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#Joys of Poetry
swannsways · 3 months
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The Holdovers was a little movie that we made in Boston, about three people that came together to form a little family.
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girlfictions · 1 year
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— J. SULLIVAN
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somegaywizard · 10 months
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A two sentence poem about my childhood best friend <3
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liesandnights · 8 months
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Stop shaming people for being passionate about the things that they love. Stop mocking people for having unusual interests. Like, honestly, I’m so tired of feeling embarrassed for being "too much". If being too much means having deep interests that fill my life with romanticism and excitement, then let me be!! I’d much rather listen to anyone ranting about their latest obsession with 16th century swords than have a boring ordinary conversation with those who shame passionate people.
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star-girlfriend · 9 months
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your survival is beautiful
cabindemos tumblr // miraclesandcrosses tiktok // unknown // sanegreen tumblr // wuntrum tumblr // bulldyke-rider tumblr // unknown // iamstillgentle tiktok
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mournfulroses · 1 month
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Sara Teasdale, from The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale; "Joy,"
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nighttime-thoughts · 1 month
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You stopped saying goodnight and i stopped sleeping.
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undinesea · 2 months
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—to be opened, shivering and wet with love.
Joy Harjo, from “Four Songs,” from A Map to the Next World
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metamorphesque · 1 year
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— Speaking Tree, Joy Harjo
[text ID: I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark—]
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baileyjayy1 · 1 month
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If I unveil this present 🎁 will you suck it?🍆
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inkskinned · 1 year
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"it's so embarrassing you like that popular thing" "oh ew that geeky/strange thing is so cringe lol" "oh it's kind of weird you get excited about that harmless shit"
dude i love how ironic and jaded you are and that's so cool and sexy of you. and i am so so glad to tell you - you won!! we all had a meeting and we decided that you won, and we are writing your name on the inside of a burger king crown. the marker smeared, sorry, but we knew any form of real effort is ugly to you. but anyway. congrats! you are officially the coolest, most ironic, most jaded person in-the-world-right-now. we would throw you a party but you would think it was totally boring - and besides, we're weird so we wouldn't have been coming. we would have brought our love of beetles and of baking and of little canapes. we would have brought our artsy videogames and pages of writing. we would have written a poem with you, our hands covered in ink, and spread out a canvas to dance on, the night so lurid and pink.
but do not worry. we will not throw the party. we will just get you a ringlight and that crown i mentioned. it is a nice crown, except for where one of us dropped it.
the vote was a really hard one because we had so many cool ironic people to pick off the shelves. all of you have hands that rot fruit, how strange is that - you can't look at something without destroying it for other people. you like it when you can squeeze a person into a pinpoint - all us small ones scampering our little feet around our ugly joys. the vote was also a hard one because we kept our voices down because you don't like it when we talk too loud. you were on your phone at the time, talking to people other than us. you are a ghoul of every moment - half in, half out, you resent us for being here without shame or embarrassment.
so good news! we have invented an island for people like you. you get to go there and speak into the air things like if you still like watching harmless twitch streamers in 2023 you're fucking boring. you will say things like liveplay podcasts are fucking ugly and it's kind of awkward they try to make everything gay. on the island we made you, all of your words will have weight. they will form in the air like icicles, large white behemoth letters that will crumple in anvils around your feet. maybe we will send someone there once in a while to sweep, but honestly you might be there for a while, alone, waiting. we are busy being outside looking for mushrooms and flapping our hands and humming. we are busy kicking our little heels while we watch cringey tv. we are busy - sorry! as an apology, we have pre-filled the island with every bland, mediocre, unscented thing we could find. the island has the texture of american cheese. the island has an ocean that never gets angry. the island is perfect for you, trust me. you will be so happy there - as happy as you can be, ironically.
we want to say we are sorry for doing harmless things that you find annoying, childish, or unappealing - but we are not sorry. we thought we could help you, because we don't mind laughing at ourselves, but it turns out you are allergic to color and noise and atmosphere, so this is the best that we can do for now. we are all making a big shirt that says i voted in the ironic monarchy. we got you one that is just a fast fashion buttondown. i am so excited for you and this island and the big life you have won. you have a cool jaded grey life and miles of irony to roam. i love you! be well.
now leave us alone.
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fairydrowning · 10 months
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– Mary Oliver, "Don't Hesitate"
[TEXT ID: "If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb." END ID]
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resqectable · 2 months
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When you think of love, do you think of pain?
Vance Joy, Mess Is Mine
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rainyyy-dayysss · 18 days
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I like canceled plans. And empty book stores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quite coffee shops. I like messy beds and overworn pajamas. Most of all, I like small joys that a simple life brings.
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andrumedus · 6 months
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There is an ache that begins in the sound of an old blues song. It becomes a house where all the lights have gone out but one. And it burns and burns until there is only the blue smoke of dawn and everyone is sleeping in someone's arms even the flowers even the sound of a thousand silences. And the arms of night in the arms of day. Everyone except me.
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Summer Night”
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cultof-aphrodite · 1 year
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Joy Harjo “Perhaps the World Ends Here”
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