#Lifesaving Poems

[breakingbobcat]

Lifesaving Poems: Essential Poems for Hard Times

[anthonywilson]

Uniformed comedians

I’ve been saying Tom Paulin’s line about ‘uniformed comedians’ a lot this summer. I don’t really want to go into the details, except to say that we had need of them. ‘We’ as in not me directly, but those who are dearest to me. I’ve blogged about the poem here before. A poem that’s been in my life for almost 40 years and which I’m finally beginning to understand. In the words of Mark Halliday,…

[boopydoopydoop]

The Quiet Love of Strangers

no one is unloved,

though love's not always known.

in this world of many billions,

you're never quite alone.

tell me, have you ever had

that feeling in your chest?

a love for all your fellow man,

The flawed through to the best.

have you ever given comfort,

to a stranger you don't know?

Or given one a compliment,

And watched their smile grow?

do you feel for people hurting,

Without needing their name?

Encourage those in hardships,

Just because you've felt the same?

These things are love for fellow man.

It's not unique to you!

they're feelings shared by many,

which means you're cared for too.

And what a joy to know!

That despite its pain and dangers;

The world is oh so filled,

with the quiet love of strangers.

[fwoopersongs]

卜算子·我住长江头 - Song of Divination · I live at the Long River’s head

by 李之仪 (Li Zhiyi, 1048 to 1117)

我住长江头 君住长江尾 wǒ zhù chángjiāng tóu, jūn zhù chángjiāng wěi I live at the Long River’s head, you live at the Long River’s tail end.

日日思君不见君 共饮长江水 rì rì sī jūn bùjiàn jūn, gòng yǐn chángjiāng shuǐ Day after day, missing you but not seeing you, together, in the Long River’s water we partake.

此水几时休 此恨何时已 cǐ shuǐ jǐ shí xiū, cǐ hèn hé shí yǐ The time when the water’s flow ceases is when resentment for this passes.

只愿君心似我心 定不负相思意 Zhǐ yuàn jūn xīn sì wǒ xīn, dìng bù fù xiāng sī yì May your heart be as mine. The love from which this longing springs shall not be in vain.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Notes

TITLE

The tune pattern for this song is卜算子, commonly translated as Song of Divination. The character卜 (bǔ) is a pictogram often explained as a representation of the cracks that appear on scorched tortoise shells, one of the methods of ancient Chinese divination. And to 算 (suàn), to calculate, is of course another method of divination. There are some different opinions of what this tune pattern is named for. Some say that 子 does not refer to a person, and instead is short for 曲子 - a little song, some say it’s named for ‘a person who does divinations’. Undeniably, there is divination in the name, and a ci is a song. So that’s what I went with!

There are several famous songs with this tune pattern, by Su Shi / Su Dongpo and by Lu You (we should know him quite well by now), of which I would say Li Zhiyi’s might be the most simple yet deeply romantic. This is probably why it’s super famous… that and the fact that it’s in the 300 Song Lyric collection.

// random thought re: 300 Tang Poems, 300 Song Lyrics, 300 Yuan Songs, maybe they were all collected into these anthologies of 300+ works because the Classic of Poetry was originally called 300 Poems?

I love Su Shi’s song for it’s stubborn loneliness in the cold and also its calm. But Lu You’s is just !!!!!!!!!! makes me want to curl around it like a loving cat. Thinking about them both makes me want to share them too!!! 

Some other day perhaps. 

These are so famous I had no idea they were all using the same tune pattern - and I can’t explain how this one works because Song lyric tune patterns are still a mystery to me. Will share if I ever figure it out, but yeah… I’m nowhere near that point now ahahah. 

BACKGROUND

Li Zhiyi, courtesy name - Duanshu, was a poet of the Northern Song Dynasty and an important member of the Su Dongpo circle. 

(My man Su Shi was very popular and very beloved in his time with many students and even more admirers, we have talked about how he made friends wherever he gets exiled, how he has a good sense of humor and makes fun of himself too). 

Born in 1048 and later becoming a student of Fan Chunren, son of Fan Zhongyan (also a very cool dude! He writes amazing things /cough不以物喜不以己悲cough/, so let’s talk about him someday ~) and passed the imperial exams to become a jinshi in the year 1070 at the age of 22.

