January 2012
17 posts
Infinite Drunk Ron Swanson →
catsthatlooklikeronswanson:
We approve of this website. Two paws up!
December 2011
20 posts
Louise Glück, "Early December in Croton-on-Hudson"
poetryeater:
Spiked sun. The Hudson Whittled down by ice. I hear the bone dice Of blown gravel clicking. Bone- pale, the recent snow Fastens like fur to the river. Standstill. We were leaving to deliver Christmas presents when the tire blew Last year. Above the dead valves pines pared Down by a storm stood, limbs bared … I want you.
Wallace Stevens, "The Snow Man"
poetryeater:
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind, In the sound of a few leaves, Which is the sound of the land Full of the same wind That is...
Jorge Luis Borges, "That One"
poetryeater:
Oh days consecrated to the useless office of forgetting the biography of a lesser poet from the hemisphere below, to whom the shades or the stars bequeathed a body that leaves behind no son and blindness, penumbra and prison, and old age, aurora of death, and fame, which nobody deserves, and the habit of devising hendecasyllabics and an old love of encyclopedias and of fine...
Watch
2 tags
3 tags
November 2011
6 posts
3 tags
I don't think I ever want to leave London
3 tags
3 tags
October 2011
8 posts
Warren Heiti, untitled
poetryeater:
I want to be in Texas, asleep in the passenger seat of your nineteen seventy-two sky-blue Cadillac, the windscreen hypnotized by horizon, the rear-view by your eyes, their roan-brown focus, the careless freckles on your cheeks, the breeze sight-reading a scarred bass clef, your left hand in your curls, your bare foot on the gas, your skin resonant with fading light, Nina Simone on...
Dana Goodyear, "Quail"
poetryeater:
What the heart, unsteady and ill, is supposed to do. And does: fly in missing-man formation, resettle too nearby, then scatter to confuse, fleeing like one who secretly wants catching. Hides to die. But doesn’t come to nothing: ends a block of bony, vesselled ice heaving, frostbit, in the chest.
