#poet — Public Fediverse posts

#poem #poems #poet #poetry #amwritingpoetry inventingrealityediting.com/2...

5 Great Quotations about Poetr...

THERE IS MORE POETRY IN THE WORLD
... than people care to read.

#poetry #opinion #philosophy #errtling #bookcafe #writing #poet #writer #art #music #literature

THERE IS MORE POETRY IN THE WORLD
... than people care to read.

#poetry #opinion #philosophy #errtling #bookcafe #writing #poet #writer #art #music #literature

THERE IS MORE POETRY IN THE WORLD
... than people care to read.

#poetry #opinion #philosophy #errtling #bookcafe #writing #poet #writer #art #music #literature

THERE IS MORE POETRY IN THE WORLD
... than people care to read.

#poetry #opinion #philosophy #errtling #bookcafe #writing #poet #writer #art #music #literature

THERE IS MORE POETRY IN THE WORLD
... than people care to read.

#poetry #opinion #philosophy #errtling #bookcafe #writing #poet #writer #art #music #literature

A #poem inspired by Wendell Berry. #Poetry #Writing #Poet

A #poem inspired by Wendell Berry. #Poetry #Writing #Poet

A #poem inspired by Wendell Berry. #Poetry #Writing #Poet

A #poem inspired by Wendell Berry. #Poetry #Writing #Poet

A #poem inspired by Wendell Berry. #Poetry #Writing #Poet

In the Deep: A Poem About Jellyfish, Memory, and Darkness

It was an old memory.
In Norway, with unrestrained daylight,
and slugs horned and black, wiggling out of the stalks
of my great aunt’s garden.
Behind her lemon house, with leafy siding,
waxy with uncensored sunlight.

We’re on the sea for lunch, it is black, fathomless,
the inky water clinging to the cliffs.
On a patio, the wind is flag-tight, whipping,
a sightless electric current howling.
The smell is herring, crackers, beer, and cigarette smoke
I’m eight-years-old, eating french fries with mayo.

Our hosts promised me jellyfish.
“Give it about an hour, they
come up to feed, they’re down deep.”
We wait, the sun a muddy pearl.
There are slivers of chittering dolphins,
slicing and dancing through the whitecaps.

Then, they arrive.
Rising, slowly, a time-lapse firework
of living lace and fire, bloomed from a perfect abyss.
Those halos ascending
an endless rack of bioluminescent antlers
threaded into themselves in pulses.

I watched over the rail.
The seagulls cackled. The waves banged.
More, a herd, a cluster, a squadron of coalescing fabric.
Shards of the underworld sun blossoming upwards.
A true kaleidoscope crown spiking
the gloom for all these floating kings and queens.

Now, that evening by the bay
is almost lost against my small life
and its own vast ocean of dark moments.
But, I’m still here
remembering with teary eyes
how those perfect stars

were forged in the crushing darkness.

In the Deep: A Poem About Jellyfish, Memory, and Darkness

It was an old memory.
In Norway, with unrestrained daylight,
and slugs horned and black, wiggling out of the stalks
of my great aunt’s garden.
Behind her lemon house, with leafy siding,
waxy with uncensored sunlight.

We’re on the sea for lunch, it is black, fathomless,
the inky water clinging to the cliffs.
On a patio, the wind is flag-tight, whipping,
a sightless electric current howling.
The smell is herring, crackers, beer, and cigarette smoke
I’m eight-years-old, eating french fries with mayo.

Our hosts promised me jellyfish.
“Give it about an hour, they
come up to feed, they’re down deep.”
We wait, the sun a muddy pearl.
There are slivers of chittering dolphins,
slicing and dancing through the whitecaps.

Then, they arrive.
Rising, slowly, a time-lapse firework
of living lace and fire, bloomed from a perfect abyss.
Those halos ascending
an endless rack of bioluminescent antlers
threaded into themselves in pulses.

I watched over the rail.
The seagulls cackled. The waves banged.
More, a herd, a cluster, a squadron of coalescing fabric.
Shards of the underworld sun blossoming upwards.
A true kaleidoscope crown spiking
the gloom for all these floating kings and queens.

Now, that evening by the bay
is almost lost against my small life
and its own vast ocean of dark moments.
But, I’m still here
remembering with teary eyes
how those perfect stars

were forged in the crushing darkness.

In the Deep: A Poem About Jellyfish, Memory, and Darkness

It was an old memory.
In Norway, with unrestrained daylight,
and slugs horned and black, wiggling out of the stalks
of my great aunt’s garden.
Behind her lemon house, with leafy siding,
waxy with uncensored sunlight.

We’re on the sea for lunch, it is black, fathomless,
the inky water clinging to the cliffs.
On a patio, the wind is flag-tight, whipping,
a sightless electric current howling.
The smell is herring, crackers, beer, and cigarette smoke
I’m eight-years-old, eating french fries with mayo.

