poem   4983

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from 13th Balloon - Guernica
Since you died a thousand birds / have daily flown through me
poem  poetry 
5 days ago by jspad
What I Didn’t Know Before
What I Didn’t Know Before
by Ada Limón

was how horses simply give birth to other
horses. Not a baby by any means, not
a creature of liminal spaces, but already
a four-legged beast hellbent on walking,
scrambling after the mother. A horse gives way
to another horse and then suddenly there are
two horses, just like that. That’s how I loved you.
You, off the long train from Red Bank carrying
a coffee as big as your arm, a bag with two
computers swinging in it unwieldily at your
side. I remember we broke into laughter
when we saw each other. What was between
us wasn’t a fragile thing to be coddled, cooed
over. It came out fully formed, ready to run.
poetry  poem 
7 days ago by winekitteh
Twitter
RT : It's out NOW. My , " Without Parents." In . You can even see a picture of my parents…
Impeachment  poem  from twitter
23 days ago by Palafo
Babel Web Anthology :: Prévert, Jacques: The Florist’s Shop (Chez la fleuriste in English)
The Florist’s Shop (English)

A man enters a florist’s shop
and chooses some flowers
the florist wraps the flowers
the man puts his hand in his pocket
to look for some money
money to pay for the flowers
but at the same time he puts
suddenly
his hand on his heart
and he falls
 
At the same time that he falls
the money rolls to the ground
and then the flowers fall
at the same time as the man
at the same time as the money
and the florist stands still
with the money that is rolling
with the flowers that are spoiling
with the man that is dying
obviously everything here is very sad
and she must do something
the florist
but she doesn’t know what path to take
she doesn’t know
where to begin
 
There are so many things to do
with this man that is dying
these flowers that are spoiling
and this money
this money that is rolling
that just won’t stop rolling.
Jacques_Prévert  poem  French 
25 days ago by bdwc
Kahlil Gibran On Children
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
parenting  poem 
25 days ago by pmigdal
Pronoun Envy - Anne Carson (New Yorker)
is a phrase
coined by Cal Watkins
of the Harvard Linguistics Department
in November 1971
to disparage
certain concerns
of the female students
of Harvard Divinity School.
In a world
where God is “He”
and everyone else
“mankind,”
what chance
do we have for
a bit of attention?
seemed to be their question.
Cal Watkins—
how patient a man_—_
did not say you carry-tale mumble-
news mar-plot find-fault spoil-
sports!
but rather that
pronouns themselves were
not to blame. It’s the Indo-
European system of markedness.
A binary system.
Which regards masculine as the
unmarked gender. As if all
the creatures in the world
were either zippers
or olives,
except
way back in the Indus Valley
in 5000 B.C. we decided
to call them zippers
and non-zippers.
By 1971
the non-zippers
were getting restless.
They began bringing
kazoos to their lectures
to drown out certain pronouns
and masculine generics.
Now, a kazoo
is a toy, a noisemaker.
It scrubs away the air
in that place.
What
can you do
with a piece of scrubbed-away air?
Various things.
You can fill it with neologisms.
Or with re-analysis. Or with
exaptation.
Let’s explore
exaptation. To exapt
is to adapt in an outward direction.
You may have seen
pictures of a kind of dinosaur
called the archaeopteryx.
Which had feathers
but did not fly.
Its feathers kept the archaeopteryx
warm.
Meanwhile everywhere
ice was melting.
Feathers for
warmth
became redundant.
One night
the archaeopteryx
exapted its feathers—as wings_—_and
over
the yards of Harvard
rose divinity students
in violent flight,
changing everything,
changing nothing,
soaring and banking
under the moon,
intending (no
doubt) to never come back
but of course
that proved impossible.
They did come back,
they finished their degrees,
they used their wings
to shoot pronouns around
on a big hockey rink
back of the Divinity School.
Nightcold
rushes onto my forehead
and an area of emotion up under
my tongue
when I
recall those games.
But because a binary system
uses numbers in base 2,
requiring
only 1 and 0
to express its differential,
we had to score our games
in scandal and sadness,
in tungsten and long twisting
streets, in bride-habited,
maiden-hearted, thief-stolen,
wind-led, marble-constant
wonder-wounded, to-and-fro-
conflicting, world-without-end
marks
of our own invention.
And to this day
if you look behind the Divinity
School (and if you know
what to look for)
you may see a slight residue of
those nights.
Here’s
what to look for:
a pony
standing quiet with one ear
bent.
He seems to have
a bit of capture caught in it.
He shakes his head and all around
you, soaking
the night
and the yards and whatever is
alienable or inalienable there,
comes
a smell like
a new tuxedo.
poem  AnneCarson  NewYorker 
26 days ago by mgubbins

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