#geese are wild

[cash-111]

Animagus!Reader who’s a goose:

Theo: “Speak of the devil, look who had the guts of showing up after their heinous crimes”

Enzo (to Mattheo): “why is Theo mad at them again?”

Reader: “I was just being a silly goose”

Theo: “YOU STABBED ME WITH YOUR BLOODY BEAK! I HAVE BRUISES ALL OVER ME”

Mattheo : “… *reader*, you silly goose”

[wtf-amiru]

in case nobody has asked about this one for the ot3 asks already...

10. The three of them are having a picnic at a park. C is busy defending their food from a group of geese.

(this is such a weird prompt 🙈)

lmao, you may call this a weird prompt, as a Canadian I call this a normal day at the park.

"Well, no, it's not that, I'm used to having two things in my hands during combat, it's just the shield is so much bigger than what I'm used to."

"You swing around that great sword like it's nothing and you're going to complain about a shield?"

"I'm not complaining, I'm just saying it's different!" A'miru laughed as she flicked a carrot stick at G'raha who was sitting across from her on a blanket under the shade of a tree.

G'raha's face went from laughing as he dodged the carrot, to concerned as he focused on something behind her, "Should we help him? I feel like we should help him."

A'miru sighed and turned to see exactly what she expected, Thancred trying to defend himself from a rowdy goose with nothing but a bread roll to do it with.

"You told him no weapons," She could hear the smile in G'raha's voice.

"Because it's a picnic, we shouldn't need them. I also told him to leave the geese alone clearly, and specifically because they get mean." She complained halfheartedly.

"Get away from me you smarmy bastar- ah!" The goose lunged at Thancred, forcing him to run, and he took off toward the two miqo'te on the blanket.

"Fiiiine," A'miru sighed as she noticed his direction and pushed herself up off the blanket. She walked a few paces towards Thancred as he bolted past her, swooped one had down just in time to catch the goose's neck and tossed it to the side using it's own momentum. "Honestly, Thancred, it's just some geese." She quickly shot a glare at the group that was creeping up behind her, frightening them away again.

Thancred and G'raha were sharing the same look for a brief momentn. "Where'd you learn that?" Thancred panted, flopping himself down onto the blanket next to G'raha. "Made the same mistake at Lianhua's family farm when I was like 13" She chuckled, sitting back down across from them.

[minyicho]

Cape Barren goose (look at themmm!!)

Canadian goose (no.1 guard goose)

Barnacle goose (those are some cool looking stripes!)

Cackling goose (I bet this goose has a great cackle)

African goose (such elegance! and poise!)

Sebastopol goose (so floofy)

Egyptian goose (pretty colours!)

Ruddy-headed goose (check out that pattern!)

Bean goose (this looks like the kinda goose that would enjoy some beans)

Embden goose (the classic)

Toulous goose (majestic beasts)

feel free to reblog with your favourite geese that I might have missed!!

[lizlemondyke]

I think this is my favorite poem.

[petaltexturedskies]

Mary Oliver, from Wild Geese

[apoemaday]

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

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.

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a Young Poet / @dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition / Mary Oliver Wild Geese / @berecovered / pinterest / pinterest / K.C Cramm tender is not a bad word

[stuckinapril]

u do not have to be good. u do not have to walk on ur knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. u only have to let the soft animal of ur body love what it loves. tell me about despair, urs, and i’ll tell u mine. meanwhile the world goes on. meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscape, 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 u are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to ur imagination. calls to u like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—over and over announcing ur place in the family of things.

[joytri]

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

[lucky-clover-gazette]

(breath of the) wild geese by mary oliver

[juha-art]

neverafter // wild geese by mary oliver

[captain-let-me-help]

Nothing reminds me of Spock like "Wild Geese."

[minyicho]

I saw a cape barren goose for the first time today and they are now my new favourite birds

Look! They’re literally dinosaur!! I had to do a double take when I first saw one

And look how cute the chicks are!!!

[librarycards]

I enjoy many poets whose work I’d call “warm.” I love Billy Collins and Mary Oliver, for example, but I would not depend on them to tell me their whole truth. They prefer, perhaps, to please me, to wish me well, to enable me. There is a place for them on my shelves. After a hard day, tired in the evening, I will reach for them. But they don’t give me that shuddering thrill. They do not, like certain close friends of mine, stop me mid-sentence to challenge the bullshit I’ve been speaking. They do not lock eyes with me and tell me what’s really on their mind. They will never change my life. [...] Cold art, when it enacts the moment of death over and over, isn’t interested in death in itself, but wants to remind us of death. We are, as at a funeral, not the corpse but the attendees. The life force still surges within us. Cold art doesn’t urge us toward nihilism, but reminds us to live now, to get things done, that we are vital. This is the wisdom of it. Without such reminders we risk becoming fools, like Lear. Cold art is not harmful or bad at all, but provides a useful counterpoint to “happiness” in our society, which is severely overemphasized. Our existence naturally oscillates between warm and cold. This oscillation must be allowed, or the pendulum will break. When that deep cold is invoked—in a poem, a song, a painting, a voice on the subway—the windless ice forest wakes within me. And it’s in me always, the cold. The spiritual, psychic cold. While driving my motorcycle through the potholed streets of Philadelphia, while leading a poetry workshop, while chatting to my mother, while eating dinner, while watching Netflix with Tiina. That cold forest, its myriad frozen boughs, bristles within me.

John Wall Barger, In the Cold Theatre of the Poem.

[emphasis added]

[mr-shimurka]

Squishy ( – з–)

[rainreads]

turned 21 today :")

and re-reading mary oliver's "wild geese" to soothe my frightened little heart