1. 02:12 2nd Jan 2014

    Notes: 407

    Reblogged from ka-ih


    Vintage Haiti

  2. 01:50

    Notes: 30723

    Reblogged from stolenshoppingcart

    my whole life… just a navy ship

    my whole life… just a navy ship

    (Source: wonderfullyrandom21)

  3. 01:37

    Notes: 93

    Reblogged from mythologyofblue

    Broken Spoke


    You grow old.
    You love everybody.
    You forgive everyone.
    You think: we are all leaves
    dragged along by the wind.
    Then comes a splendid spotted
    yellow one—ah, distinction!
    And in that moment
    you are dragged under.

    -Mary Ruefle +

  4. 23:13 30th Dec 2013

    Notes: 332

    Reblogged from an-itinerant-poet

    Words are substance strange. Speak one and the air ripples into another’s ears. Write one and the eye laps it up. But the sense transmutes, and the spoken word winds through the ear’s labyrinth into a sense that is no longer the nerve’s realm. The written word unfolds behind the eye into the world, world’s image, and the imagination sees as the eye cannot see—thoughtfully.
    — Dan Beachy-Quick, A Brighter Word Than Bright (via invisiblestories)
  5. 23:05

    Notes: 219

    Reblogged from theparisreview

    image: Download


“Moving around a lot is a good way of postponing the day of reckoning.” —Paul Bowles, born on this day in 1910


    “Moving around a lot is a good way of postponing the day of reckoning.” —Paul Bowles, born on this day in 1910

  6. 19:34 28th Dec 2013

    Notes: 30

    Reblogged from arianareines


    The end of man is his beauty

    And silence

    which proves / but

    a referent

    to my disorder.

    Your world shakes

    cities die

    beneath your shape.

    The single shadow

    at noon

    like a live tree

    whose leaves

    are like clouds

    Weightless soul

    at whose love faith moves

    as a dark and

    withered day.

    They speak of singing who

  7. 19:00

    Notes: 836

    Reblogged from nayyirahwaheed

    Poetry loves us. It’s unconditional.
    — Nikki Giovanni (via sonofafieldnegro)
  8. image: Download

    Javier Payeras

    Javier Payeras

  9. To a Young Girl at a Window by Margaret Widdemer

    The Poor Old Soul plods down the street, 
    Contented, and forgetting 
    How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild 
    And how her life is setting; 
    And you lean out to watch her there, 
    And pity, nor remember, 
    That Youth is hard, and Life is hard, 
    And quiet is December. 
  10. 21:58 28th Nov 2013

    Notes: 9988

    Reblogged from tierradentro

    Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.
    — Charles Baudelaire  (via thestylishgypsy)

    (Source: rabbitinthemoon)