love forgive me | sierra demulder
when i feel myself falling out of love with you, i turn the record of your laughter over, reposition the needle. i dust the dirty living room of your affection.
on living | nazim hikmet
i mean you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you will plant olives— & not so they’ll be left for your children either, but because even though you fear death you don’t believe it, because living, i mean, weighs heavier.
the word | tony hoagland
bcobb: The Word - Tony Hoagland Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between “green thread” and “broccoli,” you find that you have penciled “sunlight.” Resting on the page, the word is beautiful. It touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent from someplace distant as this morning—to...
wild geese | mary oliver
you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. tell me about your despair, yours, and i will tell you mine. meanwhile the world goes on. meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees,...
hope is the thing with feathers | emily dickinson
hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all, and sweetest in the gale is heard; and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm. i’ve heard it in the chillest land and on the strangest sea; yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.
a geography of poets | andrei codrescu
this is america you get hurt where you are born you make poetry out of it as far from home as you can get you die somewhere in between