#Elizabeth Bishop

[mournfulroses]

Elizabeth Bishop, from The Selected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop; "The Burglar of Babylon,"

[firstfullmoon]

Elizabeth Bishop, “Breakfast Song”

[apoemaday]

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three beloved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

[catsofyore]

Elizabeth Bishop and her cat, Minnow. Source.

[apoemeveryday]

insomnia by elizabeth bishop

[rosalie-starfall]

Miranda Otto & Glória Pires

Reaching for the Moon (Flores Raras) - 2013

[meganwhalenturner]

[havingapoemwithyou]

breakfast song by Elizabeth Bishop

[bitch-we-have-a-hulk]

[notsosecretlyalesbian]

Reaching for the Moon (2013) dir. Bruno Barreto

The Shampoo by Elizabeth Bishop

The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric shocks. They have arranged to meet the rings around the moon, although within our memories they have not changed.

And since the heavens will attend as long on us, you've been, dear friend, precipitate and pragmatical; and look what happens. For Time is nothing if not amenable.

The shooting stars in your black hair in bright formation are flocking where, so straight, so soon? --Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin, battered and shiny like the moon.

[sashayed]

The Shampoo

The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric shocks. They have arranged to meet the rings around the moon, although within our memories they have not changed.

And since the heavens will attend as long on us, you’ve been, dear friend, precipitate and pragmatical; and look what happens. For Time is nothing if not amenable.

The shooting stars in your black hair in bright formation are flocking where, so straight, so soon? – Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin, battered and shiny like the moon.

Elizabeth Bishop 1955

[mournfulroses]

Elizabeth Bishop, from The Selected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop; "Songs for a Colored Singer,"

[firstfullmoon]

when elizabeth bishop said “when you write my epitaph, you must say I was the loneliest person who ever lived”

[apoemaday]

Rain Towards Morning

by Elizabeth Bishop

The great light cage has broken up in the air, freeing, I think, about a million birds whose wild ascending shadows will not be back, and all the wires come falling down. No cage, no frightening birds; the rain is brightening now. The face is pale that tried the puzzle of their prison and solved it with an unexpected kiss, whose freckled unsuspected hands alit.

[quiltedlovers]

elizabeth bishop’s “one art” (images 1, 3, 6) in conversation with heather maloney’s “all in your name” (images 2, 4, 5)

[agent-troi]

thinking about how peter noticed that olivia was acting different after they came back from the other side but he kept ignoring the differences bc that’s what walter and elizabeth taught him to do after walter took him and they gaslit him into thinking he was imagining them so he learned not to trust his own judgement