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#favpoems
bellamysgriffin · 6 months
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-Boris Novak, Decisions
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jessicainlecto · 4 months
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Part V: 15 More Favourite Poems
I Bargained with Life for a Penny, by Jessie B. Rittenhouse
Rain, by Raymond Carver
Poems from Dear Sal, by Jeremy Radin
Starlings in Winter, and
In Blackwater Woods, by Mary Oliver
Two Insomnias, and
Let the Lover Be, and
Without Cause, by Rumi
Life, by Charlotte Brontë
Spring and Fall, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Departure, by Louise Glück
A Man Said to the Universe, by Stephen Crane
Short Song, by Justin Quinn
A Shropshire Lad XL, by A.E. Houseman
Idyll, by Siegfried Sassoon
See also Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
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jaydedbee · 2 years
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The Firefly Luring him in was as easy As flashing valentines. But like a lady firefly They hid a secret call to die. A final touch, Unfinished; The last step, a trap. Down, down he falls, His eyes still holding mine Until they see another world. I saw them change. First a question, Then an answer, Finally an end. And love itself passing To whatever it was before it began. A.H.
Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing
just wow
p.s : 319 days to go
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dana-studies · 6 years
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WEEKLY POETRY REC: Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them                                                                                                              I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together for the first time and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully as the horse                               it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it
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mamgt · 7 years
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I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ”
Sonnet XVII | Pablo Neruda
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closing-scene · 7 years
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Throwing Away the Alarm Clock
my father always said, "early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house and we were up at dawn to the smell of coffee, frying bacon and scrambled eggs. my father followed this general routine for a lifetime and died young, broke, and, I think, not too wise. taking note, I rejected his advice and it became, for me, late to bed and late to rise. now, I'm not saying that I've conquered the world but I've avoided numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some common pitfalls and have met some strange, wonderful people one of whom was myself—someone my father never knew.
Charles Bukowski
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radiogagah · 7 years
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(...) From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,  Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,  Watching, silently weeps.  Weep not, child,  Weep not, my darling,  With these kisses let me remove your tears,  The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,  They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,  Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,  They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,  The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,  The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.  Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?  Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?  Something there is,  (With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,  I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)  Something there is more immortal even than the stars,  (Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)  Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter  Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,  Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades. 
Walt Whitman
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Sometimes You’ll just be too much woman. Too smart, Too beautiful, Too strong. Too much of something That makes a man feel like less of a man, Which will start making you feel like you have to be less of a woman. The biggest mistake you can make Is removing jewels from your crown To make it easier for a man to carry. When this happens, I need you to understand, You do not need a smaller crown – You need a man with bigger hands. -Michael Ried #favpoem #toomuchofawoman #dontdullyourshine #cherylcharles #thecherylcharles
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emploridel · 7 years
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PAG-IBIG
Isang aklat na maputi, ang isinusulat: luha!
Kaya’t wala kang mabasa kahit isa mang talata.
Kinabisa at inisip mulang ating pagkabata,
tumanda ka’t nagkauban, hindi mo pa maunawa.
Ang pag-ibig, isipin mo, pag inisip, nasa puso; pag pinuso nasa isip, kaya’t hindi mo makuro. Lapitan mo nang matagal ang pagsuyo. . .  naglalaho, layuan mo at kay lungkot, nananaghoy ang pagsuyo.
Ang pag-ibig na dakila’y aayaw ng matagalan, parang lintik kung gumuhit sa pisngi ng kadiliman. Ang halik na ubos-tindi, minsan lamang sa halikan, at ang ilog kung bumaha, tandaan mo’t minsan lamang.
Ang pag-ibig kapag duwag ay payapa’t walang agos, walang talon, walang baha, walang luha, walang lunos. Ang pag-ibig na matapang ay puso ang inaanod pati dangal, yama’t dunong nalulunod sa pag-irog.
Ang pag-ibig na buko pa’y nakikinig pa sa aral, tandang di pa umiibig, nakikita pa ang ilaw, ngunit kapag nag-alab na’t pati mundo’y nalimutan iyan, ganyan ang pag-ibig, damdamin at puso lamang!
Kapag ikaw’y umuurong sa sakuna’t sa panganib ay talagang maliwanag at buo ang iyong isip. Takot pa ang pag-ibig mo, hindi ka pa umiibig, pag umibig, pati hukay ay aariin mong langit.
Iyang mga taong duwag na ang puso’y mahihina, umibig man ay ano pa, di pag-ibig, kundi awa. Kailangan sa pag-ibig ay hirap at mga luha at ang duwag ay malayong sa pag-ibig dumakila.
Ang pag-ibig ay may mata, ang pag-ibig ay di bulag, ang marunong na umibig, bawat sugat ay bulaklak. Ang pag-ibig ay masakim at aayaw sa kakabyak, o wala na kahit ano, o ibigay mo nang lahat!
“Ako’y hindi makasulat at ang nanay, nakabantay.” Asahan mo, katoto ko, hindi ka pa minamahal. Ngunit kapag sumulat na sa ibabaw man ng hukay minamahal ka na niya nang higit pa kaysa buhay.
Kayo mga kabataang pag-ibig ang ninanais, kayo’y mga paruparong sa ilawan lumiligid. Kapag kayo’y umibig na, hahamakin ang panganib, at ang mga pakpak ninyo’y masusunog sa pag-ibig!
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bellamysgriffin · 4 months
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Think of her faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here. Think of her still as the same. I say, She is not dead—she is just away.
Away by James Whitcomb Riley
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dana-studies · 6 years
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WEEKLY POETRY REC: The Waking by Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.   I learn by going where I have to go. We think by feeling. What is there to know?   I hear my being dance from ear to ear.   I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Of those so close beside me, which are you?   God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,   And learn by going where I have to go. Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?   The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;   I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Great Nature has another thing to do   To you and me; so take the lively air,   And, lovely, learn by going where to go. This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.   What falls away is always. And is near.   I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   I learn by going where I have to go.
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imkervin · 10 years
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