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 Dans Arles, où sont les Aliscams,Quand l’ombre est rouge, sous les roses,          Et clair le temps,
Prends garde à la douceur des choses. Lorsque tu sens battre sans cause          Ton cœur trop lourd ;
  Et que se taisent les colombes : Parle tout bas, si c’est d’amour,          Au bord des tombes.
- Jean-Paul Toulet, “En Arles”
Pickpockets and old cemeteries.

Dans Arles, où sont les Aliscams,
Quand l’ombre est rouge, sous les roses,
          Et clair le temps,

Prends garde à la douceur des choses.
Lorsque tu sens battre sans cause
          Ton cœur trop lourd ;

Et que se taisent les colombes :
Parle tout bas, si c’est d’amour,
          Au bord des tombes.

- Jean-Paul Toulet, “En Arles”

Pickpockets and old cemeteries.

3 years ago
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via SwissMiss. Christian Bök’s book can be read in its entirety, over here.




via SwissMiss. Christian Bök’s book can be read in its entirety, over here.

4 years ago
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Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin’d from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

- Alexander Pope

via rawstrokes.

4 years ago
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i thank You God for most this amazing

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

- ee cummings

4 years ago
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YHWH, Jan. 10

how we waste our breath
whiling away our lives
weeping, wishing, wanting
to achieve the wholly unnecessary!

when will we wise up?
it’s not all about us,
it’s about You, Hallelujah,

and Halve me.

4 years ago
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Premonition, Jul. 09

A pretty gray bird in a rusty pink cage fidgets
And flaps its wings, attempting to go somewhere
Not knowing, I am sure, that it can’t,
Only sure, I but guess, that it must.
And it fidgets.

I hear a rushing noise and the sky is white.
It grows louder and louder and whiter and whiter
A woman puts two umbrellas over her bicycle;
It’s not as hot inside as it was two hours ago.
And the white sky rushes.

Bullets go pip pip pip on the windowpane
And the black asphalt four floors below glistens.
The pigeon becomes still,
The flowers in the planter box come to life,
And my summer thunderstorm has come.

5 years ago
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Flowers, Apr. 09

He loves me, he loves me
This is he whom I have desired
All these years
to know. to Know.
But as all paradoxes go
that which I WANT! I cannot have
I think it’s part of Murphy’s Law?
This is he whom I have watched
Through thick, grimy glasses, tinted rose
Like the magnolias outside my third floor window
I could reach out and touch them,
But I cannot reach out and touch him.
Flowers. Nobody cares, I have discovered,
What a flower looks like, or how it feels,
for that matter.
He sees a still life photograph and thinks,
“What a nice still life photograph” and blinks
Completely oblivious to angle and lighting and texture and color and shape and size
and me
And color and shape and size, and how much effort the Artist
Must have put into her silly little snapshot.
You know, or even the real thing.
A vase filled with water and daffodils and ornamental ferns and ants
Took much more than shears to assemble
At least, I would assume so
This is he who praises a rose for her beauty simply because
She is a rose
And overlooks the bud beside her, green like an alien,
and blobby and stupid and utterly unappealing
But not for long! My time
Is coming and soon I will blossom into largest of them all,
The most beautiful, the most ravishing, the irresistible
Oh, oh, oh!
Not only will the lilies and the lotuses bow in my presence, they will
Shrivel and wither away, humbled! and humiliated!
Then he will be mine! The rose will pine,
He will embrace me as the carnations die.
This is he who will love me
Oh, yes! Yes!
And he will breathe in my Essence
And drink from my pool of Ambrosia
His soft lips brushing my pet-
His lovely lips will kiss my… the flower…
Me… ?
This is she, whose petals-
whose petals…
… not.

5 years ago
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O’Hare, Dec. 10

for Maisie.

I could say it was like falling into flames,
But it’s too cold for that. It’s freezing
And the fires have crystallized
Into ice-cold points of light
On the edge of sweeping darkness,
A lake filled to the brim with nothing.

A descent. Toward a galaxy of yellow stars
And beyond, maybe, definitely
Because these lights stretch on infinitely.
But they’re still near, now nearer still;
Passing, glowing, growing, and I know,
Or I get this feeling, that I’ve seen these lights before
In a dream, or maybe a screensaver (I swear,
Something was programmed or planned
As to their binary behavior:
Regularity and equidistance
In these latticework lights); parallel lines
Make unparalleled sight.

Magnify and zoom, and the frozen fires grow,
And they loom in the approaching distance.
Stars enlarge without resistance:
Gravity. The lake recedes behind me,
The city is beneath, but even then, retreating.
Suburbia draws near in its stead
Closer, darker, green and red,
Traffic lights where streets are marked
And gaping holes where trees are parked;
The yellow lights dot every street
Yet never did they give off heat;
Now, blue and white,
Cold like ice,
I think I spy
Christmas lights
     - transcended.
Night and snow
Down below
Rather close
Now I know:
     - we’ve landed.

3 years ago
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Day 30 - something that tickles my fancy. Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, recounts the creative process of American poet Ruth Stone- another way to think about “genius”. (start at 10:13)

And… I’m done! 30day challenge finished in almost exactly three months.

4 years ago
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If you can pronounce correctly every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world. After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud. Try them yourself.



Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

               — B. Shaw

Awesome! But, this being Shaw, I think it was written for British English. Try it, Annie :P

4 years ago
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Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost

4 years ago
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Voice Prayer (a poem)

I couldn’t figure out how to correctly format in tumblr, so I posted it on Facebook instead.

4 years ago
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New verses for “Give me oil in my lamp”

Give me gas for my Ford, keep me truckin’ for the Lord
Give me gas for my Ford, I pray (Hallelujah!)
Give me gas for my Ford, keep me truckin’ for the Lord
Keep me truckin’ ‘til the break of day!

Give me songs for my iPod and I will sing to you my God
Give me songs for my iPod, I pray (Hallelujah!)
Give me songs for my iPod and I will sing to you my God
I’ll be singin’ ‘til the break of day!

5 years ago
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Not Me, Mar. 09

I’m sorry
Enough of this nonsense. You-
with words too big for your mouth
that crumble as they leave it for want of
actual meaning, and any effect.
If from the overflow of the heart
the mouth speaks, then, yes
and you know this
Your, heart, is, empty,
Oh, that was slow and laborious and
much harder to get out than I had imagined
Touch taste terror Listen to what you’re saying!
Who are you talking to?
I just want to know. You see,
I think it’s me.
Pretty selfish, huh, and egocentric and all, and
all the while I justify this with
Oh Lord, how I wish it weren’t me!
Oh, pity and remonstrance
Well, there I go again…
Suppose it’s not. Say some otherbody decided
he won’t tune out your petty radio show
of mediocre quotidian miseries
as told in big words used incorrectly
and immigrant grammar that you stuttered into existence becauseyoutalktoofast.
Then what?
Then… then… then…
I must admit that then I would be jealous enough to
want to know whom, to know why, to know
what part I am supposed to play if
He eclipses me, always, like the volleyball passes
in front of the flashlight
Astronomy. Stars, constellations, UFO, the moon.
And I would be jealous enough to
resort to passive-aggressivity
I know- aggressiveness.
Writing you poems that you won’t read
Like those you write that I don’t read
You think I don’t read, anyway
We might as well leave it that way
Who are you talking to again?
Not me.
to hear that.

5 years ago
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