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I am the tiger. I lie in wait for you among the leaves broad as ingots of wet material. The white river grows beneath the fog. You come. Naked you submerge. I wait. Then in a leap of fire, blood, teeth, with a claw slash I tear away your bosom, your
theironbird: The guys of Clamavi De Profundis interpret the poem Far Over the Misty Mountain Cold by Tolkien with the melody written by David Donaldson, David Long, Steve Roche and Janet Roddick found in Howard Shore’s movie soundtrack. Absolutely
“ […] Light your eyes at the flame of the lusters! Kindle passion in the glances of churls! To me you’re all pleasure, morbid or petulant; Be what you will, black night, red dawn;There is no fiber in my whole trembling bodyThat does
I suppose that if I were to close my eyes and rest I might choose to never wake to sleep, always in warmth and carelessness without the trouble and vexes that in conscious light awaits, only dreams only endless sighs and mutterings quiet peace
sebastianblog: MAGAZINE FEATURE, Walt Whitman’s Manly Love Poems: “Two simple men I saw to-day, on the pier, in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends, the one to remain hung on the other’s neck, and passionately kissed him,
radicaldreamersteph: Some of these trees have been growing for years The leaves on the floor must be five metres deep The paths are a labyrinth or even a trap Some tides don’t turn some things never come back. Secret recordings were made in
kreios: The skull of Descartes. Across the forehead, in Swedish, is an accusation of a theft in 1666 that began the skull’s peregrinations. Above it is a poem in Latin celebrating Descartes’ genius and mourning the scattering of his remains.
Ah, from "A Light in the Attic"… I still love these poems.
Meisatsu Some times in the past, b4 i came 2 live in USA, i have let the people i love lie 2 me. Just because i loved them i chose 2 4give them in that moment and not even let them know that i knew they were lying. Because i did not want 2 fight, i
Sea mist glistens on bare, soft skin, The scent of brine and stale gin; Off the starboard bow in such a plight, What a pretty little treasure for the crew’s delight!
sweet-little-submissive: Sea mist glistens on bare, soft skin, The scent of brine and stale gin; Off the starboard bow in such a plight, What a pretty little treasure for the crew’s delight!
northernvehemence: dynamiclunch replied to your photo: I keep seeing all these beautiful hair length swap… Until you embrace Aranea with all your heart you will never claim that title from Cetus beneath the waves. This is your quest, Ehnvea. Will
goodluck-godspeed: It starts small The shape of your teeth The smell of your hair The skin above your leather boots The raised veins all over your hands Your weathered vest One single silver bangle A permanent song in my head The curve of your neck when
blackshivers: “it’s the soul that’s erotic.” — Adélia Prado, from “Dysrhythmia,” The Alphabet in the Park: Selected Poems (Wesleyan, 1990)
oldmanasante: Comedian Aisha Tyler owned all the trolls hating on the fact that she was selected to be a presenter at the 2012 Ubisoft E3 press conference. In the form of a poem. I think I’m more infatuated with this woman than ever before. ==== Dear
cdaae: Recite a poem. Read the first page to one of your favorite books. Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle. Do a tongue-twister. Say something in a different language. Share an anecdote. Do the rains in Spain stay mainly on
cruellheaven: “(My dear friend I don’t complain. It’s just another scar.)” — Marina Tsvetaeva, from Poem Of The End in “Bride Of Ice: New Selected Poems” [translated by Elaine Feinstein] (via adrasteiax)
feral-ballad:This morning I woke up so in love with you I didn’t know what to do with my body, which was far from yours… I don’t know how this happened. I just woke up one morning and you were the blood in all my poems.Clementine Von Radics, from
I don’t read Homestuck or anything, but I have to thank it. One of the shyer girls in my class mentioned her liking it in a poem activity and another student piped up that she liked Homestuck, too. They exchanged contact info after class and
queerenby: filisexual: royalpancake: a short poem: do teachers understand that you take other classes another short poem: yes but seethey are allrequiredby the districtor stateto assign acertain amountof gradablematerial persemester sothey can getpaid
vincentvangodot replied to your post: vincentvangodot replied to your post “… What does Tony even have to reclaim in the way the poem is talking about? No one is questioning the sassiness of his stride, because he’s rich/white/male and “entitled”
heartcountry:someone somewhere is losing sleep over you getting home safely. i,too, am restless. i know sometimes the birds are just birds, but they show up in the poem anyway. some nights when it gets quiet, i say, “i forgive even the worst of this
quietpinetrees: “Make sure you get to the polls this election season. Ask yourself: • Which proposals will stop our universe from being diverted into more tragic timelines? • Which candidates will dare to read the poems written in the lunar dust?
