Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
602 notes
·
View notes
“To write is to suffer, but there is so much meaning in it that I must fight my battles on the page.”
— Ha Jin
115 notes
·
View notes
a.d., eruption (fragment)
18 notes
·
View notes
Grief is a visceral wound from the sharpest daggers
and leaves the deepest scars.
You wrap it up in a box and hide it for when
you can bare to look at them again.
20 notes
·
View notes
O
Deathless Aphrodite, I beg you, keep on
Fighting beside me
Sappho , Translated by Robert Chandler
29 notes
·
View notes
Immortality in the form of memory.
Put me in a display case and make a martyr of my agonies
make my suffering as morbidly entertaining as love, death, and torture
as long as you don’t forget me, I will be whatever lasts longest in your memories
I’ll accept blasphemy the same way the gods do, with carelessness and laughter
Paint me and put my portrait in a museum
let the world spit at me or run their fingers over my cracking acrylic lips
I want to be as long-lasting as the Greek colosseum
as long lasting as the willow wisps
I want to be a creation myth that the disciples still talk about
the drug that gets humanity high
I want the critics and analyzers to shout
and curse and weep and sigh
all at the sound of my name
I want the world to feel me in its gut
to know how I made the sky split open with my shame
and to know where I went when it shut.
| Oleander D. |
13 notes
·
View notes
a message from me, on my porch. tyler m.
[click 4 quality]
9 notes
·
View notes
The Cask
Now that we’ve both won here, I say
Montresor, please
Hand me that brick and thank you
For the lie
About who led me to my demise
Leave me, if you would
With the gift of the dampening dark
And the soft gusting of my humid breath
2 notes
·
View notes
Evelyn Graham Frost, Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1932
164 notes
·
View notes
East of Eden
Underneath the overpass
Where the grass grows
Dead and long and
Tents become communes
To societies sequestered away
From the grind of daily living but
Where hearts open to the vices
Of gross disparity
Caused from birth.
2 notes
·
View notes
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
22 notes
·
View notes
A mi si empalágame, bésame, abrázame, celame, me aburre el desinterés.
2 notes
·
View notes
If I could do it all again I would know how beautiful you were and I would love you better
___________________________________
Today our nieces played in my daughter’s room and the oldest
(She looks just like you brown eyes brown curls long lanky only 5 years old)
When she spoke to her sister it took my breath for a second she sounded just like you
(Hesitant, shy, voice whispering uptilting awkwardly)
I know that each child is herself and each will live her own life but when I hold my daughter sometimes I cradle my younger self and whisper (I love you, I forgive you, you were so beautiful I love you)
And I wonder if you saw my laughing dandelion girl would you see me and would you think
O how beautiful
3 notes
·
View notes
Sometimes, I think
love
is leaving your scars
on another.
5 notes
·
View notes
you are gone. gone from me. far away and out of reach. we don't share the quiet moments anymore, no longer speak to each other of nothings, or of the lovely ephemera of life- shapes of clouds, sounds of rain, new flowers showing up in odd places, glimpses of a red fox trotting along on thin legs in the evening, the colors and sounds of the birds- passing all around us, so how can i tell you that i have begun to Despair? how can i tell you the heavy things? how can i tell you that i'm desperately lonely? that this life is suffocating me? how can i say to you that i need help, when i know it's nothing you can give?
5 notes
·
View notes