Sixteen years later in 1086, Fan Chunren effectively became the prime minister while Li Zhiyi became a scribe at a military division for the central government, and then magistrate for Yuan Prefacture not long after. It was after this time that he began interacting frequently with Su Shi, Huang Tingjian and others from that clique. Li Zhiyi also worked for Su Shi in his Governer’s Office while he was the Governor for Ding Prefecture. 

(From Su Shi’s Baidu entry: In 1093, Empress Dowager Gao passed away, so Emperor Zhezong was in power and the new faction rose in prominence again. Su Shi was eventually relegated far from the capital to Hui Province in 1094, and then Hainan Island in 1097.) 

And so, in 1099, when Li Zhiyi was promoted to supervisor for the vault for incense herbs - a subdivision under the Minister of Revenue, he was censured for once working for Su Shi and suspended from his position. Unfortunately for him, at some point afterwards, he was recommended for the position of Envoy for Hedong (here’s an interesting article in Chinese on the position of Envoy), but struck from the list when he offended the new prime minister in 1101 with an epitaph for Fan Zhongyan, the use of which was disallowed, and was exiled for a time. At least that’s what I’m interpreting from 东都事略, Summary of Events in the Eastern Capital, a book chronicling Northern Song dynasty (960–1126) history, written by Wang Cheng, a Southern Song official in the historiographic compilation bureau.

He was then posted with his family to Taiping Province, where he stayed for four years. In his own words as referenced from 姑溪居士文集, Collected Works of Guxi Hermit, Volume 1 Chapter 21: In the first year, his son and daughter in law left this world, in the second, he fell ill, Spring and Summer passed like trudging through water and he was doing very poorly, in the third year, his wife died too. In the beginning of the fourth year, he suffered from a skin disease and other conditions. 

From 挥麈录 Records of a Horsetail Wisk by Wang Mingqing, a court official of the Southern Song Dynasty, Chapter 6, it seems Li Zhiyi was eventually reinstated as a court official after he was granted amnesty. Cross referencing with events in Emperor Huizhong of Song's rule (he was half-brother of Emperor Zhezong and succeeded the throne after his brother’s death in 1100), it seems that in 1107, there was to be a change of Era Name in the next year and the Emperor had offered sacrifices to the Jade Emperor, Haotian Shangdi (the highest deity in Daoism and Chinese religion from Tang Dynasty onwards); a general amnesty was granted to all as well. But Li Zhiyi did not return to his post, and instead remained in Taiping Prefecture. And this is where someone new and important enters the picture. 

Backtracking five years to 1102, Yang Shu (杨姝) was a courtesan of Taiping Prefecture at this time. We know more about her because Huang Tingjian, courtesy name Luzhi, the well known calligrapher, artist, scholar, government official, and poet of Song Dynasty (mentioned earlier as being close to Su Shi, just in case you forgot), wrote her several poems while he was Prefect there for nine days in 1102. 

Who else was in Taiping Prefecture in 1102? That’s right! Our friend Li Zhiyi.

They played a little poetry writing game, the results of which were recorded in his Collected Works of Guxi Hermit, Chapter 47 as well: 好事近 · 与黄鲁直于当涂花园石洞听杨妹弹履霜操鲁直有词因次韵, (To the tune of) Good Tidings Approach · With Luzhi at Dangtu Garden’s Stone Cave Listening to Yang Shu Pluck Treading in the Frost, Luzhi has lyrics for doing a ciyun. This ciyun just involves writing lyrics according to the rhyme pattern of the original lyric; usually one person writes the first and then another composes a reply in the same pattern. In this case, Huang Tingjian went first, and Li Zhiyi followed. (Let me know if you’d like to see what they wrote!)

During that same period, or perhaps thinking of this day some time after, Li Zhiyi wrote her two more poems to the tune of popular songs. Huang Tingjian wrote one for her as well, calling her a ‘little singer’ in the short prelude to his lyric 好事近, 太平州小妓杨姝弹琴送酒, (To the tune of) Good Tidings Approach, Taiping Prefecture’s Little Singer Yang Shu Plays the Qin and Brings Wine.

And again, from Records of a Horsetail Wisk, we learn that Li Zhiyi, childless and widowed, remarried Yang Shu and brought her home. He was in his late fifties, probably nearing his sixties by this point, and she was his junior by many decades. Miraculously, they had a child together. But it was also this union that was the soft target for trouble to be brought upon them some ten years later - Guo Xiangzheng (郭祥正) who was an enemy of Li Zhiyi had someone accuse their family of falsifying the parentage of this child, such that he could be conferred privileges. (And I assume this is because Li Zhiyi is technically still a court official? If it was something else, I’m unable to track it down…) For the second or third time - I’ve lost count - Li Zhiyi’s name was struck from the court’s records and Yang Shu was sentenced to caning. 

