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Items tagged with: Poetry
"If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain."
Life, p. 6 - Collected Poems (1993)
American lyric poet Emily Dickinson died #OTD in 1888. Although she wrote 1789 poems, only a few of them were published in her lifetime, all anonymously, and some perhaps without her knowledge.
Emily Dickinson at PG:
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/996
Books by Dickinson, Emily (sorted by popularity)
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"Thank you for insulting me.
You helped me see how much I was worth.
Thank you for overlooking my humanity.
In that moment I gained power."
#TodaysPoem #poetry @poetry
Gratitude List by Naomi Shihab Nye from The Tiny Journalist (2019 BOA Editions) https://poets.org/poem/gratitude-list
Gratitude List
Thank you for insulting me. You helped me see how much I was worth. Thank you for overlooking my humanity. In that moment I gained power.Poets.org - Academy of American Poets (Academy of American Poets)
When tired, I will rest amongst the ears of wheat (2024).
Iphone camera, digital processing, Polaroid i-Type film emulsion lift on watercolor paper.
#photography #photo #art #filmphotography #believeinfilm #neopictorialism #poetry #loneliness #polaroid #emulsionlift #nature #landscape
New cycles are scary
Everything changes
Pain, discomfort, and doubt
might cloud your vision
might make you go back
to make sure
you did the right thing
by leaving
But the pain and discomfort
that comes with change
is temporary
While the pain and discomfort
that comes from
repeating the same cycle
and not trying that new path
is permanent
"...why is not sleeping a feat why is it not and when is there some discharge when. There never is."
Ancient and Forgotten
In deep, velvet night, we see
ages lost, visions, gone.
Lost in ancient mystery,
musing, in reverie,
of past peoples, overseas;
call of forgotten homes,
far away.
Wind strained sails, on freedom’s song,
carried you to my shore,
to break bonds that held us, long;
build new ties, kind and strong;
bind hands and lives, make us one,
as dreamed in mystic lore,
and foretold.
From the land of the river,
to the isle of the sea,
etesian gusts would never
hold your wild endeavour,
to find your fated treasure,
as you came home to me,
and your life.
By burning firebrand, witnessed,
we pledged a wordless oath –
in blood, both sealed and promised
as ancient Gods had wished;
beneath kind stars, that whispered
their blessings on us both,
we clasped hands.
Can we, again, hear beating,
of waves on that, far shore?
Know hands, that bled, still bleeding?
Hearts, that laughed, now keening
for days, lost, save in dreaming,
of all that was, before
time’s parting?
© Simon J Ashcroft, 2024
Within the dusk, in the invisible of darkness, our primitive fears and core emptiness are revealed. Within the dusk, within the swish of the night, the endless surrounding and the pure fullness of being are enhanced. (2024).
iPhone camera, digital processing, Polaroid i-Type film emulsion lift on watercolor paper.
#photography #photo #art #mastoart #landscape #poetry #neopictorialism #believeinfilm #filmphotography #polaroid #emulsionlift #nature #philosophy
To the sky today
A cooler edge
to the warmth of the sun
So I went the way I seldom go
And noticed the peace
Of the morning
The Curlew calls
From the mile-long field
There's a Heron standing
Over silver water
And the Rooks rattle
the noisy woods
Orange tips flutter
Round milkmaids and bluebells
Lovage and borage
Settling in small spirals
On mustard.
#poetry
The sky aflame
With mauve and green
and soft blue brightness
The morning shines its mirror
On the glory
A cloud of Bluebells
fallen sky,
drifting deep
And inky sweet
Wild garlic's dense aromas
Fills me with a primal urge
To leap into the wooded dell
And bathe myself in scent and smell
All lit by dappled sun
And sprinkled with
the lemon light of primrose
#poetry
Letter to the Person Who Carved His Initials into the Oldest Living Longleaf Pine in North America
by Matthew Olzmann
Tell me what it’s like to live without
curiosity, without awe. To sail
on clear water, rolling your eyes
at the kelp reefs swaying
beneath you, ignoring the flicker
of mermaid scales in the mist,
looking at the world and feeling
only boredom. To stand
on the precipice of some wild valley,
the eagles circling, a herd of caribou
booming below, and to yawn
with indifference. To discover
something primordial and holy.
To have the smell of the earth
welcome you to everywhere.
To take it all in and then,
to reach for your knife.
