Miroslav Holub, from “Interferon”

(translated by Dana Habova and David Young)

(Source: awritersruminations, via uncurlingocean)

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes, 
over the prairies and the deep trees, 
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 
the world offers itself to your imagination, 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over, announcing your place
In the family of things. 

Mary Oliver - Wild Geese

(Source: honeyforthehomeless)

It is so hard to try reading lovely lesbian poetry in the gym

While watching your skin against muscled body

All flex and press poetic in ways that women’s’ words cannot.

Am I glowing with the flush of aerobic activity or attraction?

I’ve been running towards you for 22 minutes 43 seconds

Without getting any closer to being snuggled in your sinew!

How handy that I may measure my heart rate

But alas you’ve skewed my average BPM!

My pulse erratic on endorphins, epinephrine, eros.

Are you aware of my view as you do those horizontal leg curls?

Lecherous leg curls, you flaunt wicked in my mind.

(Don’t stop. Please, never stop toning those glutes.)

You catch my glance for a rep before I fall back to my pages.

Don’t mind me! I’m just burning while reading poetry!

(the poetry of your body’s muscle angled skin).

(Source: norathexplorer)

(Source: youarenotdead.com)

“There Where the Waves Shatter” by Pablo Neruda

Read by Andrew Scott.

(Source: axemurderess, via londonmist)

(Source: nevver, via buried-denmark)

(Source: clavicola)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

~ e. e. cummings

And keep him there; and let him thence escape

If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape

Flood, fire and demon - his adriot designs

Will strain to nothing in the strict confines

Of this sweet Order, where, in pious rape,

I hold his essence and amorphous shape,

Till he with Order mingles and combines.

Past are the hours, the years, of our duress,

His arrogance, our awful servitude:

I have him. He is nothing more nor less

Than something simple no yet understood;

I shall not even force him to confess;

Or answer. I will only make him good.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

(via clavicola)

Every Thing On It, a collection of never-before-published poems and drawings by the late, great Shel “Uncle Shelby” Silverstein, was released today via HarperCollins.

The book includes 145 poems, including the bittersweet “Years From Now,” which reads: “Although I cannot see your face / As you flip these poems awhile / Somewhere from some far-off place / I hear you laughing—and I smile.”

(Source: nprfreshair, via thedailywhat)

She pulls you close
She breathes in short bursts
Her eyes close
Her head tilts back
Her mouth opens slightly
Her thighs turn to steel, and then melt
She is perfect, and you feel like you are everything. 

— Henry Rollins

(Source: wookiebits, via callifone)

(Source: misswallflower)

(Source: lenitive, via uncurlingocean)