We have a poem from the delighted Guo Xiangzheng to learn of the aftermath:

七十馀岁老朝郎 | Seventy and more, the old court official, 曾向元祐说文章 | in Yuanyou era, essays he did compose. 如今白首归田�� | Now white-haired and retired, 却与杨姝洗杖疮 | instead, he washes Yang Shu’s cane welts.

…bro… :/

Yes, we know they were wronged because Li Zhiyi’s nephew and student eventually helped overturn the case and reveal the truth. The text says ‘wife and child were returned to him’, so I imagine they were either jailed for the ‘fraud’ or returned to Yang Shu’s original class and separated from Li Zhiyi. Again, his official status was restored to him and in addition, the post of Grand Master for Court Discussion, but he declined this in favour of his retirement life. 

After so much reading, I am still not able to pinpoint a year in which卜算子·我住长江头 was written. Only a general time period of ‘much later in life’ and possibly after having met Yang Shu simply from its place in his Collected Works of Guxi Hermit, Chapter 45. What seems to be certain though, is that it is written for her, and I am glad to hear however indirectly that these feelings were sincere. 

Only in the fiercest fire, do you know what’s real gold and all that… 

POEM

I would never have guessed that these words were from an old man, because they’re so bright, the emotions so fiery and all the more so for their simplicity.

There is drama in that hyperbole of distance. The Long River is 6300 km long. But how unreachable and impossible is the distance between them, is also how they are connected. Like how we might look up at the sky when a loved one is far away and take comfort in the fact that that they are under the same sky, or looking up at the same moon. Feelings are ‘entrusted’ to a moon, the stars, a river. 

I feel like making or forcing this connection figuratively or via physical action of drinking the water from the same river, is absurdly childish yet charming. ‘思君不见君’ Thinking of you but not seeing you is a common lament, and then… here’s something that’s (not) going to make you feel better! 

How Not Better are we? 

Well... how likely is the Long River to cease its flow? 

The resentment springs infinitely like water from the river’s source, what is the source of the resentment though - that’s love. Hence, this love will stop when the roaring river stops: never. 

And the thing to remember, at least from how I read this poem, is that it’s one sided. ‘只愿君心似我心’ I only wish that your heart is as mine. He doesn’t know, but he knows. The second part of this line is not a condition but a promise, a statement of fact emphasized beautifully in that 定 ‘for sure’.

Source

[ericprydz]

Ever imagined? There’s always an option for everything .. something/someone better comes up.

If you don’t qualify for the position new candidate is hired , if you are not interesting some else is given the attention and if you don’t have time someone else is called up.

There’s always an option for everything so i believe we just need to keep hustling and keep working on that platform. Be consistent.

At the end its all about the destiny.

[lune-de-miel-au-paradis]

Thank you for all of your creative and fantasic ideas dear fic writers. You make all my dream secret scenarios (romantic/spicy/angsty/dramatic/sad) exist, with the most beautiful fictional males ever. You make the best place in this portal for my escapism.

You are all inspirinspire me and I admire you all.

Thank you for all your hard and wholehearted works !💖💖

The devil works hard but fanfic writers work harder

Ps. Y’all are amazing and the most creative writers ❤︎. keep up the amazing work ✩

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please." 

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink. 

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed. 

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment. 

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much. 

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you." 

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner. 

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over. 

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed. 

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...." 

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her. 

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in. 

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place. 

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly. 

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@yuckosworld

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@sio-ina-bottle

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@smileybouquet

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@lonelysoul50

@sweetwhispersofchaos

[thefollow-spot]

'Merlin' and 'Lancelot' by Edwin Arlington Robinson

This is the first full book I've typeset and bound that is not fanfiction—which means I finally have something to show off to the normies in my life LMAO!