aw-hawkeye-no:this-onegoes:- Blythe BairdMe, chewing on my Bad Decisions™ Bagel in the corner:The Universe: What’s that in your mouth?Me, chewing faster:The Universe: I said, WHAT THE FUCK IS IN YOUR MOUTH
bethanyactually: hplyrikz: Clear your mind here hey OP it’d be nice if you attributed these quotes to the people who said them. this line is from the wonderful poem ‘her, her, her’ by Caitlyn Siehl:She is a year ago.She is the ache in the empty,the
I was woken up because my grandma sent a mass text to the whole family that consisted of a really long poem she wrote about Jesus and then everyone started to have unrelated conversations on it so my text tone kept going off every 2 seconds until I was
sabrebash: If you follow Selmers to the poetry society meeting in Night In The Woods, this is her poem. I loved it and the themes of the game, and wanted to use it as practice to see if i can control the way readers ‘hear’ the words through images.
ahipstercunt: ‘Poem with Lines’ by Pierre Reverdy Maybe the world will not be saved.It will not be saved. Its commerce, itsevery case alsomoves into its geologyand then that geology movesinto some great exit of slowingclocks and the history of
sinful-skin: ‘The Movement’ Being hyper is so much fun!All you do is jump and run!Scream so loud in joy and glee,and find everything funny which you see. Have fun fun fun!And run run run!Be happy whilst you can,Don’t be boring or be bland!
gnossienne: Medievalists excited at parchment fragment of ‘vagina monologue’:It has been called the earliest form of the Vagina Monologues – an argument in verse between a woman and her vulva, originating in the Middle Ages. In the poem, a virgin
themerrymystery: Recite a poem. Read the first page to one of your favorite books. Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle. Do a tongue-twister. Say something in a different language. Share an anecdote. Do the rains in Spain stay
“There’s a time for reciting poems and a time for fists. As far as I was concerned, this was the latter.” ― Roberto Bolaño, The Savage Detectives For the love…I am in awe. And frightened…but turned on. Yes. Please? Fuck…
jeremylucido: stains on the sheetslight in the skyit’s a quiet Sunday afternoonclothes on the floorlegs intertwinewith warmth of my little spooni close my eyesThe portraits and poem by Jeremy Lucido that inspired the mood of Starrfucker Magazine Issue
a-poem-in-a-dream: qalbee: sheabuttabae: salon: DeRay Mckesson on the proof that “racism is alive and well” in America Preach! We have to hold media outlets accountable. DeRay is seriously one of the most inspirational people. He came to Tufts
dynastylnoire: revolutionarykoolaid: huffingtonpost: Poet Aja Monet Heartbreakingly Recalls The First Time She ‘Hated A Cop’Poet Aja Monet recalls the first time she “hated a cop” in her poem “The First Time,” which she performed at the
visual-poetry: “acrobats” by ian hamilton finlay (1964) “isolated, single letters are pattern but letters joined in words (as these are) are direction. those in the »acrobats« poem are both, behaving like the real circus acrobats who are now
visual-poetry: »a small bouquet by frank o’hara« by natalie czech natalie czech uses calligrams in an attempt to confront and intertwine text and image. she reverses the process established for hidden poems of inscribing a poem into an existing
archatlas: House of the Poem for the Right Angle In the words of the architect Smiljan Radic: I find contemporary architecture gives too much attention to the surface and the visual sense. I’m more interested in the ability of architecture to create
wordsnquotes: BOOK OF THE DAY:Where the Sidewalk Ends: The Poems and Drawings of Shel Silverstein by Shel Silverstein We have a confession: when we were about seven-years old, we dreamt about being poets. The first book to inspire us in becoming major
misslunalynn: Revel in Your Dreams. ✨ | don’t forget if you like this, and any of my other poems you don’t see on etsy, you may use the poem of your choice listing! I want to begin sending you pieces of my soul 💖 #writerslife #writer #writingcommunity
pipipluuup: Recite a poem. Read the first page to one of your favorite books. Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle. Do a tongue-twister. Say something in a different language. Share an anecdote. Do the rains in Spain stay mainly
fuckyeahtattoos: Done by Wendi Koontz at Rising Dragon Tattoos NYC. This was my first tattoo and she did an incredible job walking me through the process. I found the quote in a poem by J.R.R Tolkien about a year ago, and it has been stuck in my head
tbhplzstop: thegirlofthebeach-deactivated20: I will fall in love with you in all of the alternate timelines. Poem: 25 livesArtist: JohannathemadAll art used (in order): 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23
violentwavesofemotion: “My soul asks just solitude, my smile depends on solitude, my eyes are full of solitude and all of me is loneliness in a rebellious heart.” — Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: Poems; “The Sun in Welfare Island,”
officialqueenbae: This was the light in Imtiaz’s apartment and I think I’m in love. On the pieces of paper, there were poems written in different languages like Mandarin and German. I wanted to take it home.
