabel lee

[love-margaret]

“What’s your perfect morning” um, fictional and unattainable.

Love, Margaret ♡

#coquette #coquette dollete #girl blogger #lana del rey #americana #booklover #film #classic literature #books #light feminine #poetry #parisian #paris #good morning #morning routine #parisian aesthetic #light acadamia aesthetic #dark academia #romantic academia #favorite poems #cottagecore

[bookthroneking]

this is one of my favorite poems ever. it's so short and so simple, and it always hits me so hard.

(by Langston Hughes, taken from the volume The Selected Poems of Langston Hughes).

#poetry #20th century poetry #langston hughes #favorite poems #booklr #my posts

[ending-thoughts]

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.

To him... a touch is a blow,

a sound is a noise,

a misfortune is a tragedy,

a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover,

a lover is a god, and failure is death.

Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him.

He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

Pearl S. Buck

#poetry #poetic words #spilled words #so tru tho #true words #so true #writer #pearl s buck #favorite words #favorite poems #writing #not my words #inspirational words

[wetravellight]

Dear Wolf by Grace Fallow Norton

For months now I’ve been coming back to this poem and being absolutely haunted and awestruck by it. Every time I read it I get goosebumps all over. I can’t explain what it does to me or why it does this. It’s just left a mark on me that I can’t shake off.

#poets corner #poetry #grace fallow norton #dear wolf #beautiful words #goosebumps #poems that make me shudder #in a good way #favorite #favorite poems

[seasunandstar]

[I.D. -

Closing Time; Iskandariya

-- Brigit Pegeen Kelly

It was not a scorpion I asked for, I asked for a fish, but maybe God misheard my request, maybe God thought I said not "some sort of fish," but a "scorpion fish," a request he would surely have granted, being a goodly God, but then he forgot the "fish" attached to the "scorpion" (because God, too, forgets, everything forgets); so instead of an edible fish, any small fish, sweet or sour, or even the grotesque buffoonery of the striped scorpion fish, crowned with spines and followed by many tails, a veritable sideshow of a fish; instead of these, I was given an insect, a peculiar prehistoric creature, part lobster, part spider, part bell-ringer, part son of a fallen star, something like a disfigured armored dog, not a thing you can eat, or even take on a meaningful walk, so ugly is it, so stiffly does it step, as if on ice, freezing again and again in mid-air like a listening ear, and then scuttling backwards or leaping madly forward, its deadly tail doing a St. Vitus jig. God gave me a scorpion, a venomous creature, to be sure, a bug with the bite of Cleopatra's asp, but not, as I soon found out, despite the dark gossip, a lover of violence or a hater of men. In truth, it is shy, the scorpion, a creature with eight eyes and almost no sight, who shuns the daylight, and is driven mad by fire, who favors the lonely spot, and feeds on nothing much, and only throws out its poison barb when backed against a wall -- a thing like me, but not the thing I asked for, a thing, by accident or design, I am now attached to. And so I draw the curtains, and so I lay out strange dishes, and so I step softly, and so I do not speak, and only twice, in many years, have I been stung, both times because, unthinking, I let in the terrible light. And sometimes now, when I watch the scorpion sleep, I see how fine he is, how rare, this creature called Lung Book or Mortal Book because of his strange organs of breath. His lungs are holes in his body, which open and close. And inside the holes are stiffened membranes, arranged like the pages of a book -- imagine that! And when the holes open, the pages rise up and unfold, and the blood that circles through them touches the air, and by this bath of air the blood is made pure . . . He is a house of books, my shy scorpion, carrying in his belly all the perishable manuscripts -- a little mirror of the library at Alexandria, which burned.

End I.D.]

#brigit pegeen kelly #poetry #theme: living #favorite poems

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!

#Emily Dickinson #favorite poems #national poetry month #U.S. culture