nomopoetry

by Daniel A. Nicholls. Poetry, art, and related problems.
Twitter: @nomopoetry.

Apr 18

friday was good

nomopoetry:

the bottom of the well the top of the water
the sky the sky as signified
the looking in the flowing through
the bucket down the welling up
the drawing up the dry—
and should the child plunging in
pull apart the parents’ cry
from every bond of lung—
the townsmen’s hands the tiny flailing limbs
the short commands the sputter
the stone from stone from stone below the wailing forth
the shovels and picks and grandad’s voice the wet echo whimper
the dusk mounting to see the grime-slick slip
the rope gone slack the water sleep
the night spent at an open grave
the moon giving no comfort
the screams of father down empty earth
the mute upgaze of mother
the filling in and sealing up
the few words of a bridled priest
the moving to another town
the adoption of nothing new with breath
the rye instead of water
the little spirit in packed dirt-down
    and all this goddamn silence.

Apr 1
the-uncomfortable:

uncomfortable rainboots
© 2012 Katerina Kamprani - all rights reserved

the-uncomfortable:

uncomfortable rainboots

© 2012 Katerina Kamprani - all rights reserved


Mar 31

Mar 25

unfollow stupid tumblrrs


Mar 20
bothkindsofmusic:

Grass root stuff.

bothkindsofmusic:

Grass root stuff.

(via ianfitzgerald)


Mar 15

Consumer Alert - Trojan Fire & Ice Condoms

condomdepot:

CondomDepot-News-HI-consumer-alert-trojan-fire-and-ice

Upon examining a Trojan Fire & Ice condom, I immediately noticed something was very wrong.

Read More

Ahem. Take it from a man named Frost.
—————


Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”


Feb 19

I did start by trying to make it lovely for you,
I swear. I turned my father into a great black bird
and his life into a river lit by a basket lamp burning
fragrant splits of pine. Look, I even turned
my mother into a noble fisherman, face
shielded by a snow-white hat’s brim.
But my father was really nothing like a cormorant,
his death nothing like noble work, and not even
1300 years of history could explain away his silence
or my mother’s cruel collar and wet, heavy ropes.

—from "Death Is Not a Cormorant", by Amy Tudor. (Amended to reflect the final version in her book, The Secret Museum.)


Feb 4

Feb 1

Jan 7

HOW I FEEL ABOUT BOOK BLURBS EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT’S FUTILE TO FEEL THIS WAY ABOUT BOOK BLURBS

dudeinpublishing:

image


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