underscored

@underscored

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This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

— Walt Whitman
1w ago

I'm imagining Something in a cherry Splits the atom I'm imagining Patches of sun Sewn inside my pockets Gets in my blood

2w ago

Pulsating beneath the story is a reminder that whether the poem is made of words or of mathematics, it is only ever made in the mind — that strange and solitary place where ideas are born like new stars out of the fertile cosmic darkness, molecules of thought pulled together by the gravity of feeling to become light.

1mo ago

An AI may never be able to write a great poem — a truly original poem — because a poem is made not of language but of experience, and the defining aspect of human experience is the constant collision between our wishes and reality, the sharp violation of our expectations, the demolition of our plans. We call this suffering. Suffering is the price we pay for a consciousness capable of love and the loss of love, of hope and the devastation of hope.

2mo ago

A breath can uncoil as you walk across your own muddy yard, the big dipper pouring night down over you, and everything you dread, all you can't bear, dissolves and, like a needle slipped into your vein — that sudden rush of the world.

2mo ago

The flower that you hold in your hands was born today and already it is as old as you are.

2mo ago

The brain is wider than the sky, for, put them side by side, the one the other will contain with ease, and you beside.

4mo ago

We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us. The poet who walks by moonlight knows that the moon is the sun and that the darkness is a brilliant day.

4mo ago

We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.

5mo ago

The task of the excellent poet is not to say the things that can be said about nature, but to say the things that cannot be said about it.

5mo ago

I conceive a man's body as a sort of fiery mist enmeshed in the cage of the skeleton, and mostly resulting from the circulation of the blood.

6mo ago
3quarksdaily.com
Thursday Poem

But hang on here while we make the turn into the final six where all will be resolved, where longing and heartache will find an end, where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen, take off those crazy medieval tights, blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.

7mo ago

Underscored — save the words that stop you in your tracks.

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