#Poetry Tumblr posts

  • for fucks sake love me for who i will be for who i have not yet met greet them with me at the altar of beginning and dying the black peonies i picked are close to dying lay them down with my body in the springtime ground “how” you ask, “can i demand an emotion i myself have no stake in?” “with fervor” i respond for i witnessed it before on the television screens of my youth i will reach my hands in and find it there what i am missing the tv dinner gets cold on the couch i miss our green couch like i miss myself : coated thick with the understanding that this is all for the best


    – e.n.

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  • Darling Fitch on Patreon

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  • Friendly reminder that we’re accepting submissions for our 2021 journal!  You can submit your unpublished work through our website (link in bio), where you’ll find more information on what’s needed for your work to be considered.

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  • You are the bridge in my heart.

    Evergreen and burning.


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  • nosso amor é um oceano vasto e fundo que ainda precisa ser explorado e vivido da forma mais intensa possível, nossa amor é como um pincel e uma tela que precisam se tocar pra que finalmente a arte da qual esperamos apareça, nós fomos por um longo tempo aquela história de amor que nunca foi contada mas que precisa ser vivida, nós ainda temos chão, temos tempo e muito vontade mútua de descobrir coisas novas sobre o que ainda podemos viver, a vida só não está facilitando esse oceano de ser explorado e nem essa tela de ser pintada, as vezes penso em me conformar com essa situação como se fosse impossível viver uma vida ao seu lado mas algo aqui dentro - talvez seja o imenso amor que sinto - não me permite desistir de tudo, mesmo que a nossa história no momento só exista na minha cabeça, eu ainda espero pacientemente pelo dia em que a vida, o destino e o universo vão olhar para nós e então dizer que é a hora certa, porque tudo que está destinado a acontecer acredito que vai acontecer, e você sempre será a minha eterna certeza.

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    Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, To Charlotte Von Stein

    #johann wolfgang von goethe #to charlotte von stein #typo#german poetry#poetry#typography#**
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  • I breathed in the autumn night and it was real. Breezy air swirling the doubt in my lungs. This year is coming to an end. But maybe nothing will change.

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  • I can feel my own head

    trying to wrap itself around its own being,

    tearing itself apart,

    twisting at the mere mention of anger,

    sending fumes to eyes,

    that can never cry for too long,

    because of predetermined gender stereotypes

    and the thoughts that follows them,

    I might feel hungry,

    but my mind does not have the appetite,

    nor the energy,

    for no apparent reason other than fatigue,

    and possible self hatred,

    but I know the last part has been here a while,

    it sits in the corners and cracks I never saw,

    or the ones people beat into me,

    either way I’m messed up,

    and the hate wins out,

    I don’t know when I’ll give up,

    how it’ll feel to finally get rest,

    but all I know is the pain in my head

    won’t stop unless I try hard enough,

    but I’ve never tried hard enough in my life,

    to my teachers, my peers,

    my family,

    and I don’t know when I’ll finally

    be enough,

    maybe I never will,

    but that’s for another day,

    I’m not sure will come. 

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  • the problem isnt that you dont love me

    it is the fact that you don’t love me enough.

    enough to stay,

    enough to tell the truth.

    you shower me in half-truths,

    in whispered wants

    that will never become promises.

    you whisper about what it’d be like if we did things differently,

    if we had just held on a little tighter.

    i tell you that we can learn to hold each other again,

    but you say it’s too late,

    you cant possibly forgive yourself for the harm you’ve caused.

    you don’t listen when i say it doesn’t matter,

    i forgive you,

    that you can spend the rest of forever making it up to me,

    as long as we’re together, the way we’re meant to be.

    you don’t answer me. you change the subject,

    leaving me to wonder

    if you even deserve my forgiveness.

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  • The soul is violent and angry.

    The flesh is forgiving and whole.

    [Insert poetry]

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    — Nausicaa Twila, I Loved You Once: A Chapbook

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  • You are so beautiful and I am a fool
    to be in love with you
    is a theme that keeps coming up
    in songs and poems.
    There seems to be no room for variation.
    I have never heard anyone sing
    I am so beautiful
    and you are a fool to be in love with me,
    even though this notion has surely
    crossed the minds of women and men alike.
    You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
    is another one you don’t hear.
    Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
    That one you will never hear, guaranteed.

    For no particular reason this afternoon
    I am listening to Johnny Hartman
    whose dark voice can curl around
    the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
    like no one else’s can.
    It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
    someone left burning on a baby grand piano
    around three o'clock in the morning;
    smoke that billows up into the bright lights
    while out there in the darkness
    some of the beautiful fools have gathered
    around little tables to listen,
    some with their eyes closed,
    others leaning forward into the music
    as if it were holding them up,
    or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
    slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.

    Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
    borne beyond midnight,
    that has no desire to go home,
    especially now when everyone in the room
    is watching the large man with the tenor sax
    that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
    He moves forward to the edge of the stage
    and hands the instrument down to me
    and nods that I should play.
    So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
    and blow into it with all my living breath.
    We are all so foolish,
    my long bebop solo begins by saying,
    so damn foolish
    we have become beautiful without even knowing it.

