Poem of The Day: Water

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Water

The water understands
Civilization well;
It wets my foot, but prettily,
It chills my life, but wittily,
It is not disconcerted,
It is not broken-hearted:
Well used, it decketh joy,
Adorneth, doubleth joy:
Ill used, it will destroy,
In perfect time and measure
With a face of golden pleasure
Elegantly destroy.

Meus Poemas: combateremos a sombra

Mas não é por desconhecermos aquilo que nos diz respeito que deixamos de fazer parte do desconhecido.

Lídia Jorge, Combateremos a Sombra

combateremos a sombra

Quando me chamas

Perdida num deserto de chamas

E tudo começa de novo

Dormimos sem rumo

Sem contemplar a nossa aproximação

E que nos cega

Perante esta nova luz

E se a tua voz depois se cala

No ritmo sincopado dos nossos silêncios

Para me sorrir mentindo

Sobre o que não podemos ser

Mas não podemos parar

Porque já nos temos

Esquecido antes

Debaixo desta iluminação perfeita

Mas podemos deixar-nos cair

Na imperfeição

E comprometer o que prometemos

Porque mesmo quando o desconhecido se abre finalmente

E acelera atravessando o vazio

E esta poeira se levanta sobre nós

Não é por isso que nos descobrimos menos

Poem of the day: Again a Solstice

Jennifer Chang

Again a Solstice

It is not good to think
of everything as a mistake. I asked
for bacon in my sandwich, and then

I asked for more. Mistake.
I told you the truth about my scar:

I did not use a knife. I lied
about what he did to my faith
in loneliness. Both mistakes.

That there is always a you. Mistake.
Faith in loneliness, my mother proclaimed,

is faith in self. My instinct, a poor polaris.
Not a mistake is the blue boredom
of a summer lake. O mud, sun, and algae!

We swim in glittering murk.
I tread, you tread. There are children

testing the deep end, shriek and stroke,
the lifeguard perilously close to diving.
I tried diving once. I dove like a brick.

It was a mistake to ask the $30 prophet
for a $20 prophecy. A mistake to believe.

I was young and broke. I swam
in a stolen reservoir then, not even a lake.
Her prophesy: from my vagrant exertion

I'll die at 42. Our dog totters across the lake,
kicks the ripple. I tread, you tread.

What does it even mean to write a poem?
It means today
I'm correcting my mistakes.

It means I don't want to be lonely.

Poem of the day: Mirrors

Mirrors

by Tada Chimako
translated by Jeffrey Angles

The mirror is always slightly taller than I
It laughs a moment after I laugh
Turning red as a boiled crab
I cut myself from the mirror with shears

*

When my lips draw close, the mirror clouds over
And I vanish behind my own sighs
Like an aristocrat hiding behind his crest
Or a gangster behind his tattoos

*

Oh traveler, go to Lacedaemon and say that in the mirror,
Graveyard of smiles, there is a single gravestone
Painted white, thick with makeup
Where the wind blows alone

Now wouldn't that be great?

Drapetomania

I always have to remember the things that make me me

Quote of the day: Rainer Maria Rilke

"For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences." — Rainer Maria Rilke

Pessoa Diário: Cansa sentir quando se pensa

Fernando Pessoa

Cansa sentir quando se pensa

Cansa sentir quando se pensa.

No ar da noite a madrugar

Há uma solidão imensa

Que tem por corpo o frio do ar.

Neste momento insone e triste

Em que não sei quem hei de ser,

Pesa-me o informe real que existe

Na noite antes de amanhecer.

Tudo isto me parece tudo.

E é uma noite a ter um fim

Um negro astral silêncio surdo

E não poder viver assim.

(Tudo isto me parece tudo.

Mas noite, frio, negror sem fim,

Mundo mudo, silêncio mudo -

Ah, nada é isto, nada é assim!)

Tumblr Influences #4

5 Livros à beira da cama

Quote of the day

"There is nothing lost in love that can't be found again poetry."

Probably my next guitar?

Tumblr Influences #3

Accept, Learn and Move On

Accept, learn and move on

Pessoa Diário: A morte chega cedo

Fernando Pessoa

A morte chega cedo

A morte chega cedo,

Pois breve é toda vida

O instante é o arremedo

De uma coisa perdida.

O amor foi começado,

O ideal não acabou,

E quem tenha alcançado

Não sabe o que alcançou.

E tudo isto a morte

Risco por não estar certo

No caderno da sorte

Que Deus deixou aberto.

Fonte: Cancioneiro

Tumblr Influences #2

Poem of the day: Around Us

Marvin Bell Around Us
We need some pines to assuage the darkness when it blankets the mind, we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly as a plane's wing, and a worn bed of needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind, and a blur or two of a wild thing that sees and is not seen. We need these things between appointments, after work, and, if we keep them, then someone someday, lying down after a walk and supper, with the fire hole wet down, the whole night sky set at a particular time, without numbers or hours, will cause a little sound of thanks--a zipper or a snap-- to close round the moment and the thought of whatever good we did.

Sapiosexual are you?