Poetry
Yufa and
Poetry
At the end of every forget, I remember.
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are... See more
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are... See more
Esther Ekhart • The Invitation, a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
beautiful poem
That Enthusiasm and Life may not cease: arise Spectre arise!
William Blake • Jerusalem. The Emanation of the Giant Albion/Plate 9 - Wikisource, the free online library
They call this knot of stars a Weaving Girl
whose golden needle tears the dark apart.
whose golden needle tears the dark apart.
R. Nemo Hill • Eleventh Reverie of Magellan by R. Nemo Hill
I must Create a System, or be enslav'd by another Mans
I will not Reason & Compare: my business is to Create
I will not Reason & Compare: my business is to Create
William Blake • Jerusalem. The Emanation of the Giant Albion/Plate 10 - Wikisource, the free online library
James Joyce to his wife:
My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole.
Hungarian poetry wakes up parts of my soul i didn’t know existed.
Title: ‘You know’