#bush poetry

[thewondermentofillustration]

The Old Wife and the New He sat beneath the curling vines That round the gay verandah twined, His forehead seamed with sorrow's lines, An old man with a weary mind. His young wife, with a rosy face And brown arms ambered by the sun, Went flitting all about the place- Master and mistress both in one. What caused that old man's look of care? Was she not blithe and fair to see? What blacker than her raven hair, What darker than her eyes might be? The old man bent his weary head; The sun light on his grair shonel His thoughts were with a woman dead And buried, years and years agone. The good old wife who took her stand Beside him at the altar-side And walked with him, hand clasped in hand, Through joy and sorrow till she died. Ah, she was fair as heart's desire, And gay, and supple-limbed, in truth, aAnd in his veins ther leapt like fire, The red-hot blood of lusty youth. She stood by him in shine and shade, And, when hard-beaten at his best, She took him like a child and laid His aching head upon her breast. She helped him make a little home Where once were gum-trees guant and stark, And bloodwoods waved green-feathered foam- Working from dawn of day to dark. Till that dark forest formed a frame For vineyards that the gods might bless, And what was savage once became An Eden in the wilderness. And how at first vintage time She laughed and sang- you see such shapes On vases of the Grecian prime - And danced a reel upon the grapes! And ever, as the years went on, All things she kept with thrifty hand, Till never shone the sun upon A fairer homestead in the land. Then children came - ah, me! ah, me! Sad blessings that a mother craves! That old man from the seat could see The shadows playing o'er their graves. And then she closed her eyes at last, Her gentle, useful peaceful life Was over - garnered with the past! God rest thee gently, Good Old Wife! His young wife with a rosy face, And laughs, the reddest lips apart, But cannot fill the empty place Whithin that old man's lonely heart. His young wife has a rosy face, And brown arms ambered by the sun, Goes flitting all about the place, Master and mistress both in one; But though she sings, or though she sighs, He sees her not - he sees instead A gray-haired Shade with gentle eyes- The good old wife, long dead, long dead.

He sits beneath the curling vines, Through which the merry sunrays dart, His forehead seamed with sorrow's lines - An old man with a broken heart. - Poem by Victor J. Daley (1858 – 1905), illustration by Benjamin Edwin Minns (1863-1937), The Lone Hand, Vol. 2 No. 12, 1st April, 1908

[magicovento]

ophelia by john everett millais/ kate bush "the ninth wave"

[angelforever]

you don’t want to be forgotten

you just want to disappear

[hellofunkytown]

you know, if only i could

i’d make a deal

for your soul

i’d take your burden

make a deal, with god

get him to swap our places

so you’ll get your picket fence

and i get eternal hell in the flames

(it’s what we deserve, you and me, sammy)

[horrorheights]

“His attention is like the sun, [...] Glorious at first, but then it just—burns.”

-the other lamb (2019)

[garadinervi]

The Voice of the Children, Collected by June Jordan and Terri Bush, Designed by Susan Mann, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York, NY, 1970 [then Washington Square Press, 1974]

[elliegoose]

banjo cover of against me!'s fuckmylife666 my beloved

[opalinedaydreams]

[ running up that hill, kate bush / secrets from a girl (who’s seen it all), lorde / funeral, phoebe bridgers / last hope, paramore / screenrant article ]

[thatsulleninhabitant]

sharon van etten, a crime || everything everywhere all at once || (myself) || bush, glycerine || fiona apple, love ridden || eternal sunshine of the spotless mind || salma deera, letters from medea

[toalloftheamericangirls]

army dreamers - kate bush

[motheyesofnight]

(from "Inside of the Lush Forest") you were just lying in there as a body you were just lying in there with silent breaths you were just lying in there with silent breaths, trembling with fear from a sign of someone you were just lying in there with silent breaths, being disgusted with the world and melting into the earth you were just lying in there with silent breaths, taking a peaceful nap you just arbitrarily lied down in there and rolled around, crushing all kinds of wild flowers you just arbitrarily lied down in there and were bitten by bees, a grasshopper and a mantis and cried like a kid you just arbitrarily lied down in there and were bitten by a snake and dying in vain you just arbitrarily lied down in there and were sleeping peacefully until the middle of the night.

[jc7005]

Louigan Week Day 2: Idea/Pretend

This one’s been bouncing around in my head for way to long so what better day to send it out into the world.

[blejangeo]

‘The thing about us humans is that we consider ourselves it, that we know everything. I think we’re abusing our power and are guided by things we don’t know about that are much stronger then us. But you can’t label them if you don’t know what they are.’

-Kate Bush (Trouser press, July ‘78)

[garadinervi]

June Jordan, The Voice of the Children (1967), in Civil Wars, Beacon Press, Boston, MA, 1981, pp. 29-38

Plus: The Voice of the Children, Collected by June Jordan and Terri Bush, Designed by Susan Mann, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York, NY, 1970 [then Washington Square Press, 1974]

[holesss]

Caroline Polachek // Kate Bush // FKA Twigs // Fiona Apple // Warsan Shire

[honeyednotes]

Waiting

the clicking trill of a bush cricket sounds against the night like a car alarm, loud and insistent, waiting for someone to notice and turn him off

but his calls go straight to voicemail everytime, no matter how much he rings

so he hangs up and tries again, permitting a few moments of silence while he redials the only number he knows

the shrill dial tone picks up where it left off, deafening in it's proximity as he calls out again into the night

waiting

by Brie Thomson