Early fall 2016, I took this while hiking near the Vermillion River near Sudbury, Ontario, Canada.
I heard the roar of a million leaves. There were tracks in the dirt. I was all alone but I knew that something had been here before me. I walked for hours and all I heard was the wind. Through the trees, I saw a bird soaring through the sky. I thought about death. Could he see me? Could he sense my anticipation?
I kicked my feet up on the banks of a river. On the rocks, I smoked a cigarette. I contemplated the weight of my existence. The river didn’t give a shit about me. There were waves stretching back across time and space. I thought about life. How far can we see? Is there meaning in meaningless things?
You. Yes, you. You are a work of art. You are beautiful. You are the only part of this Universe capable of understanding itself. You are the only part of this Universe that is capable of creating beauty by sheer power of will. You are art. You are beauty. You are grace. You can become […]
via Work of Art — Cristian Mihai
What does it mean to live on or cross the border? What does it mean to be a citizen? Are there borders beyond those that are geographic? At Poetry International, a magazine at San Diego State University, poets from around the world share their thoughts on borders.
via Poets and Borders — Discover
Walks barefoot on the shore sand Letting the wind read his mind Closes his eyes as the water gushes Remembers all the faces he left behind Away he goes, away he goes. Reaches the top of the infinite greys Smiles at the new friend, Horizon Caffeinates his thirsty mind and soul Nerves breaking […]
via The Voice of the Traveler — eddietaughtme
Let’s imagine that you love me, and no light can dim, no faucet can leak, and no one can take you away from me. Let’s imagine you love my risotto and seared salmon, and that you drink the wine, the Scotch, and the tea. Your eyes constantly on me. Let’s imagine I’m what you imagine, […]
via And the Truth Spills Out — Everything I Never Told You
i wasnt meant to be kept inside on a computer all day i was meant to run and play [One of my teachers once told me that an American Haiku means you can do whatever the fuck you want to do. He was drunk, but still.]
via American Haiku — I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.
I’m going to sign my books with the dirtiest talk and the filthiest inscriptions: “Dear reader, Go get fucked! Hearts, kisses and bullshit, Ms. Georgia Park” You’ll have to hide your copy under the mattress for some later night reading- i dont belong on a bookshelf i am an outlaw poet and i belong outcasted […]
via Under Your Mattress (you sick freak, you) — I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.
I breathe love into existence, like air through the lungs. For it is an infinite affair, I will always have, with love. In my life, I speak love’s language, quite fluently, in multiple tongues. I took cupid aside, regarding his arrows being too dull. I romantically, express love’s attributes, by encouraging an answer, when […]
via Modern Aphrodite — Sharpest Perception a Road Less Traveled
I was sexually harassed in dunkin donuts this morning and I barely even noticed he said he liked my hair, an old, fat man and then said it again he said he wanted to run his fingers through it moving closer to me I moved away from him I was busy with a thousand things […]
via I’m not here to explain to you why catcalling makes women feel uncomfortable — I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.