If I Were A Great Lake

"You have come to the shore.

There are no instructions."

brundleflyforawhiteguy:

Behind the scenes of Halloween (1978)

(Source: darlingtheyfoundthebody, via to-the-girl-in-the-bell-jar)

I got greedy. Flew too close to the sun on wings of pastrami. Yeah, that’s what you did.

(Source: wigglemore, via seinfeld-quotes)

“Once I enjoy a person, that joy knows no bounds.”

—   Franz Kafka, from Letters To Felice (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope, and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains”

—   E.E. Cummings (via ariotofcolorablendingoftruth)

Losing Track

spoetrys:

Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:

you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way

a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?

and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the

tide swings you away before
I know I’m
alone again long since,

mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.

Denise Levertov

“In fact, my soul and yours are the same. You appear in me, I appear in you. We hide in each other.”

—   Rumi (via seabois)

(via letthismix)

fundamentalpainting:

Helen Frankenthaler

fundamentalpainting:

Helen Frankenthaler

“your smile is
a stirringofbirds
between my arms,
a rush of feathers
driven from my hands
skytoward yours.”

—   The first three lines are E.E. Cummings,
the last three ~peregrine (via youreyesblazeout)

http://apoetreflects.tumblr.com/post/100461409285/fluttering-slips-matins-you-want-to-know-how-i

fluttering-slips:

Matins

You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I’m never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I’m looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.”

—   T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets (via observando)

(via piracywhiskeypoetry)