nelipoet

"…I am the immense shadow of my tears"

Mon, 20 May 2013 00:33:08 +0700

“…I am the immense shadow of my tears”

- Federico García Lorca (via insipidexpectations)

langleav: More poems and artwork by Lang Leav ♡

Sun, 12 May 2013 00:46:10 +0700

langleav:

More poems and artwork by Lang Leav ♡

apoetreflects: I’m a dark horseRunning on a dark race courseI’m a blue moonSince I stepped from out...

Sun, 05 May 2013 00:58:35 +0700

apoetreflects:

I’m a dark horse
Running on a dark race course
I’m a blue moon
Since I stepped from out of the womb

—George Harrison, from “Dark Horse” on the Dark Horse LP (Apple Records, 1974)

"When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the..."

Sat, 04 May 2013 02:02:39 +0700

““When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching itself from the bones. I see the organ gradually fade into transparency leaving a gleaming skeleton gleaming like ivory that slowly revolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curve of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could open your body and slip up inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of you of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these movements will be lost in time like tears in the rain.””

- David Wojnarowicz, “When I put my hands on your body” 1990 (via frankielulu)

apoetreflects: This is consolation: In my letters to you, I will grow no older. Years from now, if...

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:43:35 +0700

apoetreflects:

This is consolation: In my letters to you,
I will grow no older. Years from now,
if you unearth them,
you will meet me again,
younger than you thought I was
when you were young,
so young you might blush
if someone were to spy us walking hand-in-hand.

—Mark Brazaitis, from “Young and Old,” in The Other Language (ABZ Poetry Press, 2009)

saturnrising: Grief by Richard Brostoff

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 22:33:21 +0700

saturnrising:

Grief by Richard Brostoff

"I wish I wrote the way I thought Obsessively Incessantly With maddening hunger I’d write to the..."

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 16:29:37 +0700

“I wish I wrote the way I thought
Obsessively
Incessantly
With maddening hunger
I’d write to the point of suffocation
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I’d write about you
A lot more
Than I should”

- Benedict Smith, “I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought” (via apoetreflects)

A Poet Reflects: fluttering-slips: Elegy for the Last Orgasmafter Rainer Maria...

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 11:53:46 +0700

A Poet Reflects: fluttering-slips: Elegy for the Last Orgasmafter Rainer Maria...:

fluttering-slips:

Elegy for the Last Orgasm
after Rainer Maria Rilke

How could she not cry out when you pressed her to your flesh? How could she not hear the sorrow that sings at the core of every man’s heart? Already she must have sensed the heat coursing beneath your skin. For every orgasm secretly wishes to be burned.

Slowly she mastered the art of holding onto the pain, letting the flames travel down to her fingertips as she blew on each tiny flicker until it grew, filling first the room, then reaching up through the rooftops, then the sky. It was only a matter of time before others saw her blaze. The world, have you noticed, offers so few visions? Maybe that’s why she became such an angel, an obsession, a never-ending dream.

But now, even you know the risks. How moments can be reduced to memory in a flash. How love turns to dust that rises like a thousand tiny planets into the glittering air. Not to mention, how to forget. And never look back. Now you simply relax, sip cinnamon tea, and survey each night as if it were a dark sail, gliding into the horizon.

You even look forward to endings as if they were blessings and your only relief. For you, Love, have mastered the art of eternal restraint. You now know: never to cling. Never to look back. For it is only the now that matters. Is it not? Such powers you have gained. You even know what can never cease. What troubles your existence. How sometimes only a lie can save you. How, if you were to glance at the sky, the meteors would fall as helplessly as rain.

Nin Andrews, from Plume

Photo

Sun, 21 Apr 2013 01:22:45 +0700

"It is a terrible thing To be so open: it is as if my heart Put on a face and walked into the world."

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 18:30:42 +0700

“It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.”

- Sylvia Plath, from the verse play Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via apoetreflects)

rclinkdump: “I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such...

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 23:29:42 +0700

rclinkdump:

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year.”

—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, from “White Nights” in The Best Short Stories of Dostoyevsky (Random House, 1955)

"We were meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are?"

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 23:28:04 +0700

“We were meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are?”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (via electric-wish)

june & after: thunderpopcola: This is how you lose her. You lose her when you forget...

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 19:01:45 +0700

june & after: thunderpopcola: This is how you lose her. You lose her when you forget...:

thunderpopcola:

This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

"there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best..."

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 14:34:57 +0700

“

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest
times

we will know it

we will know it
more than
ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

and

we will wait
and
wait

in that

”

- Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense (via larmoyante)

Photo

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 23:10:59 +0700

existentialfunk: “Men of profound sadness betray themselves when they are happy: they have a way...

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 16:14:20 +0700

existentialfunk:

“Men of profound sadness betray themselves when they are happy: they have a way of embracing happiness as if they wanted to crush and suffocate it, from jealousy: alas, they know only too well that it will flee.”

—Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil (1886)

journalofanobody: “He spoke of human solitude, of the intrinsic loneliness of a sophisticated...

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 14:47:54 +0700

journalofanobody:

“He spoke of human solitude, of the intrinsic loneliness of a sophisticated mind, one that’s capable of reason and poetry, but which grasps at straws when it comes to understanding another, a mind aware of the impossibility of absolute understanding … The difficulty of having a mind that understands that it’ll never be understood.”

—Nicole Krauss

typewriterblues: Variation On The Word Sleep by Margaret...

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 05:56:12 +0700

typewriterblues:

Variation On The Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

apoetreflects: “It’s like this … All your life you’re yellow. Then one day you brush up against...

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 12:30:25 +0700

apoetreflects:

“It’s like this … All your life you’re yellow. Then one day you brush up against something blue, the barest touch, and voila, the rest of your life you’re green.”

—Tess Callahan

"A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in—what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and..."

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 12:10:51 +0700

“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in—what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.””

- Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (via seabois)