'Twas a Christmas gift for my lovely Misery (@whoawhataconcept), who has dragged me right after her into a fascination with Arthuriana ❤️

✨ Details below the cut! ✨

🤍 NEW METHODS 🤍

Printing at home: In the past, I've sent my typeset PDFs off to a local print shop to be printed, but with access to a home printer for the first time, I battled the fucking thing to print it entirely at home. I had a lot of trouble getting my printer to do the whole thing (I think it was so long that the printer's memory started giving up), so I eventually ended up sending the PDF to print in smaller signature groups at a time. Due to misprinting, I ended up with many good glue sheets & pages to protect drying boards and such

Leather-core for endbands: I finally splurged and bought some leather jewellery cord to use as the core in my sewn endbands and it was FANTASTIC!

Ribbon bookmark: 🤍🤍🤍

Backed papers: I purchased two large sheets of artisan paper for the endpages and the cover material. Both were too flimsy for my comfort, so on the advice of some folks at @renegadeguild, I backed some cut-down sheets with regular printer paper using a mix of 50/50 PVA and rice paste. I pressed them flat between protective sheets and they came out perfect!

Paste mix: I enjoyed working with the PVA-paste mix so much that I used it for the rest of the project for pretty much all of my gluing :)

Using an actual book press: Not much to say here except that I finally have an actual press and it made everything 100% easier haha!

Cricut stencil: My sister donated her time and cricut to help me title my cover and spine (under the dust jacket). We cut out stencils with cricut's stencil material & with stick-on vinyl (when we ran out of stencil material LOL). The spine turned out lovely but with some bleed; the cover was a bit of a mess since the stencil material started peeling up the fibres of the cover paper (which I had somehow not thought to seal). But live and learn!

🤍 BOOK INTERIOR 🤍

Copy-editing: Done by they lifesaving and gracious @highlynerdy, who saved me from agonizing over if the raw text source I took from had typos or mistakes. Thank you again, Gracie 💛

Typeset: I was inspired by the original typesets from when these poems were first published, updated to my own aesthetic sensibilities (as much as I had patience for)! The main body-text font is 'Lancelot' which seemed the only appropriate font to use for this project <3

Art: (Not pictured) I included some art by Edward Burne-Jones, "The Beguiling of Merlin", and "The Failure of Sir Lancelot"

🤍 EXTERIOR DESIGN 🤍

Cover: I originally wanted to do this book in blue, but when I went to the paper store, I could not find any marbled blue paper that wasn't wildly over-budget, so I ended up doing another red book. I tried to stick to a colour scheme of white-heavy monochrome + red + metallics.

Dust jacket: Much to my dismay, I realized that I've been lucky in the past, with access to a small nonprofit print shop where their ordering process involves emailing them and describing what you need. To print a dust jacket, one needs access to a print service with "large format" printing, and as I've discovered, that usually means an industrial printing service. Sorely missing my usual nonprofit print shop, I ended up going with a custom photo printing service, requesting a large photo print on their thinnest paper. Due to my special instructions, the cover came back almost-perfect. The edges were jagged, and the paper was a bit too thick, but it is perfectly serviceable and I'm overall happy with how it came out.

[tickety-boooo]

~Aziraphale's Flaming Sword~

Here's my poem for @isiaiowin's GOetry Monday prompt: Concrete! Let me say, this took soooo long to lay out! My hand is killing me! :D I really love the symbolism of the flaming sword in Good Omens, and how it's Aziraphale who gets to wield it. I posted earlier today with more thoughts about Aziraphale's sword if anyone's interested in reading more of my rambling xD Text under the cut:

Before the wild, unpredictable flames were tamed by humans, They adorned an ancient blade made for a guardian angel, Ever burning without a source of energy, as if by one's will alone Wisps licking at the air, emitting a heat that burns simply by proximity. To the peaceful guardian, it was a lifesaving gift, a tool for protection A symbol of the guardian's compassion and empathy for humanity Until it changed hands throughout the ages And its fire fueled the rage and violence and war Of those who would do harm to the world Causing devastation across time And yet, in the hands of a brave child That sword of fire and light and warmth Would defeat the evils of man when wielded with compassion and empathy.

