#jenny george

[havingapoemwithyou]

orpheus in spring by Jenny George

#Jenny George #poetry #poem

[northwindow]

Jenny George

#jenny george

[seekingstars]

Orpheus in Spring - Jenny George

#poetry #jenny george

[apocryphics]

Jenny George

#Jenny george #fragments #poetry

[lunchboxpoems]

TIN BUCKET

The world is not simple. Anyone will tell you. But have you ever washed a person’s hair over a tin bucket, gently twisting the rope of it to wring the water out? At the end of everything, dancers just use air as their material. A voice keeps singing even without an instrument. You make your fingers into a comb.

JENNY GEORGE

#jenny george #poem #poetry #poetry month

[beingharsh]

"Revelation", Jenny George, The Dream of Reason

#my fave of the collection #jenny george #poetry #poem #words #my posts

[dk-thrive]

"Having died / all the way back to the root, I grow again / into a version of the thing I love.

Jenny George, from “Sunflowers” (Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 2, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.) (via Read A Little Poetry)

#reborn #rebirth #root #soul #source #Jenny George #sunflowers

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 12

Tin Bucket The world is not simple. Anyone will tell you. But have you ever washed a person’s hair over a tin bucket, gently twisting the rope of it to wring the water out? At the end of everything, dancers just use air as their material. A voice keeps singing even without an instrument. You make your fingers into a comb. —Jenny George

#jenny george #tin bucket #poetry #national poetry month #npm2024

[6peaches]

Jenny George - Tin Bucket

The world is not simple. Anyone will tell you. But have you ever washed a person’s hair over a tin bucket, gently twisting the rope of it to wring the water out? At the end of everything, dancers just use air as their material. A voice keeps singing even without an instrument. You make your fingers into a comb.

#Jenny George #Tin Bucket #poem #poet

[elwenyere]

Orpheus in Spring 

By Jenny George

Some people collect dirt from significant places. Or spoonfuls of cloudy ocean inside jars. Like amateur naturalists, they keep these treasures permanently on a shelf.  Of course an amateur is simply a person who loves, who brings love to bear on a particular subject. Returning from one trip I failed to bring back a jar of anything. I stood outside my house where white stitches of snow were dissolving into the ground beneath the evergreens. An unset moon floated over the trees. If I stand very still, I do no further harm. I am a tiny theater of non-harming. My breath watches raptly. Sees how everything is still alive.

#poetry #jenny george #a tiny theater of non-harming

[misserinmarie]

Sunflowers by Jenny George

I’m in the world but I still want the world. I’m full of longing and can’t move, enthralled in the garden. Having died all the way back to the root, I grow again into a version of the thing I love. I’m her and not her, hermaphrodite with a heart like a plateful of black flames. The bees inspect me like doctors. All my hard little tears, future selves who haven’t grown. Bedclothes swell on the line while around me giant sunflowers burn through their masks of radiant desire.

#sunflowers #poetry #poem #jenny george

[havingapoemwithyou]

tin bucket by Jenny George

#Jenny George #poetry #poem

[elizabethanism]

we know a thing by its periphery:

the meadow edged with trees.

Or happiness with its horizon of pain.

—Jenny George

#Jenny George #Pain #Happiness #Intelligence

[wickershells]

Jenny George, “Threshold Gods” from The Dream of Reason (2018)

#jenny george #lit #mine

[apocryphics]

Jenny George

#jenny george #fragments #poetry

[itsthesoulthatserotic]

#jenny george