#do you have a favorite poem???

[alrightbuckaroo]

ada!!! i was thinking about your post with poems you think the lone star characters would love, and for nice ask week i was wondering if you have any others you’d add to that list? or if there’s any you really love that you think capture certain characters/relationships on the show? always love to see your recs :’) <3 —maddie/reyesstrand

Maddie!! I love this question so much so thank you for asking it!! <3

I actually planned to make a part two, especially since it's National Poetry Month, but it got a bit away from me so I'm taking this opportunity to just ramble (godspeed to whoever reads this):

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver is one of the most Carlos-coded poems you'll ever have the pleasure of reading. Or maybe it's not, but after using it as basically a thesis for tender eyes that shine, I've decided that it was written for him. Especially:

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.

Hello?? That's Carlos Tomás Reyes in his purest form!

Oh TK, our hopeless romantic self deprecating boy. I think I'm going to give him Molly Brodak by Molly Brodak, one of my favorite poems that makes me want to burst into tears each and every time I read it. When I think of him, I specifically think of the ending, but I think the whole thing could ring true to him:

I am a good man.  The amount of fear  I am ok with   is insane.   I love many people   who don't love me.   I don't actually know   if that is true.  This is love.   It is a mass of ice  melting. I can't hold   it and I have nowhere   to put it down. 

Nancy is absolutely getting Aileen Wuornos Takes A Lover Home by Olivia Gatwood because it's one of my favorites and Nancy's one of my favorites, it only makes sense! I think the ending would really get to her in a way she didn't expect, and I don't blame her, because this is the ending:

In a phone call tapped by police, Aileen called Tyria her right arm, her left arm, her breath, how all Tyria could say back was Please tell them, please say it out loud. But Aileen didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to talk about love. So Tyria would hang up, unsuccessful, and the officer would tell her to Say it like this, tell her she’ll get off, tell her it won’t be so bad. But how, each time, for three days straight, the police listened to Aileen talk about love. About her right arm. Her left arm. Her breath. Her breath. Her breath.

Actually going to tag @sznofthesticks because I feel like you would love this poem as well, and you'll agree that Nancy would love it too.

This is cheating but this song is so poetic I'm going to call it a poem. Owen would listen to You Are Your Mother's Child by Conor Oberst and he would want to sob but then he'd get cry lines. I think the whole thing is so Owen-coded but this part especially:

Out on the diamond, and you're up to bat Chewing your Big League, adjusting your hat Taking a swing and hearing it crack Look at that apple fly Tears will dry if you give them time Life's a roller coaster, keep your arms inside Fear, that's a big emotion But you are your mother's child And she'll have you for a while But someday, you'll be grown Then you'll be on your own

You could tell me Judd wrote I Am Offering this Poem under the pseudonym Jimmy Santiago Baca and I'd believe you. I'd believe he wrote while looking at Grace when she wasn't even looking at him because it has Judd all over it like:

Keep it, treasure this as you would if you were lost, needing direction, in the wilderness life becomes when mature; and in the corner of your drawer, tucked away like a cabin or hogan in dense trees, come knocking, and I will answer, give you directions, and let you warm yourself by this fire, rest by this fire, and make you feel safe                         I love you,

That's Judd!

Tommy would adore Every Job Has A First Day by Rebecca Gayle Howell. There's a cozy feeling to it, but the final words hold such a heavy weight that I think Tommy would appreciate and carry with her:

I listened as he taught me to relax the hand just enough. They can smell, he said, the oils our pores release when we tense to catch. You have to believe it, he said. You don’t mean any harm.

Speaking of Rebecca's, Marjan is giving me You Are the Penultimate Love of My Life by Rebecca Hazelton vibes in the best way. Maybe it's the romanticizing of something that has an inevitable ending but I feel like this would be Marjan's approach to a break-up, especially this part:

                                             The garden you plant and I plant                               is tunneled through by voles,                                                              the vowels                                                              we speak aren’t vows,                but there’s something                               holding me here, for now,

I feel like Paul, like me, would love the work of Cameron Awkward Rich, but specifically The Child Formerly Known As____ and even more specifically, the ending:

 & in the end, isn’t that what we all want?                         To not feel so split?                          To carry an image of ourselves                                                 inside ourselves & know exactly what we mean             when we say I—         .                      I—                               .                              I— ?

