#stacie cassarino | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

llovelymoonn · 3 months

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stacie cassarino zero at the bone: "snowshow to otter creek" \\ secret garden

kofi

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havingapoemwithyou · 7 months

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midwest eclogue by Stacie Cassarino

#Stacie Cassarino #poetry #poem #september

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firstfullmoon · 2 years

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Stacie Cassarino, “Midwest Eclogue” [ID in ALT]

#love there are things i cannot name #w #poetry #stacie cassarino #the inconsolable season

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apoemaday · 2 years

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Summer Solstice

by Stacie Cassarino

I wanted to see where beauty comes from without you in the world, hauling my heart across sixty acres of northeast meadow, my pockets filling with flowers. Then I remembered, it’s you I miss in the brightness and body of every living name: rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch. You are the green wonder of June, root and quasar, the thirst for salt. When I finally understand that people fail at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle, the paper wings of the dragonfly aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity? If I get the story right, desire is continuous, equatorial. There is still so much I want to know: what you believe can never be removed from us, what you dreamed on Walnut Street in the unanswerable dark of your childhood, learning pleasure on your own. Tell me our story: are we impetuous, are we kind to each other, do we surrender to what the mind cannot think past? Where is the evidence I will learn to be good at loving? The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies. There are violet hills, there is the covenant of duskbirds. The moon comes over the mountain like a big peach, and I want to tell you what I couldn’t say the night we rushed North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers and the way you go into yourself, calling my half-name like a secret. I stand between taproot and treespire. Here is the compass rose to help me live through this. Here are twelve ways of knowing what blooms even in the blindness of such longing. Yellow oxeye, viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms pleading do not forget me. We hunger for eloquence. We measure the isopleths. I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude. The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries. Fireflies turn on their electric wills: an effulgence. Let me come back whole, let me remember how to touch you before it is too late.

#poetry #stacie cassarino #summer solstice

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contremineur · 2 months

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It’s right before you drive away: our limbs still warm with sleep, coffee sputtering out, the north wind, your hips pressing me hard against the table. I like it hard because I need to remember this.

Stacie Cassarino, opening lines to In the kitchen

from here

#stacie cassarino #in the kitchen #poetry #quote #lit #excerpt

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beguines · 2 years

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Dumb heart, come down from the walnut tree. / All the distance is ultimately a lie.

Stacie Cassarino, from "Northwest"

#stacie cassarino #poetry #lines i can't stop thinking about

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missedstations · 1 year

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“The Living at Dead Creek” - Stacie Cassarino

We are either too early or too late when we set out across the cattail marsh- lands looking for the Snow geese I have promised you. It is colder than I prepared for, wind gusts pushing our bodies from behind, and the sun does not warm us enough. There are days I categorize as failed. When I lie down on the floor among dinosaurs and dolls, close my eyes and pretend I'm dead, while my children go about their lives, then come pouncing on the raft of my open heart. There I am at forty-five, and all I can hear is my daughter saying I'm making you alive. And here we are, on a morning when the clouds seem sketched against the blue to save us from the idea that it could be perfect, still- flowering jewelweed along the banks, an inflorescence of woolgrass and bristly sedge, the creek wending northward, all the way to the city, flowing into the lake that separates us from another country where I once danced at the gay bar until morning because I could. Migration, I tell my daughter, is like going home. It is a mystery to me, what comes into focus for her, or does not. The nature poem embellishes. It takes the memory of this picture and turns it outward so that we are the only disruption in a world of hard data: orange mountain lit from within, godforsaken field and the machinery of human defeat. Once, this place was an ocean. Can't you feel it, I want to ask her, but when I scan the scene, she is already drifting. How many other promises won't I be able to keep? When will she want to know where she came from? Three geese take refuge. There were supposed to be thousands of them. They were supposed to put on a show for us.

#Poems #The Living at Dead Creek #Stacie Cassarino

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shouting-at-the-telly-though · 2 years

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It’s right before you drive away: our limbs still warm with sleep, coffee sputtering out, the north wind, your hips pressing me hard against the table. I like it hard because I need to remember this. I want to say harder. How we must look to the road that’s gone, to the splayed morning of cold butter and inveterate greed. Light comes and goes in the field. Oranges in a bowl, garlic, radio. In the story of us, no one wins. Isolation is a new theme someone says. By now I’ve invented you. Most people don’t like to touch dead things. That’s what my friend tells me when I find my fish on the floor. It must have wanted an out. Sometimes my desire scares me. Sometimes I watch football and think: four chances is enough to get there. But we don’t have helmets. I want to say harder, I can take it, but there’s no proof I can.

