Sep 19, 2014

browndruidess:

Miriam Makeba, legendary South African singer & civil rights activist. 

(via thefeministpress)

Sep 18, 2014
The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world.
Warsan Shire (via jodyphamdraws)
Sep 8, 2014

You shut your eyes and won’t look out the window
Where shadows lurk:
Hordes of black wolves and black demons and nightmares
Inhabit the dark.

[…]

You turn to me to help you find the beast,
And of course I promise to do my best,
If it takes all week…

Arthur Rimbaud, “Dream in Wintertime” 
Sep 4, 2014
You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. “Floods” is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory — what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination if is our “flooding.”
Excerpt from “The Site of Memory,” Toni Morrison, What Moves at the Margin: Selected Nonfiction  (via commovente)

(via mysawdustheart)

Sep 3, 2014

(Source: irisnectar, via stelladolce)

Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

E. E. Cummings, Since Feeling Is First (via colporteur)

(Source: sunrec, via mysawdustheart)

Aug 31, 2014

I wake up each
morning wanting
more of you.

First, it was your
lips, then it was
your hands, now

it is your heart.
Now, it is always
your heart.

wanting, Emma Bleker (via amassequanimity)

(via mysawdustheart)

Aug 30, 2014

englishsnow:

by Ezekiel

(via mysawdustheart)

Aug 26, 2014
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About

Ben, 22, student, poet, wanderer & sometimes photographer • Adam has hold of my heart • "Poems are rough notations for the music we are." - Rumi

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