Poetry
Yufa and
Poetry
At the end of every forget, I remember.
But now it has happened,
No use in talking
The silence between me and you
Has never had meaning.
It was, love it, that was all
That was asked.
But now it has happened,
No words for the foretime,
The desperation has made me the same,
Has made me another.
Who looks at the shape of the fish
Grow giant on the side of his bowl,
Who walks on the terrace
Observing... See more
No use in talking
The silence between me and you
Has never had meaning.
It was, love it, that was all
That was asked.
But now it has happened,
No words for the foretime,
The desperation has made me the same,
Has made me another.
Who looks at the shape of the fish
Grow giant on the side of his bowl,
Who walks on the terrace
Observing... See more
Unknown • CHET ON POETRY (Chet Baker)
I was single for all of my 20s and half of my 30s, so Valentine’s Day will always make me think of my friends. (Just please don’t make me say ’Galentine’s Day.’) | Tag a bestie, duh.
—
Text reads:
Be st
Fri ends
I send you a rambling voice... See more
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373 / “This World is not Conclusion,” Emily Dickinson.
Poetry knows the spaces of transition; it traverses and expands them. Poems live in uncertainty.
Mike Kauschke • The Poetic Art of Living in a Time Between Worlds - Emerge
Nabokov — Speak, Memory.
Poetry is the art of proving that a few words
are worth more than a thousand pictures.
are worth more than a thousand pictures.
Clintavo on Substack
Fierce insistence on the felicitous expression of nature in human nature, with our capacity for music and mathematics, for art and hope.