I think Mate would love getting the chance to read Prayer for Werewolves by Stephanie Burt because I think he would see so much of himself in it. Stumbling and tumbling trying to find himself somewhere and eventually finding the place where he belongs. I also feel like he loves the supernatural and the first part of this poem would feel like a gut punch:

Someone will probably love you for who you are.    If not, you’ll still find friends, friends who, given time, or given warning,    will probably gather around you, hold your hands, and wrap you in soft coats and blankets till the violence    inside your body ends.

Finally, my beloved Grace, is things i want to ask you by Helga Flores because I feel like the poem is just a list of things running through Grace's mind when she only knew Judd by voice, but that first one in particular:

i want to ask you what god feels like.

You've reached the end of my exhaustive essay that would probably keep going if I didn't reign myself in. I hope you liked these, they're some of my favorites <3

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

arches and light: the fiction of john gardner (1983) - david cowart

"one decade at freddy's" !!!!!

[bloomdoom1]

I wonder what I look like in your eyes

[whaliiwatching]

other lives and dimensions and finally a love poem…

[rogloptimist]

you will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again // kasia niewiadoma

kasia would you accept this as a marriage proposal? (EDITED BECAUSE I’M STUPID AND FORGOT TO PUT IN A FEW IMAGES)

untitled - tumblr user @waitingforthesunrise // 'i lost the faith that i could still do it' - kasia niewiadoma conquers the 'mountain of emotions' for tour de france triumph - anne marije rook // pauliena rooijakkers and demi vollering - stage 8, tour de france femmes 2024 (gruber images) // kasia niewiadoma - stage 8, tour de france femmes 2024 (gruber images) // kasia niewiadoma and elisa longo borghini - tour of flanders 2024 (gruber images) // getting closer: kasia niewiadoma on remaining optimistic about her own victory after a promising flanders podium - rachel jary // kasia niewviadoma - strade bianche donne 2024 // kasia niewviadoma - stage 7, tour de france femmes 2023 (jojo harper nielsen) // kasia niewiadoma, elisa longo borghini and shirin van anrooij - tour of flanders 2024 // kasia niewiadoma - stage 7, tour de france femmes 2023 (jojo harper nielsen) // kasia niewiadoma - strade bianche donne 2024 // heartbroken katarzyna niewiadoma breaks down in tears after narrowly missing podium at strade bianche donne 2024 - kieran wood // kasia niewiadoma's results records - procyclingstats // kasia niewiadoma is cycling's latest example for why you should never give up - robyn davidson // kasia niewiadoma - la fleche wallonne feminine 2024 (getty images) // "i have failed many times... but i never stopped believing"-- emotional katarzyna niewiadoma finally gets much-deserved win at la fleche wallonne femmes - kieran wood // kasia niewiadoma - podium ceremony, la fleche wallonne feminine 2024 // kasia niewiadoma - uci gravel championships 2023 // kasia niewiadoma - stage 8, tour de france femmes 2024 (gruber images) // kasia niewiadoma wins closest four de france ever - andy mcgrath // stubbornness, soul, and spirit: kasia niewiadoma has earned the tour de france spotlight - rachel jary // kasia niewiadoma - stage 8, tour de france femmes 2024 (gruber images)

title is the brothers karamzov by fyodor dostoyevsky

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #19: A poem recounting a historical event

To a Man Commenting Upon Lincoln's Homely Features

Abraham Lincoln knew quite well He had never been beauty-graced. When Douglas met him in debate And told him he was quite two-faced, Old Lincoln made a quick reply With his usual sense of fun: "If I'd another face to wear, Do you think I would wear this one?"

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"Nothing of him that doth fade, / But doth suffer a sea-change / Into something rich and strange."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

Shakespeare resource where you can search all of his works for a specific word of phrase

[silverskye13]

and death shall have no dominion by dylan thomas

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

By Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

Under the windings of the sea

They lying long shall not die windily;

Twisting on racks when sinews give way,

Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;

Faith in their hands shall snap in two,

And the unicorn evils run them through;

Split all ends up they shan't crack;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

No more may gulls cry at their ears

Or waves break loud on the seashores;

Where blew a flower may a flower no more

Lift its head to the blows of the rain;

Though they be mad and dead as nails,

Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;

Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,

And death shall have no dominion.

[phtalogreenpoison]

Hello! What is the Starless Sea about?/anything you want to share about it to someone who has not read it?

OK SO...

Get ready for a ramble.

