“Ah! but verses amount to so little when one writes them young. One ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness a whole life long, and a…… Read more “R. M. Rilke, Blood-Remembering”
Tag: poetry~
Thank You, Dr. Seuss
Thank you, Dr. Seuss for speaking for the Truffula trees for the brown-bar-ba-loots, the swomee-swans, and the humming- fish — and all those whose blood in some…… Read more “Thank You, Dr. Seuss”
Flow, Earth
We haven’t room to simply let down our hair and full-Being flow anymore (. . . did we ever? We try at clubs, through music laughter and…… Read more “Flow, Earth”
i dream of rosehip tea.
it was months ago when i picked rosehips along my path home by the sea, slipping each one like a little gold nugget into the pockets of…… Read more “i dream of rosehip tea.”
…That Thing with Wings
Autumn breathes on my facefrom afar — so fresh! — stirringevery unique nerve ending tosudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool handrested gently on my arm,I’m…… Read more “…That Thing with Wings”
Capital
you reach out a hand to pull sky down, stars, yes the heavens themselvesare but bread to you, so you break it,break it all upon the ground,…… Read more “Capital”
Realism.s
My own particular brand of bleak is firm, and unambiguous enough to recognise our dark as a basic truth: the world-rending fire of the human soul is…… Read more “Realism.s”
Potent.ial
at the end of days all days, including today, I am terrified of tomorrow, as if every sleep is a death, a dreamless, black hole that will…… Read more “Potent.ial”
work
A poet’s work is no respector of designations like quantity, or achievement, or target, start, and finish. We dance to the beat of our own loves, our…… Read more “work”
Poet (dried).
This is trench warfare. As bloody useless and harrowing as. No one really gains ground. No one really wins. Even waiting or withholding takesone to the grave,…… Read more “Poet (dried).”
contact.
stars spark in the blackened deep: fingertips of the gods (carefully holding in bright hands a ravaged planet, burnt flowers drifting down from each. point. of. contact.…… Read more “contact.”
Perspective
my brain bendsbars of lightwith aplomb, shifting universea simple excercise inrelativity; no excusefor helplessness c. Kate Gough Photo by Jordan Johnson on Unsplash
untitled
making art: metaphor, metamorphosis, metastasis, m e a n i n g c. Kate Gough Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash
vapour
again and again overwhelmed by tears that do not come heating my face, burning my eyes, stoppering my throat like a cork in a bottle the possible…… Read more “vapour”
Pores
The world gets into our poresand writes on us lines with the clay ofearth, warmth of sunbite of wind caress ; sorrow & joy clog our faceswith…… Read more “Pores”
Oliver Wendell Holmes
– When I feel inclined to read poetry, I take down my dictionary. The poetry of words is quite as beautiful as the poetry of sentences. The…… Read more “Oliver Wendell Holmes”
Killing Clowns
Empty pages are freakish. Too beautiful to touch, tosully, to fingerprint so casually. They are whole, andthe essence of words, writing,/ breaks that/ like speech breaks a…… Read more “Killing Clowns”
hovering
I am gluttonous for life and all thingslife.—Something,/////// contrary to popular opinion,never comes from something elsebut always rather///////// in some fundamental wayfrom nothing.—(hovering over the waters)—out of…… Read more “hovering”
Kate Gough 