I HEAR IT IN THE DEEP HEART'S CORE

and I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow
catonhottinroof:

Józef Pankiewicz (1866-1940)
Nocturne - Swans in the Saski Garden at Night, 1894

catonhottinroof:

Józef Pankiewicz (1866-1940)

Nocturne - Swans in the Saski Garden at Night1894

(via laclefdescoeurs)

All things become islands before my senses,
which accept them as a matter of course: a murmur of silence.
All things in this darkness—I can know all of them,
just as I know that blood flows in my veins.

Cesare Pavese, from “Passion for Solitude,” trans. Geoffrey Brock, Disaffections: Complete Poems 1930-1950 (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)

      When deeds splay before us
precious as gold & unused chances
stripped from the whine-bone,
we know the moment kindheartedness
walks in.
[…]
If we can see it push shadows
aside, growing closer, are we less
broken?

Yusef Komunyakaa, from “Kindness,” Poetry (March 2003)

classicrockneverdies:

CRND Top Ten Countdown Number 10

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

14 hours ago - 203

goethes-fist:

“And isn’t the whole world yours? For how often you set it on fire with your love and saw it blaze and burn up and secretly replaced it with another world while everyone slept. You felt in such complete harmony with God, when every morning you asked him for a new earth, so that all the ones he had made could have their turn. You thought it would be shabby to save them and repair them; you used them up and held out your hands, again and again, for more world. For your love was equal to everything.”

—Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, trans. Michael Hulse, (Penguin Classics, 2009)

(Source: inthesaltmine, via apoetreflects)

Death twitches my ear. Live, he says, I am coming.

Virgil (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via afternoondeath)

Surrounded by bone, surrounded by cells,
by rings, by rings of hell, by hair, surrounded by
air-is-a-thing, surrounded by silhouette, by honey-wet bees, yet
by skeletons of trees, surrounded by actual, yes, for practical
purposes, people, surrounded by surreal
popcorn, surrounded by the reborn: Surrender in the center
to surroundings.

Jack Collom, from “Ecology,” Red Car Goes By: Selected Poems 1955-2000 (Tuumba Press, 2001)

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye (1932)

(Source: his-name-was-writ-in-water, via terpsikeraunos)

catonhottinroof:

 George Carlson
Passage at Dusk

catonhottinroof:

 George Carlson

Passage at Dusk

And it grows, the vain
summer,
even for us with our
bright green sins:

Carlo Betocchi, from “Summer,” trans. Geoffrey Brock, Poetry (March 2010)

I know the petrified trees,
the agony of seconds
when the wind changes,
leaving only teeth
to remember your lips by.

from “The Island,” Christopher DeWeese (via blutetragen)

art-and-things-of-beauty:

Animal studies by Edwin Henry Landseer, R.A. (London 1802-1873)

(Source: poehler, via elucipher)

2 days ago - 233

As the light goes, go.
Be the rustling in the grass, the fall from
convention’s good graces: learn, or someone
will have you filing files or writing writs,
demonstrating cutlery or selling knowledge

door to door; someone might even drop
your lovely life into a factory and have you
derusting rings on the coolant-spouting
turntable of a vertical lathe.

John Surowiecki, from “What I Know About Epistemology,” Poetry (April 2003)

I believe I am choosing something now
not to suffer uselessly yet still to feel.

Adrienne Rich, from The Dream Of A Common Language  (via fleurstains)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via lifeinpoetry)