It is a story about stories. A story about a man who finds himself within that story. And the person he meets and falls in love with. But time and fate conspire to keep them apart, unless they are supposed to forge their own new ground? A story about betrayal and love and meetings and partings. And books. So, so many books. With stories that take place in the real world and some that can only be imagined. But you never know when the story is starting or ending, and if you do, that changes your entire perspective of it. Take it, breathe it in, exhale, and repeat. You might just find yourself with a new heart. A heart of gold and a low hum.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Sometimes, I will come across your blog and read certain tags on certain pairs because, What? What? How are your thoughts my thoughts? How is someone else expressing (so perfectly) what I thought existed only in my head? The references (warm leftovers, please. Feel horribly proprietary over that poem.), the memes, the word choices. I know we all grew up on the same internet, but it's like we grew up in the same corner.

It rattles me each time it happens and yet, the next time I return, and wander through, reading along as if we were walking through my local arboretum and you were rambling and I was nodding along. Consider this ask my version of a reply in the arboretum world.

i-

when i got this i just had to sit there and read your message a few times because that is one of the loveliest compliments i’ve ever gotten and i hope you know i am overjoyed to be here rambling to you 💕 to have touched you in some way!! to form a connection!!! and all i can say is thank you and i love you and i would love to go for a walk in the arboretum with you any time

[dont-read-this-im-dead]

Every time I start rewatching Doctor Who, I get this urge to write poems about the companions.

[kenobihater]

could you tell me more about vaslav nijinsky? I'm also bipolar and your posts/tags about him have piqued my interest

bipolar gang!! and i'm far from an expert, i really just know of him from the frank bidart poem the war of vaslav nijinsky and some cursory wikipedia research following me devouring said poem. it's a masterful poem, but tws for abuse and mental breakdowns. i do know that @sneakysnijinskyresearch has compiled a bunch of things on him for research on a student film, so i'd head there if you want a list of resources that can do him justice! nijinsky also wrote a diary while psychotic which has been published and i just found out about today. i'm ordering the unexpurgated edition :^)

[jackinalex]

[lunar-lair]

so i have two (2) submas poems for you on this fine day. they are both in the exact same vein but the first works with the interpretation that ingo is truth and emmet is ideals and the other is vice versa. enjoy :)

---

They are black.

And white.

And yin, and yang, and fire, and electricity.

Alone they are all color,

Or the lack of it.

Together, they are all and none,

Everything and nothing.

Grey, mixed together by the gods.

Mixed together by the legends.

Mixed together by the princes.

Mixed together by the boys themselves.

Grey, mixed.

They should have never been black and white again.

They never thought they could be.

They thought the gods the legends the princes their very own small learning fire-red and electric-yellow hands would hold it, hold it firm and steady and tight til the day their bones rotted in the earth.

They are black.

And white.

And god,

They are not grey.

The god,

What have you done?

What has your kin wrought?

Wrought law breaking undefinable, a curse neverending.

They are black.

And white.

And yin and yang and one and the other and they are alone.

There should have been no such thing as alone for the two of them.

One without the other is a terror they never thought they would face.

A dancer without their feet.

One without the other is a singer without their voice.

A piano without its bench.

A musician with no instrument.

A conductor with no train.

A trainer, with no Pokemon to care for.

Things that are easy to lose, things they never thought could compare to them, and yet and yet and yet.

Worthless, useless, missing missing missing.

The singer is without their voice.

The dancer is without their feet.

The bird is without its nest.

The musician is without their instrument.

The fire is without its electricity, staticky and bright. The electricity is without its fire, solid and warm. The grey has been impossibly, irrevocably, intrinsically torn, torn at the seams by a vengeful god, a vengeful world, one that wishes to defy all law. They are without their voice and their feet and their piano and their bench and their backyard tree and their lantern and bird and they are torn terrified

Frozen.

They are frozen.

Rotting slowly in the frigid cold of their separation, frostbitten and decomposing, burning and broken and alive.

Tears fall and turn to ice.

One dragon.

Two, and a hollow shell.

Grey, and the wretched mechanisms used to cleave it apart again.

Grey, and the horrible day it faded away.

Grey, and the horrible day one became everything. Everything they'd known, everything they'd remembered, every ideal they'd held.

Grey, and the horrible day one became nothing. Nothing of what he'd ever known, remembering nothing, knowing only the truth of this empty world around him.

The hollow third rests in the air. In their minds, on heavy shoulders, in ice grey eyes.

It is rotting them from the inside out.

Ice. Ice fire cannot melt, ice electricity cannot break.

