#january poems

[the-jovian-plutonian-effect]

sydney mortimer laurence / frank carter and the rattle snakes / jane austen / myself / charles bukowski / tony kushner / myself / sandy copier & virginia woolf / julia andreevna petrova / brick and mortar

[king-galaxius]

One More Week And One Day Until Dinner Time!

One more week and one day until dinner time! Which one will I do? A buffet? Or, a family mukbang? Yin yang. Enjoy this rhyme. One more week and one day until dinner time!

[schuylerpeck]

2025

REMAIN BRAVE.

skate flat stones across the river.

make my home a sanctuary, a shelter, a welcome resting place.

learn the first names and favorite foods of neighbors.

keep the windows open as long as warmth allows.

ask myself: will it make a good memory?

earlier mornings, longer walks.

remember I am not without my own seasons.

write recipes on paper. print photos out for framing. seek the tangible, the homemade.

speak out about harm when I see it done. leave room for learning, but never complacency.

one long summer drive to myself. an overnight somewhere new if possible.

let the candles burn through winter.

joy is not made to be a crumb, but a feast. arrive fork and knife in hand.

BE HOPEFUL, BUT ALSO IN ACTION.

[thatsbelievable]

[metamorphesque]

Osip Mandelstam (translated by Andrew Davis)

[havingapoemwithyou]

wild pear tree by Kaveh Akbar

[aurosoulart]

Mostly, I want to be kind. (x)

[floralpoeticss]

Like you I love love, life, the sweet smell of things, the sky-blue landscape of January days.

– from Roque Dalton's poem, Like You

[macrolit]

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. - Carl Sandburg (b. 6 January 1878)

[adventuresofalgy]

After his amazing Hogmanay Hootenanny had finally drawn to a close, Algy slept for many, many hours, and when he awoke he found that all his party guests had vanished, no doubt returning to the many magical places around the world from which they had come.

Feeling that he needed a wee bit of fresh air and exercise after such extensive partying, Algy flew around his assistants' garden several times. But he found that it was unpleasantly cold… It was early January, after all; the ponds were covered with thin sheets of ice, and the garden was hushed and quiet.

Suddenly, the sun burst through the wintry clouds, and although it was still exceedingly low in the sky, only just managing to clear the rocky ridges of the surrounding hills, parts of the garden were bathed in a beautiful golden light… at least for a few minutes, for the sun could evidently feel the chill too, and soon retreated to warmer climes.

It was glorious while it lasted, however, so Algy found himself a perch on a sunlit tree stump and indulged in a harmonious duet with a wee robin friend nearby, until the light faded into greyness once again. And while the two fluffy birds sang in wordless harmony, Algy took deep gulps of the January air and thought:

Something’s moving in, I hear the weather in the wind, sense the tension of a sheep-field and the pilgrimage of fins. Something’s not the same, I taste the sap and feel the grain, hear the rolling of the rowan ringing, singing in a change. Something’s set to start, there’s meadow-music in the dark and the clouds that shroud the mountain slowly, softly start to part.

[Algy is thinking of A Poem for the New Year by the contemporary English poet Matt Goodfellow.]

[beforeyearning]

january snow.

And in the midst of January snow, the type that sticks to the ground

& your ribs—your desire to seek warmth reaches a fever pitch.

You have an excuse to abandon your shame at the door, and open

your mouth and say ‘I want. I want. I want’, and if you’re lucky you’ll

hear ‘I’ll give. I’ll give. I’ll give’, but you’re foreordained to hear firsthand

the yearning echo throughout an empty house. But you’ll put on some

coffee and cozy up in bed, shifting aimlessly through doomscrolling,

sleeping, and sipping on black coffee that spills out the big gaping

wound in the middle of your chest. You blot it & change your shirt

for the comfiest hoodie you have. You’re secretly terrified that there’s

a big tattoo on the middle of your forehead that gives you away to everyone,

but you’re more scared of the mirror and the wasted potential in the reflection

to go check on it. So, you make yourself as little possible with the heaviest heart,

it’s a wonder you aren’t pinned to the ground from all your wants. Lost in the blur

of whitish gray world outside your window, you watch the dance of the snowflakes

and find a smidgen of peace. You’re an excellent overthinker, you make something

from nothing—so you’ll carry this peace for days. Maybe even through the month.

[king-galaxius]

I'm Afraid You'll Get Eaten If You Don't Get the Fuck Out of North Carolina!😱🫣

Florida and a few states nearby has turned into a modern-day Jurassic Park. too many people have been munched on like Cheetos by crocodiles and alligators. Sometimes this happens in the daylight. Sometimes, this shit happens in the dark. Please get the fuck out of North Carolina. If you are a female, these big dinosaurs (which are alligators and crocodiles) eat everything, including the…

[lunarcatten]

Thinking about " New Year" by Kate Baer again.

First illustration of 2025 for good luck.

[trickstersaint]

shelter animal // january 2024

[metamorphesque]

verses that colored my january days

"Poems are not written...", Andrey Voznesensky

"Two Phantoms", Vahan Teryan

"To Live...", Paruyr Sevak

"I love to love...", Paruyr Sevak

"Piano Lesson", Richard Siken

"Prayer", Marina Tsvetaeva (translated by Andrey Kneller)

"Two Morning Poems", Yevgeny Yevtushenko (translated by Anselm Hollo)

"Pomegranate", Sol Rios

"Cascando", Samuel Beckett

"Kissing in Vietnamese", Ocean Vuong

"To Say Dark Things ", Ingeborg Bachmann

"Ballad About A Smoke-Filled Wagon" (Don’t separate from your dear ones…), Alexander Kochetkov

"The Roses of Saadi" Marceline Desbordes-Valmore (Marie Felicite Josephe Desbordes)

"There Is a Gold Light in Certain Old Paintings", Donald Justice

"Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?", Mary Oliver

"Love and Hate", Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

[havingapoemwithyou]

like you by Roque Dalton tr. Jack Hirschman