inthedelectablemountains - Tumblr blog

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natalie salbieva

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Elmer Livingston MacRae 

“Holyhocks”

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John William Waterhouse

"Head of a girl"

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Thomas Cole 

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Peter Clark

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Stephen Mackey Invisible Song

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Jules Tavernier - A Balloon in Mid-Air

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Isabel Codrington

“Evening” (1925)

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Interior; Tea Number Three

Margaret Green, 1958

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“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

Emily Dickinson

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The Thinker

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pom-poms. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides. All night they lie together under her bed’s edge. Shivering I catch sight of them and smile, in the morning. Later I watch them descending the stair, hurrying through the doors and round the table, moving stiffly with a shake of their gay pom-poms! And I talk to them in my secret mind out of pure happiness.

William Carlos Williams

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Beware the barrenness of a busy life

Socrates

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Sergei Poulunin dancing to Take me To Church by Hozier

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Diarmuid Kelley. b.1972. Martina, 2012

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Landscape at St Remy

Vincent Van Gogh, 1886

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The Matador of Metaphor

The grapefruit in the Florida orchard has ripened into a globe in Hartford for him to look at, not to eat. If he had a tin can he would beat it as a drummer in a band beats his drum and steadily with a swish and sometimes a gong. It’s his wish to escape from gray walls and sky into a Denmark of the inner eye or a bullring south of the border or a sky espied from the trenches of a battlefield in Flanders. Wenches wander into his wonderland. Order is disorder squared. We are nowhere else but here, yet live we do in metaphor like that elegant square-shouldered matador.

David Lehman