[witchygirlgray333]

Journal prompts / ideas

Poems (either ones you've written or just ones you enjoy or connect with)

Book review

Film review

Write about your day

Collage

Vision board

Habit tracker

Calendar page

Notes from something you're learning

Quotes you like

Draw some outfits you like

Search up creative writing prompts and do those

Meditate and write down your thoughts before / during / after (I don't do this everytime or sometimes I'll only write afterwards but when I write before, during and after it's always really interesting to read back on and see how much has changed)

Stickerbomb page

Films to watch

Books to read

Wishlist

Bucket list

Highlight of the day (I like to have a page in my journal where I write a short sentence of my favourite thing that happened that day, it's nice to look back on and it's nice especially for days when I'm not feeling well enough to do a longer entry)

Gratitude list

Random thoughts

Drawings and sketches (I'm not even good at drawing but I love drawing or sketching in my journals and just expressing myself)

This one is more for chronically ill people but making notes for doctor / hospital appointments which helps so much! I have severe memory loss so a lot of the time I'll turn up to an appointment and have totally forgotten about anything I'd hoped to say so this has been a total lifesaver

Along with what I said in my last point about living with severe memory loss my whole journal works towards helping me deal with living with the memory loss. I'll probably do another post soon about more in depth ideas for journaling to help life with memory loss but I write down SO MUCH. I've got to do lists, a calendar page, my night routine (I'll also have my morning routine written down once I've actually worked one out!), things I need to do everyday (such as brushing my teeth, washing my face etc), contact info for people I'm close to, labelled photos of my loved ones (it can be really scary when I don't recognise people so having these pages really help), a list of things I can do throughout the day (I'm on bedrest but having a list of things that I enjoy doing written down is a nice reminder, some of the things on the list at the moment are make tiktok videos, do makeup, watch a movie or tv show, journal, scrapbook etc)

[smosh-fessions]

Maybe this is me being too soft on Chanse but while I don't like his statements, I understand them as a queer poc in a red state. I was 16 years old when Trump was voted in last time, all assurances that the democrats could take it and protect people like me and my friends shattered. The sentiments he's expressing is similar to how women who date conservative men justify it to themselves in times of desperation, but in the end, you can't flatter yourself into real protection. "You'll help me right? You like me enough to help me? It feels like no one else can. Don't worry I'm with him."

When it feels like everyone who said they could help you fail, you want to look to whoever it feels like can save you. Be that your right wing boyfriend, your conservative family, your homophobic church. When it feels like a decision between real danger and just having to swallow your beliefs for help, you want to be safe.

Sometimes our insecurities and fears come out in clumsy and unfortunate ways. An IG live obviously wasn't where he's going to try to dissect complex feeling over politics, he made a bad joke. Doesn't make it right but I would like fans (especially white fans) to even try to put themselves in his shoes.

I understand Chanse is in a very different position as someone who lives in LA but he's a black gay man in a nation that makes it very scary to be both. I'm sure there's some parasocialism to my sympathy but I feel bad for him and I want him to have grace.

I think your last point is currently the most important. Because he is NOT stuck in Tennessee with very little community. He lives in LA, has tons and tons of queer friends, and has a huge community. He has safety. He has numbers. He has community, which is what keeps us safe to begin with.

If he was a young black boy in Tennessee, this would be different, but he's a ~30 year old black man in LA, where he is far from the only queer PoC or Black person. He's not a lone man on an island and he's lived IN LA a long time, so it's not like it's a new change that he needs to adjust to, either.

Chanse is swimming in community and right now it feels a lot like he's walking on our heads and pushing us under water to get to the lifesaver tube that he doesn't know has a huge hole in it.

Even if he'd been joking about dating a Trump supporter at all, the bastardizing of Niemöller's poem "First They Came" and slamming the "I'm one of the good ones" speech onto the ass end of it deserves an apology alone. If you know anything about world history of the 30s and 40s, you'll get why this is so unbelievably disrespectful.

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Living the Outskirts by Susan E. Hamilton

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/living-the-outskirts-by-susan-e-hamilton/

Living the Outskirts portrays coming-of-age and beyond in western Washington’s Christmastown, USA. Our protagonist pokes at hot tar plugging potholes, watches movies at Babe Blue Ox Theater, tosses diary pages to gulls at the county dump, cries over a Boscoe sundae, questions eternity while picking sour pie cherries, looks up from the bottom of a shutting manhole, sends black-edged aerograms to bees, and witnesses the “clear-cut” that changes her hometown forever. #poetry #life #hometown #childhood #nature

Susan E. Hamilton has kept the right side of her brain thriving with poetry and painting during her careers in oceanography, biochemistry, and medical writing. Her poems have appeared in several Pacific Northwest publications. Her first chapbook, Informed Consent, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018.

