"

Your love is your curse.

This black fact’s yours.

"

Ashley Anna McHugh, from Of This Burning Heart

(via violentwavesofemotion)

"…and the air
Was like the air after a fire, or the air before a storm,
Ungodly still, but full of dark shapes turning."

Brigit Pegeen Kelly, The Dragon

(via korroh)

"You want to believe
you can turn emotion’s flood
into living waters
from which you’ll emerge whole,
dazzling like the sun."

Rachel Barenblat, from Standing At The Edge

(via violentwavesofemotion)

"I fear those shadows most
That start from my own feet."

Theodore Roethke, from The Surly One

(via violentwavesofemotion)

"The hunter sinks his arrows into the trees and then paints the targets around them. The trees imagine they are deer. The deer imagine they are safe. The arrows: they have no imagination."

Richard Siken, The Stag and the Quiver, published on The Awl

(via bostonpoetryslam)

But this dark is deep:

now I warm you with my blood, listen

to this flesh.

It is far truer than poems.

—Marina Tsvetaeva, from Poem of the End (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

(via awritersruminations:)

Love is flesh, it is a

     flower flooded with blood.

—Marina Tsvetaeva, from Poem of the End (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

(via awritersruminations:)

"They should listen to the unsaid words that resonate around the edge of the poem."

"From the window I listened to the second story of elm trees rustling, wordless, oceanlike.  So much of what has soothed me has not been human.  I drank in the sound, fantasized about love and death until the 11 o’clock freight train rumbled along the edge of town and how I let myself drift into that funneling."

—Jennifer K. Sweeney, from “What Call,” in How to Live on Bread and Music (Perugia Press, 2009)

(via apoetreflects:)

"The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you."

Richard Siken

(via rhetoriques)

(Source: rarararambles)

"

Being but men, we walked into the trees
Afraid, letting our syllables be soft
For fear of waking the rooks,
For fear of coming
Noiselessly into a world of wings and cries.

If we were children we might climb,
Catch the rooks sleeping, and break no twig,
And, after the soft ascent,
Thrust out our heads above the branches
To wonder at the unfailing stars.

Out of confusion, as the way is,
And the wonder, that man knows,
Out of the chaos would come bliss.

That, then, is loveliness, we said,
Children in wonder watching the stars,
Is the aim and the end.

Being but men, we walked into the trees.

"

Dylan Thomas, Being But Men

(via hiddenshores)

"We cross borders lightly
like clouds.
Nothing carries us,
but as we move on
we carry rain,
and an accent,
and a memory
of another place."
Dunya Mikhail, from “Tablets,” in Poetry (Vol. CCIII, No. 6, March 2014)

(Source: literarymiscellany)

"

It is raining today
in the mountains.

It is a warm green rain
with love
in its pockets
for spring is here,
and does not dream
of death.

"

Richard Brautigan, from The Return of the Rivers

(via litverve)

"The next poem will be pulled
from the moonlight;
it will be a falling star
it will be a burning branch.

The next poem will climb down
from the mango tree while
I am dreaming and
sneak away before I wake.

The next poem I will plant
beneath my own skin,
I will stand beneath the rain,
the next poem will bloom.

The next poem I won’t even write
it will descend with the sun,
it will walk with me,
it will become my shadow."

 ||  Maza-Dohta

(via maza-dohta)

"If I reached my hands down near the earth
I could take handfuls of darkness!
A darkness was always there which we never noticed."

Robert Bly, section II of “Snowfall in the Afternoon,” from Eating the Honey of Words: New and Selected Poems (Harper Flamingo, 1999) 

(via apoetreflects)

(Source: literarymiscellany)