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The Diameter of The Bomb - Yehuda Amichai

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters, with four dead and eleven wounded. And around these, in a larger circle of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered and one graveyard. But the young woman who was buried in the city she came from, at a distance of more than a hundred kilometers, enlarges the circle considerably, and the solitary man mourning her death at the distant shores of a country far across the sea includes the entire world in the circle. And I won’t even mention the crying of orphans that reaches up to the throne of God and beyond, making a circle with no end and no God. 

#poetry #yehuda amichai

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Mary Magdalene about 1415–1420 Boucicaut Master (French, active about 1390 - 1430) Not currently on view the getty

#art #mary magdalene

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The Man Says Kent State Means Something Different to his Generation - Carrie George

If not for the field that housed early spring snowball fights, that cradled lonely skin with its wet grass-lick; if not for the breeze that rocked hammock after hammock drowsy between the trees; if not for the dirt that dipped to the weight of the bell; if not for the bell; if not for the asphalt above lined with white paint and baked from wink of May; if not for the short-cut to class, the feet pressing slow, then quick, then snare-drum flicking, then wondering the sound of blood when it fills the ears, how young iron cools the finger, how to load and unload a stomach—the stomach so hollow, someone said, as the boy dropped to the ground in the middle of a parking space.

If not for the field as quiet as vein, as lonesome as a petal beneath the earlobe; if not for the lot dusted in shadow, the smooth stones and posts of light climbing high like corn stalks or upturned lungs; if not for the field that still cries between pieces of wind, then maybe this would not embody ourselves.

We walk through winter with ghosts on our backs. We walk with bare feet, and our skin sheds like an unlived memory. We listen when the goldfinch beats its wings. We listen when the river coughs up bone.

We were not there, but we are here, digging palms into snow, leaves, daffodils, digging so the grave is never covered, so the stench of felled bodies is as permanent as paralysis, everlasting as death.

We dig to remember the lives once as young as ours. New lives that still grow in this field as grass does, remembering with every passing year. Each and every passing year.

#poetry #carrie george

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Poetry about Kent State Shootings

source: Kent State archives

#poetry #protest #peace activism

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The Creation Story - Joy Harjo

I’m not afraid of love or its consequence of light.

It’s not easy to say this or anything when my entrails dangle between paradise and fear.

I am ashamed I never had the words to carry a friend from her death to the stars correctly.

Or the words to keep my people safe from drought or gunshot.

The stars who were created by words are circling over this house formed of calcium, of blood

this house in danger of being torn apart by stones of fear.

If these words can do anything if these songs can do anything I say bless this house with stars.

Transfix us with love.

#poetry #joy harjo

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revolutionary letter #4 by Diane Di Prima

#poetry #diane di prima

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Revolutionary Letter #12

the vortex of creation is the vortex of destruction the vortex of artistic creation is the vortex of self destruction the vortex of political creation is the vortex of flesh destruction flesh is in the fire, it curls and terribly warps fat is in the fire, it drips and sizzling sings bones are in the fire they crack tellingly in subtle hieroglyphs of oracle charcoal signed the smell of your burning hair for every revolutionary must at last will his own destruction rooted as he is in the past he sets out to destroy

#poetry #diane di prima

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Revolutionary Letter #2 - Diane di Prima

the value of an individual life the credo they taught us to instill fear, and inaction, ‘you only live once’ a fog in our eyes, we are endless as the sea, not separate, we die a million times a day, we are born a million times, each breath life and death get up, put on your shoes, get started, someone else will finish // Tribe an organism, one flesh, breathing joy as the stars breathe destiny down on us, get going, join hands, see to business, thousands of sons will see to it when you fall, you will grow a thousands times in the bellies of your sisters

#poetry #diane di prima

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Revolutionary Letter #36 - Diane di Prima

who is the we, who is the they in this thing, did we or they kill the indians, not me my people brought here, cheap labor to exploit a continent for them, did we or they exploit it? do you admit complicity, say ‘we have to get out of Vietnam, we really should stop poisoning the water, etc.’ look closer, look again, secede, declare your independence, don’t accept a share of the guilt they want to lay on us MAN IS INNOCENT & BEAUTIFUL & born to perfect bliss they envy, heavy deeds make heavy hearts and to them, life is suffering, stand clear.

#poetry #diane di prima

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Sputnik 2, launched on November 3, 1957, carried the dog Laika, the first living creature to be shot into space and orbit Earth. Laika was a stray dog found on the streets of Moscow. There were no plans to return her to Earth, and she lived only a few hours in orbit. …

taken from @gallivantsofgillis on tiktok

#laika #the patron saint of one-way trips

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Ocean Beach - Rebecca Foust

#poetry #Rebecca foust

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Kuniyoshi Utagawa - Gashadokuro

source: pen

#art #Kuniyoshi Utagawa

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Seeing the Eclipse in Maine - Robert Bly

#poetry #robert bly

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Checkout - Caroline Bird

#poetry #caroline bird

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"Total Eclipse", Annie Dillard

#prose #annie dillard #eclipse

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Ryokan— Japanese calligrapher. Unfortunately, without the calligraphic hand written version to compare, its mastery is greatly reduced. Still, a favorite of mine.

Ryokan lived at the very end of the Buddhist lineage, or so we thought, until Suzuki Roshi brought the lineage to America, where a whole host of new masters emerged.

#ryokan #buddhism #poetry

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I should say good-bye But I stay beside you Whatever separates us Casts the shadow of hell

-- Paul the Silentiary

#poetry