Yellow Bowl

by Rachel Contreni Flynn


If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,


if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,
and the yellow bowl on the table


rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,


and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.

Unbidden

by: Rae Armantrout

The ghosts swarm.

They speak as one

person. Each

loves you. Each

has left something

undone.

•

Did the palo verde

blush yellow

all at once?

Today's edges

are so sharp

they might cut

anything that moved.

•

The way a lost

word

will come back

unbidden.

You're not interested

in it now,

only

in knowing

where it's been.

Dreams

By: Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.


Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Song of the Week

Pacific Division
Off the "Leaders of the New Cool" mixtape
-One of the best rap groups out right now [[in my opinion]]

Wake Up - Pacific Division

Vacation

By : Rita Dove

I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs—but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
perched like a seal trained for the plunge.
Even the lone executive
who has wandered this far into summer
with his lasered itinerary, briefcase
knocking his knees—even he
has worked for the pleasure of bearing
no more than a scrap of himself
into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,
they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning
—a little hope, a little whimsy
before the loudspeaker blurts
and we leap up to becomeFlight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.

A Book of Music

By : Jack Spicer

Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves' boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.

Song of the Week

Return the Favor
By Keri Hilson

Return the Favor feat. Timbaland - Keri Hilson

Sleep Deprivation

By : me

Sitting up alone
Watching t.v
Only 12:45
But it feels past two
My eyes are getting heavy
My body
Tired
But my mind
Hyped up on inspiration.
So many ideas
Streaming through the television
Distracting
My eyes
They desperately want to close
Sleep would be nice
But I'm young
I'd much rather
Sleep when I'm dead.

Random Shoe Post

i was actually really trying to stay away from the shoe post. but i jus couldnt resist. I'm just loving the Chanel Canvas Sneaker. If i were rich, these would be on my feet in 2.2 seconds.


via http://www.highsnobette.com/

The Philosopher

--This poem is truly speaking to my soul right about now. Just laying out my thoughts in a way that I could never do.


By : Edna St. Vincent Millay

And what are you that, wanting you,
I should be kept awake
As many nights as there are days
With weeping for your sake?
And what are you that, missing you,
As many days as crawl
I should be listening to the wind
And looking at the wall?
I know a man that's a braver man
And twenty men as kind,
And what are you, that you should be
The one man in my mind?
Yet women's ways are witless ways,
As any sage will tell, --
And what am I, that I should love
So wisely and so well?