PRAISE FOR Living the Outskirts by Susan E. Hamilton

In Living the Outskirts, Susan E. Hamilton tells the story of a once prosperous logging town now languishing, delivering her tale with wit and aplomb. The writing is so lucid that we feel we could map her hometown of Shelton, Washington: there, the Babe Blue Ox Theater (named after Paul Bunyan’s prize ox); there, the Batstone Funeral Home, there, the county dump, where the detritus of living can be alternately relinquished and reclaimed. Hamilton allows us the guilty pleasure of bursts of nostalgia, but never for long, as she moves from childhood into somewhat haunted young womanhood. Her protagonist learns that the eyes of the special needs children at Roger’s School burn most brightly, and that movement, whether it be the centrifugal spinning of a playground merry-go-round or the wavering lines of a pool during a flummoxed lifesaving class, signals the need for flight. And it’s in the act of leaving that the poet “takes the space as [her] own.”

–Dave Karp

Throughout the poems in Susan E. Hamilton’s Living the Outskirts, memory calls like the “3-short / 1-long blast” of Mom’s whistle—inescapable, tender, complicated, strange—and personal history is inseparable from the entanglement of place, rooted in the lived details of the collapsing logging town of Shelton, Washington where the speaker grew up. Though “Nostalgia bleeds like a postmark,” these unsentimental poems dig with careful attention through the personal and collective midden, unearthing treasures and sorrows. Amidst the dross and humus, the poems find nourishment too, sour pie cherries and lobster mushrooms, wild strawberries and take-out, the world’s tiniest, saddest sundae. And there is a pervasive generosity toward life, especially toward the under-sung or unprotected: the poems will always side with the snakes, rats, and bees. In this way we gather how a self can grow: we are our past and the place we first rooted, but that doesn’t mean we are doomed to be a Weeping Fir Tree. Framing and threaded through the collection are ekphrastic poems that offer an additional lens: perhaps it is through connecting to art—and the art of the poems themselves—that a path forward is possible.

–Sierra Nelson

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #life #hometown #childhood #nature

[courtesansjewelbox]

Day 470/1,000 of Bradbury Reading Program

Read one poem, one essay and one short story a night for the next 1,000 nights.

I can’t believe I’m still doing this. I gave up around Day 467 in September last year after many stops and starts and then had the urge to restart it three days ago. Aiming to reach Day 500 by the end of summer and then we’ll see. (Fall is usually really busy work-wise)

Why bring it back? Because it feels like I’m always starting something and never finishing so I wanted to intentionally read complete but shorter pieces and make incremental progress that way. I started this in the middle of 2021 so at this rate I will finish it in another three years or so. Maybe longer.

My goals are just to finish some books that I started ages ago: Lifesaving Poems, Tove Jansson’s Letters from Klara, and Jane Rule’s Loving the Difficult. But of course I also want to try new books and new authors.

I find that short stories are the hardest for me to read—but rewarding too when I find a good one. Easy but interesting essay collections are tricky to find. I do read poetry more often but it’s also easy to read a few poems and never finish a book so I’m hoping this will help me do that.

I usually read in the morning because that’s when I have the energy and fresh attention span. I write the titles down in a table and put hearts for my faves, skull emoji for really gross or depressing ones and write notes so I can remember them better.

All this to say, I’m excited to be back. It is worth doing, but the important thing is to stop when I need a break and not be too hard on myself. There’s no hard deadline. I can do this forever.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Cold Poem

-Mary Oliver

Cold now. Close to the edge. Almost unbearable. Clouds bunch up and boil down from the north of the white bear. This tree-splitting morning I dream of his fat tracks, the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit, blossoms rounding to berries, leaves, handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time we measure the love we have always had, secretly, for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow, in the immeasurable cold, we grow cruel but honest; we keep ourselves alive, if we can, taking one after another the necessary bodies of others, the many crushed red flowers.

[coralsgrimes]

Alright, since it's past midnight it's technically my birthday already.

Not gonna write a whole poem here cuz I have no energy for that left and it's not like I'm gonna get any sleep tonight so if someone wants to make me a present then you can consider donating to the Believe Family Foundation and/or the Hospitallers.

If you do, Coral is grateful from the bottom of me heart. Thanks and see ye muffins next time.

[ericprydz]

Growing up facing the problems is never easy. God stays by your side but we tend to take all actions steps risk ourself z

I wish there was someone always by your side to support us motivated boost us up.

Why didn’t no mention us life was gonna be this tough .

We need strength we need power we need motivation we need support.