Our hosts promised me jellyfish.
“Give it about an hour, they
come up to feed, they’re down deep.”
We wait, the sun a muddy pearl.
There are slivers of chittering dolphins,
slicing and dancing through the whitecaps.

Then, they arrive.
Rising, slowly, a time-lapse firework
of living lace and fire, bloomed from a perfect abyss.
Those halos ascending
an endless rack of bioluminescent antlers
threaded into themselves in pulses.

I watched over the rail.
The seagulls cackled. The waves banged.
More, a herd, a cluster, a squadron of coalescing fabric.
Shards of the underworld sun blossoming upwards.
A true kaleidoscope crown spiking
the gloom for all these floating kings and queens.

Now, that evening by the bay
is almost lost against my small life
and its own vast ocean of dark moments.
But, I’m still here
remembering with teary eyes
how those perfect stars

were forged in the crushing darkness.

In the Deep: A Poem About Jellyfish, Memory, and Darkness

It was an old memory.
In Norway, with unrestrained daylight,
and slugs horned and black, wiggling out of the stalks
of my great aunt’s garden.
Behind her lemon house, with leafy siding,
waxy with uncensored sunlight.

We’re on the sea for lunch, it is black, fathomless,
the inky water clinging to the cliffs.
On a patio, the wind is flag-tight, whipping,
a sightless electric current howling.
The smell is herring, crackers, beer, and cigarette smoke
I’m eight-years-old, eating french fries with mayo.

Our hosts promised me jellyfish.
“Give it about an hour, they
come up to feed, they’re down deep.”
We wait, the sun a muddy pearl.
There are slivers of chittering dolphins,
slicing and dancing through the whitecaps.

Then, they arrive.
Rising, slowly, a time-lapse firework
of living lace and fire, bloomed from a perfect abyss.
Those halos ascending
an endless rack of bioluminescent antlers
threaded into themselves in pulses.

I watched over the rail.
The seagulls cackled. The waves banged.
More, a herd, a cluster, a squadron of coalescing fabric.
Shards of the underworld sun blossoming upwards.
A true kaleidoscope crown spiking
the gloom for all these floating kings and queens.

Now, that evening by the bay
is almost lost against my small life
and its own vast ocean of dark moments.
But, I’m still here
remembering with teary eyes
how those perfect stars

were forged in the crushing darkness.

In the Deep: A Poem About Jellyfish, Memory, and Darkness

It was an old memory.
In Norway, with unrestrained daylight,
and slugs horned and black, wiggling out of the stalks
of my great aunt’s garden.
Behind her lemon house, with leafy siding,
waxy with uncensored sunlight.

We’re on the sea for lunch, it is black, fathomless,
the inky water clinging to the cliffs.
On a patio, the wind is flag-tight, whipping,
a sightless electric current howling.
The smell is herring, crackers, beer, and cigarette smoke
I’m eight-years-old, eating french fries with mayo.

Our hosts promised me jellyfish.
“Give it about an hour, they
come up to feed, they’re down deep.”
We wait, the sun a muddy pearl.
There are slivers of chittering dolphins,
slicing and dancing through the whitecaps.

Then, they arrive.
Rising, slowly, a time-lapse firework
of living lace and fire, bloomed from a perfect abyss.
Those halos ascending
an endless rack of bioluminescent antlers
threaded into themselves in pulses.

I watched over the rail.
The seagulls cackled. The waves banged.
More, a herd, a cluster, a squadron of coalescing fabric.
Shards of the underworld sun blossoming upwards.
A true kaleidoscope crown spiking
the gloom for all these floating kings and queens.

Now, that evening by the bay
is almost lost against my small life
and its own vast ocean of dark moments.
But, I’m still here
remembering with teary eyes
how those perfect stars

were forged in the crushing darkness.

Via #tedgoia

#wendallBerry #poet #literature

To mark his passing, I’m sharing this article from my #archive on Berry’s nine rules for #technology. It’s a simple list, but a profound one—and even more relevant today than when it was first published in 1987.

#thinkers #farmers
https://www.honest-broker.com/p/wendell-berrys-nine-rules

#tedgoia #wendallbeery #archive #technology #thinkers #farmers #books #rip

Where The Wind Brought Us

https://thetigressawakes.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/where-the-wind-brought-us/

‘Biography’ - #RSThomas
(Experimenting with an Amen, Macmillan 1986)
#Cofiant
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

"As #StevenPressman makes clear in his new #documentary #film, Dust Bowls and #Jewish Souls: Another Side of #WoodyGuthrie, there was another side to #Guthrie and his #songs. As his son, #ArloGuthrie, explains in the film: “My father studied #Judaism and he knew something about it. He never exchanged his faith for something else; he added to his faith. And that something else he added … was a Jewish identity. He understood what that meant traditionally, historically, culturally. And he knew more about Judaism than my zeyde. And so, my bubbe was thrilled.”

