April Fool YouTube video by Patti Smith - Topic

Poem/song for #nationalpoetrymonth! #music #blueskymusic
Come...we'll break all the rules - Patti Smith

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzXn...

Charles Wright HOW I FAILED I tried to fit the body of light into the body of darkness. I tried to lengthen the last landscape. I tried to unhinge and reconstruct the language I had been given. I tried to fit the body of darkness into the body of light.

Charles Wright

for the mad you will be alone at last in the sanity of your friends. brilliance will fade away from you and you will settle in dimmed light. you will not remember how to mourn your dying difference. you will not be better but they will say you are well.

in the sanity of your friends.

Lucille Clifton

Why Some People Be Mad At Me Sometimes they ask me to remember but they want me to remember their memories and i keep on remembering mine.

"Why some people be mad at me sometimes..."
—Lucille Clifton

#poem #poems #poetry

🤣

The MCMP's Professor Hannes Leitgeb wins a Leibniz Prize of the DFG. Many congratulations! www.lmu.de/en/newsroom/...

NEAR THE BOTTOM But behind the end, near the bottom, a longing to be like everyone else: walking around your own house as if around the mist, planting a tree, and misunderstanding the prophets. I also wanted to eat oysters with lemon somewhere in Montmartre, I also wanted calm and money, and the bright colors of stones underwater. Those bright colors underwater!

Sylva Fischerová, translated by the author with Stuart Friebert

❤️

C. D. Wright forever and ever.

Patti Smith Group | 25th Floor | Live on the Old Grey Whistle Test | 3 April 1978 YouTube video by Nacho Video

How to do a rock-n-roll-style poetry reading...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DC8i...

“I tell it this is a trap I understand.” ❤️

How to Live Depravity begins with thinking of love as a radical act. I quit loving with difficulty. I love easy now. Two parakeets on my shoulders. They'll fly away if I move. So I move. I love flight. I love cages left wide open. I am not a window. I could be a window. Open me, you'll find a dense wood, children wandering inside it. Not lost children. They know the way. They live the way horses run. If they each had a bird in hand they would open their hands.

this i think is the poem I’m most known for, and probably will be for the rest of my life

HANNAH VANDERHART My Love Snakes the Shower Drain to Keep My Feet from Standing Water And the kink in the line and the kink in general is attention. There is nothing in the plumber's kit which is not a vector for love. Vector: the flea from the rat to the human, I explain to the child. Who has time to explain a plague, the black death, London? Love is the flea, in a certain light. Originally published in Poetry Northwest

And the kink in the line and the kink
in general is attention.

Han VanderHart (Poetry Northwest)

a man in a black shirt with the word fresh behind him ALT: a man in a black shirt with the word fresh behind him

* Please share * we are a press that platforms diverse, imagistic work. We spotlight well known and lesser known writers. Anyone who makes it new, with wow factor! Inventive metaphor and jolting imagery are our thing! We are anti-discriminatory and against bigotry.

Wendell Berry #poem #poetry #poetrycommunity

I’m so honored and thrilled for this amazing news! A huge thank you to @arwpoetry.bsky.social at @eastridgereview.bsky.social. Congratulations also to @kiptain.bsky.social Betsy Mars and Julian Cason, …just brilliant writers!

Print featuring a green field with a stream in the foreground partly reflecting a line of bare trees in the background, centre to right, to the left background is a gray barn and in the distance behind it a hill rises to the left, all under a very pale blue sky

'Winter field' by Yorkshire born printmaker Hester Cox #WomensArt

Counter-Offensive I found you, shattered in a corner of the internet, a splintered glade of leafless, spattered stumps. Some skipping blade had drained all colour from your boyish face, there butchered, flinching, from the distant crumps of rockets landing in some other place, beyond the hill. Please, kill me, you had screamed, I'm fucked! Your trembling friend had steadied, then tight-tucked the windlass of the tourniquet, I closed my phone, your agony just swiped away. Till later when I might again have time, to bear my pointless witness, make a wording of this old familiar crime. I didn't see the coloured tapes, that might identify which side, or might add some prim purpose to this troubling rhyme and didn't care. Just entry wounds, still smoking in the warm spring air, the gargling screams. I clenched my jaw, went back to sleep, back to my dreams, the horror with a clicked subside. I mildly thought about you, when I woke. You hovered at the edge of every word I spoke.

Hawking my bloody book again, before heading out to reattach various bits to my car, which hasn’t enjoyed the modifications made to my track by the storms.

‘Counter Offensive’

What a gift to be in the first #Untamed #Wave1 series.
#TheWhiskeyTree, brainchild of @alanparry83.bsky.social
@brokenspinearts.bsky.social presents 14 #poems about
#UntamedLove. More about this & the waves to come: bit.ly/4gfgQFR My blog about the folklore of love: bit.ly/3xPDjbZ

Thanks for sharing 🙏

I made a starter pack of Logic folks

go.bsky.app/Q6NbAiN

Don't edit violin and piano sonatas by Bach on a rainy day, Debussy warned, or you will feel the rain inside you.

"He is unbearable except when he is admirable," Debussy said of Bach's fastidious "joyless measures… with ever the same little rascal of a subject countersubject."

Trauma says, "You can't."

Recovery says, "I'll learn."

Surrealist painting by Toyen. A row of amorphous, ethereal blue/white forms that give the impression of elongated, limbless figures. What might be their faces are distorted and somewhat owl-like.

Toyen - Sleep Breaths

"I've exhausted my cruelty."

Jenny George:

In Polzeath, I’d split my body for him where frescoes of Skyrim feign fortune & frieze— invite frost-feathers of misflight. Waiting for faith to blow warm, the way the will is annexed to heather & shore-sworn inheritance. Outlands sculpt a skull. What solemns its sockets? Unbirded coves the Atlantic tongues deep for violet relief. Eves steep with salt & old language. A woman unearthing her urn to hold a whole tidal legacy. To love his ruinscape, to be hooked at such angle of pleasure— his bright aspect a debt worth owing. Vikki C.

A new poem posted today for Top Tweet Tuesday, a platform for imagist poetry hosted by @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social over on X.

'In Polzeath, I’d split my body for him'

Thought I'd share it here too. Thank you for reading 🙏🤍

#poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #poetry #imagist

Embroidery featuring a sitting fox facing forwards and looking up to the left, the fur is rusty orange and the chest and under the chin are white as is the tip.of the bushy tail which protrudes to the right, all on a cream background

Silk embroidered fox created by Helen Richman, professional hand embroiderer, based in Somerset, UK

I’m awake; I am in the world— I expect no further assurance. No protection, no promise.

Louise Glück