Stacie Cassarino, 'In the Kitchen'

#poetry #stacie cassarino

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hepatosaurus · 1 year

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national poetry month, day 25

Summer Solstice I wanted to see where beauty comes from without you in the world, hauling my heart across sixty acres of northeast meadow, my pockets filling with flowers. Then I remembered, it’s you I miss in the brightness and body of every living name: rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch. You are the green wonder of June, root and quasar, the thirst for salt. When I finally understand that people fail at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle, the paper wings of the dragonfly aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity? If I get the story right, desire is continuous, equatorial. There is still so much I want to know: what you believe can never be removed from us, what you dreamed on Walnut Street in the unanswerable dark of your childhood, learning pleasure on your own. Tell me our story: are we impetuous, are we kind to each other, do we surrender to what the mind cannot think past? Where is the evidence I will learn to be good at loving? The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies. There are violet hills, there is the covenant of duskbirds. The moon comes over the mountain like a big peach, and I want to tell you what I couldn’t say the night we rushed North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers and the way you go into yourself, calling my half-name like a secret. I stand between taproot and treespire. Here is the compass rose to help me live through this. Here are twelve ways of knowing what blooms even in the blindness of such longing. Yellow oxeye, viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms pleading do not forget me. We hunger for eloquence. We measure the isopleths. I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude. The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries. Fireflies turn on their electric wills: an effulgence. Let me come back whole, let me remember how to touch you before it is too late. —Stacie Cassarino

#stacie cassarino #summer solstice #poetry #national poetry month #npm2023

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ohno-poetry · 2 years

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Firework - Stacie Cassarino

The day my body caught fire

the woodland darkened. The horizon

was a sea of maids, rushing to piece me

back into a girl. Out of the girl came yellow

flowers, came stem & sepal.

You never happened, they said.

The meadow was a narration of lessness.

Inside the corral, horses fell

from the impact of lightning. They broke

down. I heard gunshots in my sleep.

I was a keeper of breath,

of hay. I walked a field, collecting bones.

You can build a house out of bones.

You can stand at the doorway

quarrelling with your legs to enter

or run until you turn to ash.

#stacie cassarino #poetry #free verse #poetrycommunity #spilled poetry #poetscommunity #poetry foundation

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johnesimpson · 10 months

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So Much to Know: Give Me Time to Be Whole

Stacie Cassarino, a Maxim for Nostalgists, et al.: 'So Much to Know: Give Me Time to Be Whole'

[Image: “I Work Better,” by John E. Simpson. During our road trip, we became intimately, excruciatingly familiar with the stubborn and unpredictable personalities of hotel luggage carts — the resistance to movement forward and back, the eccentric swiveling. At this hotel in Hannibal, Missouri, the luggage carts at least included helpful steering instructions.] From whiskey river (italicized…

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#memory #Maxims for Nostalgists #Stacie Cassarino #experience #Richard Powers #Gabrielle Zevin

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llovelymoonn · 1 year

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favourite poems of january

tony hoagland note to reality

henri cole middle earth: “myself and cats”

minerva s.m. kamra chronic

stacie cassarino zero at the bone: “in the kitchen”

bonnie jo stufflebeam barking dog nocturnal

ron silliman the alphabet: “you, part i”

sara borjas a heart can only be broken once, like a window

karen an-hwei lee song of the oyamel

louise glück afterword

kai nham follow the moon

elisabeth houston standard american english: “re-peat! re-verse! re-hearse!”

victoria stitt the carolina quarterly: “autumn convalescence”

noor ibn najam you smelled like an animal

ben still concept pest control

ray dipalma obediant laughter: “after midnight”

sasha pimentel cats

thanh-tam nguyen a lit match to burn what your country doesn’t remember

sarah abbas collecting words in attempt to keep them the same

julia wong kcomt (tr. jennifer shyue) woman eaten by cats

lisa jarnot ring of fire: “the bridge”

torrin a. greathouse i am beginning to mistake the locust’s song for silence

siaara freeman when i speak of hunger

vandana khanna train to agra: “evening prayer”

ouyang jianghe (tr. austin woerner) mother, kitchen

kayleb rae candrilli sand & silt

antony hecht an offering for patricia

sara ellen fowler shed project notes, august 30, 2019 - la madera, nm

vincent hiscock voice in the air: afterthought

margie piercy mars & her children: “the cat’s song”

eva chen how to bleed a ghost

sayuri ayers cordella magazine: “in the season of pink ladies”

buy me a coffee

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machalatte · 11 months

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Heaven on No Man’s Land

(A VashWood, Trigun fanmix)

~

Bury those skeletons deep beneath the sand.

(Vash and Nicholas carve out a piece of happiness for themselves. Forget the world and all it's burdens for a moment.)

LISTEN: [SPOTIFY] / [YOUTUBE]

Art credit: oniro_ro. Thank you!

~

Tell me our story: are we impetuous, are we kind to each other, do we surrender to what the mind cannot think past? Where is the evidence I will learn to be good at loving?

Let me come back whole, let me remember how to touch you before it is too late. (Summer solstice, by Stacie Cassarino)

Track list under the cut!

"I will not ask you where you came from. I will not ask, and neither would you."

Like real people do - Hozier

Sleep on the floor - The Lumineers

Hold you in my arms - Ray Lamontagne

My lover - Birdtalker

Call it dreaming - Iron & Wine

Real love baby - Father John Misty

Mystery - Tom Odell

London's song - Matt Hartke

Aging out of the 20th century - Trash Panda