#full poems

[daweyt]

Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart forever, ever more? Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers, From those brown hills, have melted into spring: Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing me along; Other desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lightened up my heaven, No second morn has ever shone for me; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, And even Despair was powerless to destroy, Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. Then did I check the tears of useless passion— Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?

Emily Brontë, “Remembrance”

[goodlinesfrombadpoems]

Climate Change

We mix like oil and piss, I am a fister of youth pastors and tragic himbos, getting high off a methane leak in your snatch while scavenging through the pubes for Blue's clues, please put this poem in the compost bin right away before the rot sets in. Climate change is real and our love is a mirage, I'm still huffing your spoiled puss when I realize we're all just fossil fuels, burning away the days listening to lectures about zainichi and a semi-divine Confucius, "The means of production is not your toothbrush," "They liked to count people in ancient China," "Climate change is like aliens." You look like a demigoddess in that denim, and I'm a burnt-out solar panel looking up at the eclipse.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

– Oscar Wilde

[riteshhuntersworld]

#full #poem #grief

poems on grief, loss, mourning

gone is gone by mark wunderlich

another elegy ["this is what our dying looks like"] by jericho brown

making a fist by naomi shihab nye

grief puppet by donte collins

letter to my heart from my brain by rachel mckibbens

the song of despair by pablo neruda

where my grandmother hides by caitlin conlon

grief by matthew dickman

kaddish by sam sax

elegy for neal cassady by allen ginsberg

grief work by natalie diaz

poem for jack spicer by matthew zapruder

elegy with black smoke by emily skaja

evening by dorianne laux

letter to my dead brother part 1 by jonny bolduc

drunktown by jake skeets

hunter by bianca stone

blood makes the blade holy by evan knoll

object permanence by hala alyan

people who died by ted berrigan

song of the insensible by andrew kozma

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]

[peaceishim]

The one who loves the moon, still loves it when it is not in the sky, when it might not be in front of their eyes. The love is still there.

-A.S.

[hisbodycorpse]

⠀ 𝕭iogrɑfíɑs, 𝜇𝑠𝜎 𝑙𝜄𝑏𝑟𝜀.

⠀⠀ 01. #𝑪u͟e͟r͟p͟o ♱ ⦉ 體找到了出路 ⦊

⠀⠀ ◙ 𝟖𝟹 。       𝐭͟𝐢͟𝐧͟𝐭͟𝐚͟ 𝐨͟ 𝐩͟𝐚͟𝐩͟𝐞͟𝐥͟.

⠀⠀

02. ℘ ⃛͡ †. Goose—bumps 𓉲 ⠀‛ ⋄

#每一个爱抚，直到我们成为陌生人。

03. 深入皮膚下的紋身,⠀⠀   𓍝 ⠀⠀即使身⠀

#.o͟ɹ͟ᴉ͟ɟ͟ɐ͟Z͟ 𖤓⠀⠀ 𓊆 體找到了出路 𓊇 ⅞

04. 𝐀͟𝐧͟𝐠͟𝐞͟𝐥͟'𝐬 𝐅͟𝐚͟𝐥͟𝐥͟.

🚫 ꯳⃘꤫ 𒋲 ꉺ ҉

05. 𓏶 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗼.

𝑑͟𝑒͟𝑠͟𝑒͟𝑟͟𝑡͟𝑜͟𝑟͟. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𖥟

Estas biografías pueden ser modificadas,

intercaladas, tomadas como inspiración.

Si bien se respetan mis créditos, es decir,

no hacerlas pasar como suyas.

[flowerytale]

Louise Glück, from "From the Japanese", Poems: 1962–2020

[geryone]

A Dead Shark Isn’t Art, torrin a. greathouse

[daweyt]

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.

Emily Brontë, “The night is darkening round me”

[goodlinesfrombadpoems]

On Strike

I want to get you so hot that I bring your pussy to a boil and rotisserie my tongue on your beast hole, hold my beer? No, hold my tongue, only because I have to suppress any genuine interest I have in you, compressing it into a ZIP poem, and then extracting it to this Tex-Mex-sex-mess of a copped feeling— the sloppy seconds of love at first sight. I am married and thus marked for mutually-assured-destruction, I need to implode these emotions on the page before they are adapted into a movie, and then into a wicked and dangerous game. So let’s get a Coke and a Cost of Living Adjustment to go, if only we—if only this—could be here to stay, you struck a nerve, but my nerve endings went on strike, and I didn’t have the nerve to cross picket lines.

[beastlyidiocy]

[soracities]

Lisa Suhair Majaj, from "Claims" [ID'd]

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]

In my world, every day is Halloween 🎃

[noodles-07]

on growing up

unknown / eight by sleeping at last / from eden by hozier / unknown / lie with me by philleppe besson / snippet from one of my poems / urban dictionary page on requited love / unknown / first love late spring by mitski / unknown / @/ryebreadgf / persepolis by marjane satrapi

when I tell you I tried SO HARD to find the sources for the unknowns but they only ever took me to deactivated pages or pinterest links please send me an ask/message if you can find them

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

moon, mandala of the night sky.