The ice that rests betwixt their ribs. The ice that burns behind their eyes.

Omnipresent. Ever reminding of the other of themselves of the other. Ever wailing of the grey and its horrid misplacement, in the crevice of time, in the crevice of space, and truth and ideals and the chaos god, the Almighty himself.

The Almighty himself, who made them grey. The Almighty himself, who made them everything and nothing yet again. The Almighty himself, the bastard, the betrayer, the summoner of ice, forever and always and now and then.

Almighty Sinnoh, what have you done?

Arceus, what have you wrought?

Grey, never again.

They are black.

And white.

That is forever their binding fate.

---

the god has torn them apart.

the god,

and his devil,

and his right hand men.

grey, wrenched impossibly into two.

grey, forced apart again into black and white.

grey, forced apart into ideals without truth,

forced apart into truth without ideals.

the fire rages without its static.

the electricity fizzles out without its flame.

the man in white mourns a brother lost.

the man in black wonders what is gone.

two princes once tore grey apart,

extracted black from white and white from black,

fought over one half and another,

and a hollow shell followed.

that was right.

that was natural.

that was a result of an argument ill made.

that was the consequences of ideals and truth, at war.

ideals and truth were one.

ideals and truth were a mirror.

ideals and truth were in harmony.

the twins were grey, a perfect shade.

but the god said no.

why?

why must you pilfer perfection?

why must you take it,

from our warm hands and our bright eyes and our grey, grey hearts?

they beat as one,

in time,

a dancer and their step,

a bird and their song,

a piano and their bench,

a time made and a beat kept.

but the god said no.

forsaken.

forbidden.

forgiven, for it was not his fault.

for the living, as they are.

the man in white mourns a brother lost.

the man in black wonders what is gone.

and the electricity fizzles out,

whispering into the night.

and the flame burns all around it,

crying out at the sky.

sinnoh.

arceus.

god.

what is the meaning of self-inflicted blasphemy?

[rosicheeks]

oh yes you were at court! i forgot that was at the start of that post lmao. i've been to court twice when i was super young for drinking underage and then smoking lool it was so boring and long and shit but thankfully you were just there for moral support, i hope it wasen't such a bad thing your friend had to deal with! I remember seeing you post about moving but i forget if it was TO or AWAY from your parents but that clears it up. I totally get you on that though, i'm living at home right now and i feel kind of similar about not feeling comfortable in your own home. Its a bit different for me, but similar enough. Hell my stepdad even sleeps in the living room too! hes always done that so ive always felt like i had to be on eggshells when night time hit. I used to sneak smoking in the backyard back in the day myself, i got caught once when i was in highschool he made me throw all my pieces out which sucked big time. ahhh i love that, art! you should totally show more stuff on here too, at least if you're comfortable and its not stuff you'd wanna sell, i would absolutely love to see any of it 🖤i've dabbled in writing poems and things i planned to make songs, although only recently. I've always wanted to be a musician but my attempts at learning guitar over the years have never ended up lasting long and i try to learn singing but i just dont really think i can. plus i was always afraid of self expression so i never wrote until a few years ago. i still do, because music is so important to me (which is why i did pick 🎤!) and it makes me so happy but yeah. i have 2 shows im headed to in a few months even so im so excited 🥰my day though has been so boring, i mostly played video games and watched youtube videos. watched another episode of a show i've been watching called Silo, which i absolutely love. im so surprised you had room in your tags still after myself lmao, but i do that same thing i always talk in the tags! also i'm giving you tons of hugs and kisses 😘🥰 - 🎤

Hi hi hi ☺️ how are you doing lovely? 🥰

[therehavebeenstranger]

Poem V (F) W

by Frank O'Hara

I don’t know if you doubt it but I think you do I am independent of the Cabaret Voltaire the Café Grinzing the Black Cat the anubis two parallel lines always meet except mentally which brings on their quarrels and if I sit down I admit it is not at a table underneath elms to read you were walking down a street softened by rain and your footsteps were quiet and I came around the corner inside the room to close the window and thought what a beautiful person and it was you no I was coming out the door and you looked sad which you later said was tired and I was glad you had wanted to see me and we went forward back to my room to be alone in your mysterious look among the relics of postwar hysterical pleasures I see my vices lying like abandoned works of art which I created so eagerly to be worldly and modern and with it what I can’t remember I see them with your eyes

(as printed in The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara ed. Donald Allen)