nymphyari: Recite a poem. Read the first page to one of your favorite books. Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle. Do a tongue-twister. Say something in a different language. Share an anecdote. Do the rains in Spain stay mainly
oceanwriting: I’m an addict in the worst way To the things that don’t exist yet To the darker parts of myself that will be born If I keep digging deeper under my skin And keep looking for ways to get worse And mom if you’re reading this poem You’ll
violentwavesofemotion: “…wild things in the darkness of her eyes.” — Ralph Hodgson, from Eve, And Other Poems (1913); “The Gypsy Girl,”
mydarkangel2pls: kingsbrokenroad Now you have my mind focused too, On all the things you want to do, With visions of wonderful things in my head, I’m craving to hear you and feel you in my bed, My hands are yours as they roam my body, But the urgency
taohun:taohun:did you guys see the poem from a couple of days ago in poetry dot org’s daily poem it was so good and a treat to read been thinking about it since i read it
wordsnquotes: Chasers of the Light: Poems from the Typewriter Series by Tyler Knott Gregson The epic made simple. The miracle in the mundane. One day, while browsing an antique store in Helena, Montana, photographer Tyler Knott Gregson stumbled upon
Recite a poem. Read the first page to one of your favorite books. Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle. Do a tongue-twister. Say something in a different language. Share an anecdote. Do the rains in Spain stay mainly on the plains?
we’re the same, we’re on the same page, we’re in the same space. the same headspace, no matter how toxic, i love those words you use when you use them wrong. i love that you love my french poems and i love the gap in your teeth despite braces when
wordsnquotes: BOOK OF THE DAY: Where the Sidewalk Ends: The Poems and Drawings of Shel Silverstein by Shel Silverstein We have a confession: when we were about seven-years old, we dreamt about being poets. The first book to inspire us in becoming
Desolate-Painting By Drew Evans http://drewevans.deviantart.com/art/Desolate-Painting-203222688 I’m all alone, lost in despair. Alone, lost in my mind, I doubt anyone cares. You can’t hear the screams of loneliness and agony, the cries
Photo: Moonlight AndDark Clouds In Arcipelago by Eskilehttp://eskile.deviantart.com/art/Moonlight-And-Dark-Clouds-In-Arcipelago-322488330 I’m a romantic, with my head in the clouds. A believer, who’s heart screams out loud. I live and die Through
travelerschecks: featherumbrellas: lmfaoswed: m-ayflower: the last sentence :( Everything is perfect until the last sentence… I think i’ve got a million comments about the last sentence, but that’s the entire point to the poem. You fall in
![“ […] Light your eyes at the flame of the lusters! Kindle passion in the glances of churls! To me you’re all pleasure, morbid or petulant; Be what you will, black night, red dawn;There is no fiber in my whole trembling bodyThat does](https://69.media.tumblr.com/avatar_09ed4df49674_128.png){kind=avatar}
![cruellheaven: “(My dear friend I don’t complain. It’s just another scar.)” — Marina Tsvetaeva, from Poem Of The End in “Bride Of Ice: New Selected Poems” [translated by Elaine Feinstein] (via adrasteiax)](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fcbbd04cc09d2b816e50766decf7081d/c3f76d13ee9113b5-da/s512x512u_c1/665c48e1cc14c2fd3d89844bb5b5e7c71bb1b819.jpg)
