#Poetry

Ufff. What a poem. Each verse feels saturated with the bloody, neglected horrors of our own time — horrors I’m no doubt forcing into it, but can’t help seeing there Couldn't stop hearing the echoes of the present.

Beautiful poem. The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape, and lang'rous waist!

Beautiful. 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.

Damn. What a powerful poem. If there was ever a poem for the present moment. Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and…

A beautiful perspective on what poetry can do for us by Leila Chatti I have always put my faith in poetry, have come to it for answers. (I have never understood the shame, in poets, in admitting this.) And there was no one else, then, to turn to—the world closed, I lived inside…

The heart wants what it wants.

Rudyard Kipling, Michael Caine, and the Testicle-Punching Self-Help Industrial Complex I woke up and, like any good, sane, and sensible human being, I picked up my phone, headed to the commode, sat on the toilet, and started my productivity ritual of doomscrolling.