junk bond trader

"I cannot promise very much.
I give you the images I know.
Lie still with me and watch.
We laugh and we touch.
I promise you love. 
Time will not take that away."

Anne Sexton

(Source: ahuntersheart, via libraryland)

"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."

Khalil Gibran

(Source: jakeisg, via human-voices)

"I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world. One is trying to say everything that can be said for the things that one loves while there’s still time."

W. S. Merwin

(Source: whiskeyriver.blogspot.com, via libraryland)

"The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire.
He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought."

Arthur Rimbaud

(Source: the-cult-of-richey-edwards)

"I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist."

Frank O’Hara, from “Mayakovsky”

(Source: proustitute)

Conversation’s Afterplay by Donald Hall

At dinner our first night
I looked at you, your bright green eyes,
In candlelight.
We laughed and told the hundred stories,
Kissed, and caressed, and went to bed.
“Shh, shh,” you said,
“I want to put my legs around your head.”
Green eyes, green eyes.

At dawn we sat with coffee
And smoked another cigarette
As quietly
Companionship and eros met
In conversation’s afterplay,
On our first day.
Late for the work you love, you drove away.
Green eyes, green eyes.

“Conversation’s Afterplay” by Donald Hall, from The Painted Bed, 2002.

"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness."

Robert Frost

(Source: libraryland, via human-voices)

"Each poem is a resurrection, but one that engages us with a vulnerable body that may yet again slip into oblivion."

Jacques Derrida

(Source: jeremyallanhawkins, via human-voices)

"

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it’s true —
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe —

The Eyes glaze once — and that is Death —
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.

I like a look of Agony, Emily Dickinson

"Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before."

Shel Silverstein

"I shall return with limbs of steel, a dark skin and a furious eye: my mask will lead people to believe that I belong to a powerful race."

Arthur Rimbaud, “A Season in Hell”

(Source: nachocolin, via valentine-anthems-that-kill)

"There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it."

Gustave Flaubert

(via ifeellikeiminsane)

"My chest is full of flames
how can you stand to wear clothes?
The moon is dancing, the road has generous ears.

I’ve given up on hats
and seat belts and liberation from meaning.
Tonight the drive is easy.

I know nothing of love.
I’ve put out the headlights
and taken both hands from the wheel.

John Brandi, from “Time is Short”

(Source: casablancaat10am, via human-voices)

"A man said to the universe:
“Sir I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

Stephen Crane