    -Billy Collins

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  • Ditch a Glitch Friday #4

    I’m posting a prompt or exercise every Friday that ~ hopefully ~ helps me and you to ditch a glitch in our writing. This one is Halloween themed in honor of my favorite holiday!

    Write something using:

    1 of these popular monsters/costumes:

    • Ghost
    • Mermaid
    • Vampire
    • Witch
    • Zombie

    2 of these props:

    • Chain
    • Ice
    • Knife
    • Lighter
    • Mirror
    • Pillow
    • Wig

    3 of these words:

    • Abase
    • Corpse
    • Eerie
    • Howl
    • Lurking
    • Macabre
    • Petrified
    • Shadow
    • Unnerving
    • Web

    Happy writing!

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  • don’t drown her,

    they warn.

    how could i not

    when all i’ve known is the ocean?

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    And why is this language clogged with trains that run only on dead-end tracks that never end?

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  • When you make eye contact with Harry Styles…

    But then you realize it was just the pic of your lock screen


    …However, you keep pretending that’s the real Harry, whispering sweet nothings to it and bumping lovely his nose…

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    Poems by Lola La Motte Iddings, With Letters from Joseph Paxson Iddings, Her Brother, RARE, 1920

    This listing consists of a first edition book of Lola La Motte Idding’s poems belonging to Mary G. E. Aldrich and two posthumous letters from Lola’s brother, petrologist and Yale educator Joseph Paxson Iddings. The letters pertain to the publication and printing of the book at Yale University Press and discuss possible dedications, quotes, etc. Joseph talks about sending Mary the manuscript, etc. This book is also inscribed by Mary on the front flyleaf and is presumably from her library. Together, these two documents form a timeline of the efforts to publish Lola’s work after her death. The letters were written in July of 1920. Joseph Paxson Iddings died a few month’s later in September, 1920.

    Joseph Paxson Iddings was a key figure in the field of geology. Iddings graduated in 1877 with a Ph.B. in civil engineering from the Sheffield Scientific School of Yale University. He continued his studies in geology and assaying during 1878–1879 at the Columbia School of Mines, mainly as a result of the influence of a lecture at Yale by Clarence King. During 1879–1880 Iddings studied microscopical petrography under K. H. F. Rosenbusch at Heidelberg, the principal experience that guided his career. As a result of his meeting Arnold Hague in London in the spring of 1880, Iddings returned to the United States to work at the U.S. Geological Survey.

    For seven field seasons (1883–1890) Iddings worked with Hague on the exploration and mapping of the geology of Yellowstone National Park. It was here that he developed most of his original, and often controversial, ideas that were to influence greatly future petrologic thinking.

    Later on, Iddings produced a two-volume work titled Igneous Rocks (vol. 1, 1909; vol. 2, 1913); a series of lectures at Yale, which was published as The Problem of Volcanism (1914); and revisions to his Rock Minerals (1911). He circled the globe twice, in each direction, collecting rocks, particularly in the South Pacific Islands. Iddings was active at the Cosmos Club in Washington, D.C. (1885–1920) and in the Petrologists Club (1910–1919), which met for many years in the home of his close friend C. Whitman Cross. He gradually retired from public life, unmarried, and rented the “Grove Hill Farm,” near the family estate, in 1915 with his sister Lola LaMotte Iddings, a poet.

    Consequently, the letters are from “Grove Hill.”

    Poems by Lola La Motte Iddings
    Privately Printed at Yale University Press, 1920

    Condition: This book is in good condition. Hardcover. Green cloth boards have some wear along edges and corners. Hinges tight. Binding square. Frontispiece portrait of the poet protected by tissue guard. Front flyleaf contains an inscription that reads, “M. G. E. A. September 29, 1920, St. Michael and All Angels.” Text block is crisp and clean. Deckled edges.

    These letters are both written in ink. One is dated January 8, 1919 and the other is dated July 14th, 1920. Both are signed by Joseph Paxson Iddings. Written on folded 5.5" x 7" paper, addressed to Mrs. Aldrich. Also included is a newspaper clipping of Idding’s funeral services.

    147 pages, 5.5" x 8.25"


    #poetry#letters#correspondence#iddings #Lola La Motte Iddings #female poets #yale university press #us geological survey #petrology#minerology#famous scientists#victorian scientists#poetry book#rare finds#1920s#grove hill #Grove Hill Farm #maryland#brickglow #books and literature #publishing #joseph paxson iddings #books and libraries #booklr#antiquarian books#autographs
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  • Gianni Rodari, (1962), Il pianeta degli alberi di Natale, Poesie per ridere: Permesso?, Drawings/Illustrations by Bruno Munari, «Einaudi Ragazzi», Edizioni EL, San Dorligo della Valle (TS), 2008, pp. 116-117

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