beanewgirl

[beanewgirl]

[beanewgirl]

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Howl”

[beanewgirl]

Bon Soir ❤️🎤🎸🆕️

Lola Young 🎶 Messy

Live at Ina's Nacht

[beanewgirl]

hi!! could i request a webweave on feelings of intense rage, love, and a mixture of both? thanku <3

susan sontag as consciousness is harnessed to flesh: journals and notebooks, 1964-1980: "february 20th, 1970" (via @theoptia) \\ roger reeves best barbarian: "after death" \\ georgy nikolsky for pytor manteufel's tales of a naturalist \\ clarice lispector the hour of the star

buy me a dirty chai

[beanewgirl]

favourite poems of september

robin blaser the holy forest: collected poems of robin blaser: "[dear dusty moth]"

robin ekiss the mansion of happiness: "the bones of august"

e.e. cummings complete poems 1904-1962: "[anyone lived in a pretty how town]"

daisy fried econo motel, ocean city

david campos guilt shower and bad catholic

deborah a. miranda the zen of la llorona: "advice from la llorona"

v. penelope pelizzon blood memory

aimee nezhukumatathil invitation

jeffrey jullich portrait of colon dash paranthesis: "some materials may be inappropriate for children"

karina borowicz september tomatoes

patricia kirkpatrick survivor's guilt

kamau brathwaite born to slow horses: "i was wash-way in blood"

leslie adrienne miller the resurrection trade: "weaning"

allen edwin butt if briefly

gerrit lansing a february sheaf: selected writings, verse and prose: "how we sizzled in the pasture"

jayne cortez on the imperial highway: "in the morning"

stephen yenser preserves

ethan gilsdorf the imprint of september second

kathryn maris abc

paul zarzyski the antler tree

judith goldman vocoder: "rotten oasis"

tato laviera benedición: the complete poetry of tato laviera: "latero story"

tim seibles mosaic

ethan gilsdorf the imprint of september second

lucy wainger jiro dreams of sushi

robert duncan ground work: before the war: "a little language"

r.s. thomas the poems of r.s. thomas: "forest dwellers"

anthony wrynn saint john in the wilderness

reginald gibbons bear

walt whitman "are you the new person drawn toward me?"

kofi

[beanewgirl]

favourite poems of february

avery r. young peestain

claudine toutoungi future perfect

david rivard bewitched playground: "not guilty"

brian kim stefans the future is one of place

lisa gill post-traumatic rainstorm

clare pollard pinocchios

rebecca lindenberg love, an index: "catalogue of ephemera"

etel adnan the arab apocalypse: "xxxvi"

stanley moss god breaketh not all men's hearts alike: "a blind fisherman"

robert browning an epistle containing the strange medical experience of karshish, the arab physician

tom sleigh beirut tank

khaled mattawa ismailia eclipse: "date palm trinity"

mark levine unemployment (3)

lucia cherciu butter, olive oil, flour

reginald shepherd fata morgana: "you, therefore"

john updike claremont hotel, southwest harbour, maine

bruce smith the other lover: "february sky"

johnny cash forever words: the unknown poems: "don't make a movie about me"

eamon grennan what light there is & other poems: "jewel box"

eduardo c. corral in colorado my father scoured and stacked dishes

thomas mccarthy the beginning of colour

divya victor curb: "blood / soil"

henneh kyereh kwaku in praise

joanna fuhrman to a new era: "lavender"

rosemary catacalos sight unseen

sam willetts digging

megan fernandes winter

jaswinder bolina the plague on tv

juan felipe herrera notes on the assemblage: "almost livin' almost dyin'"

kofi

[beanewgirl]

Larry Sultan Portrait of My Father with Newspaper, 1988 Chromogenic print 28 5/8 x 34 5/8 inches

[beanewgirl]

Flight Mode

[beanewgirl]

2023／個展「陽炎」展示作品

[beanewgirl]

favourite poems of november

jesse patrick ferguson mama

a.e. stallings momentary

nate klug squirrels

fady joudah tell life

joyelle mcsweeney percussion grenade: "dear fi jae 2 (ms. merongrongrong)"

thomas james letters to a stranger: "mummy of a lady named jumtesonekh"

mukoma wa ngugi logotherapy: "i swear i see skulls coming"

kim hyesoon mama's expansion (tr. don mee choi)

nikki giovanni my house: "mothers"

harmony holiday gazelle lost in watts

calvin forbes mama said

marianne chan all heathens: "momotaro in the philippines"

richard speakes mama loves janis joplin

sara teasdale a november night

tyrone williams adventures of pi: "mama's boy"

reynolds price rescue

mary moore easter mama said...

frank stanford you: "faith, dogma, and heresy"

elinor wylie full moon

melissa johnson cancer voodoo: "mama's hair"

noor hindi breaking [news]

kemi alabi a financial planner asks about my goals, or golden shovel with cardi b's "money"

franny choi perihelion: a history of touch (this is one of my favourites)

james k. baxter selected poems: "wild bees"

kevin prufer black woods

evan kennedy the sissies: "(the) abashed"

jacob polley the house that jack built

primus st. john communion: poems 1976-1998: "after that"

frank stanford you: "freedom, revolt, and love"

monika sok bodhisattvas at the beach in november

kofi

[beanewgirl]

— Franny Choi, in “Perihelion: A History of Touch”

[beanewgirl]

Franny Choi, from "Perihelion: A History of Touch"

[beanewgirl]

how do i do it though. how do i let go of the bitterness and the hardness when they "tolerate” me for so long ? Loved ? No. The doors were close for me when I was with you but stayed opened to tell me “Leave”. What does it come when i leave? can it ever? What happened to me was from you.

[beanewgirl]

Nine Poems: Mary O'Malley, "Cealtrach" (3/9).

The children were never told about those places. The unbreachable silence of women protected us from terrible things.

We heard the dread whisperings

and people the swarming spaces with ghosts.

Yet we never knew. They buried unnamed innocents by the sea's edge and in the unchurched graveyards that straddled boundary walls. Those infants half-human, half-soul were left

to make their own way on the night shore.

Forbidden funerals, where did mothers do their crying in the two-roomed cottages so beloved of those Irish times?

Never in front of the living children.

Where then? In the haggard, the cowshed, the shadowed alcoves of their church?

That Christian religion was hard.

It mortified the flesh and left mothers lying empty, their full breasts aching, forever afraid of what the winter storms might yield, their own dreams turning on them like dogs.

Note: A cealtrach (the Irish word for "old burial ground") was a piece of unconsecrated ground designated for the burial of stillborn and/or unbaptised babies.

[beanewgirl]

My dog Squash has recently discovered the art of bone burying. Whenever I give her a bone she will spend a good hour or so looking for the perfect burying place. The order typically goes something like this: under the couch cushion, under the couch, under the kitchen broom, under the bedroom curtain, under the living room plant, behind the guitar, behind the suitcase, under the chair pillow, and then finally-always-she eventually decides to bury the bone under ME. Wherever I am sitting in the house, she will find me, jump up in the chair with me, and start burying the bone under one of my thighs. After that, every time, she jumps down, gives me a satisfied look, then falls asleep on the floor.

Lately I’ve been spending a good part of nearly every day thinking about love. Romantic love. The kind of love that involves french kissing and mix tapes and spooning in New York City in the summer when it’s by most people’s standards too disgustingly humid to spoon. The kind of love you wanna bring home to your grandma and say, “Grandma, look at this love! Just look at this LOVE!” Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…….and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

~ Andrea Gibson, “Bone Burying“

[beanewgirl]

~ Ocean Vuong, On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous