#po

He left the next morning, searching for a city with light that reminded him of me. He would mail me empty envelopes and boxes, I would take them into my closet, shut the door, and quickly open them. A flash of foreign light would fill the room, but only for a moment. I would whisper ‘this is what we’re like, this is what we’re like.’… ↗

— Mikl Paul

#monologue #prose #prose-poetry #love

I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold ↗

— Mahmoud Darwish

#poetry #love

Chipmunks jump, and greensnakes slither. Rather burst than not be with her. Bluebirds fight, but bears are stronger. We've got fifty years or longer. Hoptoads hop, but hogs are fatter. Nothing else but Us can matter. ↗

— Donald Hall

#love-poem #love

Jag föddes för att kränga rosor på de dödas avenyer ↗

— Charles Bukowski

#love

Cara signora Milena, la giornata è molto breve, con Lei e soltanto con qualche altra inezia è bell'e passata e terminata. E' molto se rimane un po' di tempo per scrivere alla vera Milena perché quella ancor più vera era qui tutto il giorno nella camera, sul balcone, nelle nuvole. ↗

— Franz Kafka

#poetic #love

Politics is the Art of Controlling Your Enviroment. ↗

— Hunter S. Thompson

#politics #art

Love is a place for your heart to get broken. ↗

— Hector Schiller

#fear #love #love

say what you mean and mean what you say ↗

— Angel Silva

#love

***********NEW ENGLAND****************** Whoe'er thou art, who walkest there Where god first taught my feet to roam, Breathe but my name into the air, I am content, for that is home. A sence of color comes to me, Of baybushes that heavy lie With juniper along the sea, And the blue sea along the sky. New England is my home; t'is there I love the pagan sun and moon. T'is there I love the growing year, December and young-summer June. I'd rather love one blade of grass That grows on one New England hill, Than drain the whole world in the glass Of fortune, when the heart is still. ↗

— Philip Henry Savage

#art

A life without books is a thirsty life, and one without poetry is...like a life without pictures. ↗

— Stephen King

#books #life #poetry #art