zunnny: infinitegulf: “He paid the full price for art, only he hadn’t made any. He’d suffered all the old-fashioned artistic sufferings-isolation, poverty, despair, mental and physical obstruction-and nobody knew or cared. And though nobody knowing or caring was another form of artistic suffering, in his case it had no artistic meaning…This is human life. There is a great hurt that...
The small man Builds cages for everyone He Knows. While the sage, Who has...– Hafiz (via sacredgraffiti) (via crashinglybeautiful)
An unattempted woman cannot boast of her chastity.– Michel de Montaigne (via elicec) (via quote-book) (via ontologicalterrorist)
To anyone seeking NaPoWriMo writing...
Due to formatting problems with the theme here, and the lack of comment integration, I’m now posting new poems for National Poetry Writing Month over here.
I think that even the most boring piece has many things to teach you. The most...– Iannis Xenakis (via themagiclantern)
What Keeps the Lights ON
Why do they call a coal deposit a seam? What separate things are joined there? A sweat-soaked collar, a too-small cup of coffee, a weary, determined face: he’s going back in. A flimsy wooden door can’t contain hell. He thinks of the doors to the room between the world and his home, where he tries to shake the dust off each morning, and be asleep by 8. What was left unsaid — ham,...
One cowers, clutching his ears: he can’t bear their silence. Another shrouds his eyes from the sight of that flopping head. A mule looks on, ears half-pricked, waiting. Origins: Based on this prompt: Today is the first Tuesday of April, which means it is also the first “Two for Tuesday” prompt of the month. Poets can choose to write one of the prompts, or they can write both....
I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.– Joan Didion, “On Keeping a Notebook” (via nintendocashbox) (via themagiclantern)
You (in the plural)
You’ve never even told me your name, though we’re too intimate now for that to matter much. I’ve seen you enchant a whole room without effort, and I’ve seen you stumble home, your lips quivering, full of words unsaid, thoughts unheard. Did I say stumble home? I meant back. Where do you live? Where is it you wander? Where is your home? Do you rest amidst the olive-oil smog...
You outlined every facet of your creed, So over-keen to have your words believed. Your audience? How were your thoughts received? Her eyelids? Closed. You’ve said too much, indeed! Origins: From this prompt: For today’s prompt, write a TMI poem (or too much information poem). As with all prompts, there are a number of ways to come at this one. You can make it about gossip or...