I,bird (2025 - Broken Sleep Books), Infinite Monochrome (2024), Insomnia (2024) An image-river that star from the dead (2024)
Poetry/Nature/Literature studies & Art
I give myself to the heart of this wild thing from guilt.
Have the flesh from my bones, yellow rose.
Take my weight to your bed.
My soul cannot nurture you.
Make of me a rich dust.
Guilt (from Infinite Monochrome, 2024)
(That probably seems obvious to a lot of people but it wasn’t to me!)
(That probably seems obvious to a lot of people but it wasn’t to me!)
Just laid down the first couple of loose layers, a long way to go but it’s a joy to get them underway
Just laid down the first couple of loose layers, a long way to go but it’s a joy to get them underway
My advice to new poets is resist the temptation at all costs to share your work online before getting it published.
I wish somebody had had a chat with me about this when I was starting!
My advice to new poets is resist the temptation at all costs to share your work online before getting it published.
I wish somebody had had a chat with me about this when I was starting!
Buy on our website at: www.poetryireland.ie/publications...
Buy on our website at: www.poetryireland.ie/publications...
~ Michael Longley on the #poetry of Kathleen Jamie 📚 irishpages.org/product/the-...
~ Michael Longley on the #poetry of Kathleen Jamie 📚 irishpages.org/product/the-...
Here for the lovely editors ⚡️⚡️⚡️
Here for the lovely editors ⚡️⚡️⚡️
(Blanchot, L’attente L’oubli)
(Blanchot, L’attente L’oubli)
Everyone needs to see this.
Fire 🔥
Everyone needs to see this.
Fire 🔥
thisisthetitleofmyblog.wordpress.com/2012/06/07/b...
thisisthetitleofmyblog.wordpress.com/2012/06/07/b...
On Netflix
On Netflix
By Romanian poet Marin Sorescu, tr. Michael Hamburger
This hour
When all things, tired of meaning,
fall asleep over it,
like guards
with their chins resting
on their lances
By Romanian poet Marin Sorescu, tr. Michael Hamburger
This hour
When all things, tired of meaning,
fall asleep over it,
like guards
with their chins resting
on their lances
Waver between wanting to be a silent hermit and wanting to scream at the top of my lungs in the public square so to speak
Waver between wanting to be a silent hermit and wanting to scream at the top of my lungs in the public square so to speak
French writer Anaïs Nin, who died #OTD in 1977.
French writer Anaïs Nin, who died #OTD in 1977.