September 1, 2014 at 2:49 PM

I let alphabets cling to me
as I climb the thread of language
between myself and the world.
I muster crowds in my mouth:
suspended between language and the world,
between the world and the alphabets.

I let my head
listen to the myth,
to all sides praising each other.
And I shout at the winds from the top of a mountain.

Why does my tongue tell me to climb this far?
What is the distance between my voice and my longing?
What is there?

Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi, from “A Body,” translated by Atef Alshaer and Sarah Maguire, Poetry Translation Centre (via apoetreflects)

(Source: literarymiscellany, via apoetreflects)


September 1, 2014 at 2:45 PM

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

Mary Oliver, from ”What Is There Beyond Knowing,New and Selected Poems, Volume 2 (Beacon Press, 2005)

(Source: barnsburntdownnow, via apoetreflects)


September 1, 2014 at 2:34 PM

So often, a visit to a bookshop has cheered me and reminded me that there are good things in the world.

Vincent Van Gogh  (via oiseauperdu)

(Source: littledallilasbookshelf, via preciously-me)


September 1, 2014 at 11:58 AM


Koko-en Garden
By : cotaro70s


Koko-en Garden

By : cotaro70s

(via fanaticismworld)

Jane Hirshfield: The World Loved By Moonlight

August 26, 2014 at 3:28 PM


You must try,
the voice said, to become colder.
I understood at once.
It is like the bodies of gods: cast in bronze,
braced in stone. Only something heartless
could bear the full weight.


August 23, 2014 at 1:31 PM

Absence, the highest form of presence.

— James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (via larmoyante)

(via keshavprasad)


August 23, 2014 at 1:29 PM

so I looked away
and I waited
until you became a palm tree

or a crow

or the vast grey ocean of wind
or the vast grey ocean of mind

Leonard Cohen, Looking Away (via poemusicoffee)

(via keshavprasad)


August 23, 2014 at 1:25 PM

Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.

Donald Winnicott   (via mirroir)

(Source: ronakeller, via keshavprasad)


August 23, 2014 at 1:23 PM

Smells are unlike any other memories. They remain with us fully 100% forever on some remote desert island of the mind where they keep the lowest profile. If they’re not shaken awake by something, they lay silent and still like sleeping dogs under the table. But once roused, they return as completely as the moment we first encountered them.

— Jonathan Carroll (via browndresswithwhitedots)


August 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM

You cannot change your destination overnight, but you can change your direction overnight.

— Jim Rohn