#poetry
Poetry on a ruined page of a forgotten book full of broken dreams about a person who would read it and say, “i don’t get it” #poetry #idk #stupid #gottaventsomehow #writingislife #idk
This makes me sad
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‘Desiderata’ by Max Ehrmann
One of my all time favourite poems so I’d thought I’d treat all my lovely followers to a reading of it. Feel free to let me know what you think and if there are any other poems you’d like to hear.
Ladies and gentlemen, our own UK darling reads us a brilliant little piece. Powerful, and oddly seductive. I invite you to have a listen and enjoy the growth that will come with these words. And, of course, to hear those lovely intros of hers, you’ll have to visit me on YouTube. Sir Approves. Undressing your mind. One thought at a time.
‘Desiderata’ by Max Ehrmann
One of my all time favourite poems so I’d thought I’d treat all my lovely followers to a reading of it. Feel free to let me know what you think and if there are any other poems you’d like to hear.
Ladies and gentlemen, our own UK darling reads us a brilliant little piece. Powerful, and oddly seductive. I invite you to have a listen and enjoy the growth that will come with these words. And, of course, to hear those lovely intros of hers, you’ll have to visit me on YouTube. Sir Approves. Undressing your mind. One thought at a time.
sorry for all the depressing stuff lately, I’m just trying to deal with things
Irene - “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee
Seulgi - “Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines” by Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
Wendy - “Eurydice” by H.D.
so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot
Joy - “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Yeri - “Pretty” by Stevie Smith
Cry pretty, pretty, pretty and you’ll be able
Very soon not even to cry pretty
And so be delivered entirely from humanity
This is prettiest of all, it is very pretty.
really wish my brain would actually let me be happy for once
I haven’t posted my poems in a bit, so here’s one I just wrote for Ghostwriter. If you weren’t around when I began this project a little over a month ago, Ghostwriter is going to be a published collection of my poetry walking through my various emotions over the course of a few months. Because I personally deal with severe depression, anxiety, and a few other types of mental health struggles like OCD and paranoia, I wanted to convey both my hopes and fears through my poetry in hopes of spreading awareness of mental health as well as to give hope to those who, like me, struggle on a daily basis to crawl out from under the dark cloud hovering overhead.
This poem is about how hard it is sometimes to respond to friends when you are having a low period, and especially how difficult it can be to actually go out and do something. Obviously, as it is covid, I’m not out running around in the first place. However, even just answering messages is still sometimes avoided without me realizing I’m doing it. Usually, by the time I do notice, I’m already a couple days late and become afraid that my friends might not be happy because I didn’t respond right away. Logically, I know that’s ridiculous, but the thoughts are still there.
Because I know a lot of other people feel the same way about this kind of thing, I wrote this poem to convey that you aren’t alone, and for those of you who feel like you’re being ghosted, don’t give up. Because these ghosts can still be summoned, sometimes you just have to cut through the static first.
I love you all, and I hope everyone has a wonderful day today and everyday after. Let’s finish out this horrible year strong and work together to make 2021 a happier, safer time.
Blessed be!
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Seamus Heaney, Pura López Colomé, and Hans van de Waarsenburg: IN MEMORIAM JOSEPH BRODSKY, The Maastricht International Poetry Nights, 2000
A selection of covers from Philip Levine’s books (U.S. editions) and pamphlets (U.K. editions) spanning his body of work
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It’s good to recover in ourselves
lost loves, or reconcile ourselves to an affront,
but if life pent up inside weighs you down,
take it out of doors.
Throw open the windows, or go down
into the crowd; you’ll see how little it takes
to cheer you up: an animal, a game,
or, dressed in blue,
a shop-boy with a wheelbarrow
clearing the street with a loud voice,
who, if he finds the slightest downward slope,
runs no more, but flies.
The streets are full of people at that hour
who don’t keep quiet after dodging him.
The noisier the uproar and the wrath,
the more he swings his hips and sings.
In the weeks since the Thai military took power in a coup d’etat, poet Krit Lualamai has been responding to upheavals through drawings and poems. Born in Jombeung, in the Ratchaburi province of central Thailand, Lualamai has published one book of poetry, The End of Their, in 2007.
Some of the images, such as “Tank,” satirize the acceptance of the military’s putsch (the eighteenth attempted since 1932). “Mission Impossible!” speaks to the futility of protest felt by some Thai writers and artists. “Flute to cheer on the coup,” and “Big poet,” prod other writers’ support of the Army’s take-over. “Three Figures of Thai Society” chastises the viewer to consider the legacy of these well-known activists and revolutionaries.
Also included here is one of Lualamai’s poems, “Mission to Imagine,” translated by Puckpan Tipayamontri in 2012.
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“I want to see God’s face, to lick the white of his eye, to order / him to die for me again.”—Traci Brimhall, from “Crime and Punishment,” Come the Slumberless To the Land of Nod
NEW YORK
Oh New York ! Oh New York !
When will I see you again
The memories have faded but those feelings remained from when our story began,
The misty eastern breeze touching past my face,
The smell of burning gas from the ford going at pace,
The wet streets, the smokey aisles,
the noisy kids you can hear from miles.
Oh New York I have felt you and let me feel you again.
I’ve felt the black, I’ve felt the white,
I’ve felt the snow of the winter night.
Central Park and morning dew,
A waiting line to taste the brew.
The cheap plays, the shiny lights,
The busy sidewalks every night.
Oh New York I dream of you everyday,
This poem will never be complete until I feel you again someday….!
Q: What’s the most disturbing thing you’ve ever witnessed?
Photo ID: Screenshot of Reddit thread
Response from a user named No_Pineapple6086:
I saw a guy get shot in front of a pizzeria in the Bronx. A cliche, I know, but there it is.
Reply by LegoClaes: Relevant username
Comment by @poem-for-your-sprog:
Certain themes of conversation
Resonate around the nation -
Small contentions oft repeated
Make for altercations heated.
Let us talk of all religions -
Add a dash or half a smidgen’s
Pinch of doctrine hard to swallow -
Watch the chaos shortly follow.
Let us talk of state and power -
Add a drop of Donald’s tower,
Daily news and contradiction -
Settle back and watch the friction.
Soon you’ll find you’re off debating,
Ranting, raving, raging, hating,
Never ending,
never stopping.
… let us talk of pizza topping.
