I HEAR IT IN THE DEEP HEART'S CORE

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

artisticdepiction:

Shoda Koho, 1871 - 1946

  1. Canal Under the Moonlight
  2. Ohashi Bridge at Atako
  3. Stars Over Lake Biwa
  4. Moonlit Sea

Sources: A Quintessence of DustPolar Bear’s Tale

They’ve built their nests
in the chimneys of my heart:
those swallows that you lost.

Tom Robbins, from Another Roadside Attraction (via lifeinpoetry)

metaphorformetaphor:

My heart does not belong to me, nor to anyone else. It declared its
independence from me before it turned into a stone.

Mahmoud Darwish, from “From now on you are somebody else,” A River Dies of Thirst. (Archipelago Books, 2009)

I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.

Warsan Shire  (via earnestly)

(Source: carryonanyway, via lifeinpoetry)

leradr:

Mori Sosen (1747-1821)

leradr:

Mori Sosen (1747-1821)

Know this:
I live beast days. I am a water hour.
At night my eyelids droop like forest and sky.
My love knows few words:
I like it in your blood.

Gottfried Benn, “Threat,” trans. Michael Hofmann, Poetry (March 2011)

welcometomykarass:

shouldervoices:

The Mountain Goats | This Year

i am gonna make it through this year, if it kills me

there will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year
i am going to make it through this year, if it kills me

1 day ago - 3405

And I have stepped into your dream at night,
A stranger there, my body steeped in moonlight.
I watched you tremble, washed in all that silver.

Love, the stars have fallen into the garden
And turned to frost. They have opened like a hand.
It is the color that breaks out of the bedsheets.

Thomas James, from “Tom O’Bedlam Among the Sunflowers,” Letters to a Stranger (Graywolf Press, 2008)

catonhottinroof:

Vilhelms Purvītis
Seascape

catonhottinroof:

Vilhelms Purvītis

Seascape

(via laclefdescoeurs)

helladweeb:

— “Nara”

light the fuse—
hallelujah! hallelujah!

(via corvuel)

2 days ago - 2376

Trees seek each other
as the wind within them dies.

Darkness starts inside of things
but keeps on going when the things are gone.

Christian Wiman, from “Darkness,” Hard Night (Copper Canyon Press, 2005)

(Source: apoetreflects)

Memory is kind, a kindness, a kind of unlistening, a grey wall even toward which you move.

Michael Palmer, from “Notes for Echo Lake 1,” The Lion Bridge (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1998)

templeofapelles:

Sanctificatur Nomen Tuum, 1899 Alphonse Mucha

templeofapelles:

Sanctificatur Nomen Tuum, 1899
Alphonse Mucha

(via nataliakoptseva)

I am tired of the litany
of months, September … October …
I am tired of the way the seasons
keep changing, mimicking
the seasons of the flesh
which are real and finite.

Linda Pastan, from “In a Northern Country,” Poetry (October 1993)

Where to start?
Everything cracks and shakes.
The air trembles with similes.
No one word’s better than another;
the earth moans with metaphors,
and the shays hitched to shimmering flocks
of birds all heaving together
fly apart, racing
against the day’s favorites.

Osip Mandelstam, from “He Who Finds a Horseshoe,” trans. Clarence Brown and W. S. Merwin, Selected Poems (Atheneum, 1974)

(Source: apoetreflects)