I swear paper breeds...
I have been dejunking! I am actually heeding the lessons learned last time I moved and getting rid of stuff. A lot of stuff, considering what little I've touched. Huzzah! I'm taking a page from my brothers' books and realizing that I actually need very little, and that most of what I keep is highly replaceable. I just can't stand *waste*, so I've been attempting to find homes for it all.
That being said, anyone want plants? I have LOTS!
I have been tackling my office/desk area tonight, and I see no difference in it's outward appearance after 2 hours. Hrm.
Also, thanks to prompting from CT, I've been looking through poetry today. If anyone wants to pass on to me their favorite poems or poets, I'd be thrilled, both for the chance to read them and learn a little more about my friends, and so I can pass them on to someone who would appreciate them.
That being said, anyone want plants? I have LOTS!
I have been tackling my office/desk area tonight, and I see no difference in it's outward appearance after 2 hours. Hrm.
Also, thanks to prompting from CT, I've been looking through poetry today. If anyone wants to pass on to me their favorite poems or poets, I'd be thrilled, both for the chance to read them and learn a little more about my friends, and so I can pass them on to someone who would appreciate them.
Labels: Spamming for poetry
posted by TMNinja @ 9:17 PM
1 Comments:
At 8:21 PM,
Anonymous said…
Half a stanza from Ode to a Violin in California by Pablo Neruda:
It was a pattern of incendiary sound,
a spiral of musical contours,
and I went on searching
street by street
for the dark violin's
lifeline,
the source submerged in silence.
Finally, there
he was,
at the entrance to a bar:
a man and his
hungry violin.
From Ode to a box of tea:
Box of tea
from
elephant country,
now a worn
sewing box,
small planetarium of buttons:
you brought
into the house
a sacred,
unplaceable scent,
as if you had come from another planet.
[...]
Box of tea,
like my
own heart
you arrived bearing
stories,
thrills,
eyes
that had held
fabulous petals in their gaze
and also, yes
that
lost scent
of tea, of jasmine and of dreams,
that scent of wandering spring.
Bare November Tree - John V. Hicks
The click click click I heard in the
bare November tree
was two skulls kissing
tooth to tooth a cold lovemaking
(a branch through sightless
sockets grown
to mock the single-
seasoned bone?)
I but half saw
the woman-figure at my elbow
yet who else could have willed me
to look where she pointed
to tear my gaze away
fix it on forsaken nest
on shrivel of leaf dancing from one
knobbed twig
on the round hunter's rim
climbing the clocking hill
Hope my spacing holds. If not, let me know, and I'll tack it on my lj.
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