It just so happens that Arlo’s bubbe — his grandmother — was acclaimed #Yiddish #poet and #lyricist #AlizaGreenblatt. When Guthrie married Aliza’s daughter, #MarjorieMazia (née #Greenblatt), the two chose to raise their children in #ConeyIsland..."

https://forward.com/culture/841190/our-greatest-folksinger-wrote-about-america-dust-bowl-refugees-and-jewish-identity/

Eating out: When prose becomes poetry

Glenwood Bakery Morningside Where: 50 Florida Road, Morningside Open: Monday to Friday 6am to 9pm, Saturday and Sunday 6am to…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #MediterraneanCuisine #50floridaroad #bill #cape #cobb #english #glenwoodbakerymorningside #Italian #kassler #madeleine #mains #margherita #Mediterranean #mediterraneancuisine #MiddleEastern #morningside #Parmesan #poet #vivek
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2741764/eating-out-when-prose-becomes-poetry/

Eating out: When prose becomes poetry https://www.diningandcooking.com/2741764/eating-out-when-prose-becomes-poetry/ #50FloridaRoad #bill #cape #cobb #english #GlenwoodBakeryMorningside #Italian #kassler #madeleine #mains #margherita #Mediterranean #MediterraneanCuisine #MiddleEastern #morningside #Parmesan #poet #vivek

Jagged Edge – Good Luck Charm (First Part Cover w/ Background Vocals)

‘The Marksman’ - #RSThomas (‘Agenda, 36.2, Autumn 1998) #YrAnelwr #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Brethren’ - #RSThomas (The Poetry Book Society Anthology 1988-1989, Hutchinson) #Brodyr #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Boom’ - #RSThomas (‘Little Review’ 13-14, 1980) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Saner than You Think’ - #RSThomas ("Night Ride and Sunrise” Celtion Poetry, Aberystwyth 1978) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Eh?’ - #RSThomas (New Poems 1963 - A P.E.N Anthology of Contemporary Poetry - Hutchings & Co) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

Wednesday, November 12, 2025

https://activitypub.writeworks.uk/2025/11/wednesday-november-12-2025/

‘Seventieth Birthday’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, Macmillan) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Aleph’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, Macmillan) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Fair Day’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, Macmillan) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Correspondence’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, Macmillan) #Gohebiaeth #Correspondence #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Threshold’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, Macmillan) #Trothwy #Threshold #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Return’ - #RSThomas (Between Here and Now, #Dychwelyd #Return #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

"What you dredge up from the river is absence", poetry from the forthcoming book Athenalogia by C. A. Corbell

#poetry #poem #poet #poetrycommunity #symbolist #surreal #newpoetry #poetryreading

https://youtube.com/shorts/5cQrf0vv-I8?feature=share

J. Borges, #woodcutter, #poet, and #Cordel writer, died on July 26, 2024, at 88 in Bezerros, #Pernambuco (#Brazil), his lifelong home. #woodcarving #graphicarts #designhistory #xylography #MovimentoArmorial #Culture #folklore

https://www.designative.info/2024/07/26/for-inspiration-carving-woodblock-prints-in-brazil/

‘Christmas’ - #RSThomas (Not That He Brought Flowers - Rupert Hart-Davis) #Nadolig #Christmas #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Blind Noel’ - #RSThomas (No Truce with the Furies, @BloodaxeBooks) #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Luminary’ - #RSThomas (Uncollected Poems, @BloodaxeBooks) #Goleuaethwr #Luminary #Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd #Poet #Poetry #Poem

Although this account is paused on here, it’s now active in a different place where the sky is always blue. Perhaps take a look at https://bsky.app/profile/rsthomaspoet.bsky.social ? 😊
#RSThomas
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Self-portrait’ - #RSThomas
(Laboratories of the Spirit, Macmillan)
#Hunanbortread #SelfPortrait
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘The Reception’ - #RSThomas
(Laboratories of the Spirit, Macmillan)
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

‘Hallowe’en’ - #RSThomas
(No Truce with the Furies, @BloodaxeBooks)
#NosCalanGaeaf #Halloween 
#Bardd #Barddoniaeth #Cerdd
#Poet #Poetry #Poem

salmon colored sky
welcoming a summer moon
a change in seasons

#dailyhaikuprompt - summer moon
#mastoprompt - salmon

ART
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/summer-moon-landscape-art-by-sharon-cummings-sharon-cummings.html

#art #artwork #moon #summermoon #fullmoon #sky #landscape #landscapes #tree #trees #bird #birds #crow #colorful #abstract #abstractart #abstractpainting #salmon #seasons #season #summer #summertime #poetry #poet #poets #poem #poems #haiku #shortpoems #shortpoem #smallpoems #smallpoem #writing #writer #writingcommunity #writinglife #nature #orange

A #portrait #painting of the poet Hilde Domin (1909 in #Köln - 2006 in #Heidelberg)
.
#Domin was a German-Jewish #poet who experienced persecution and exile during World War II. She used #poetry as a means of dealing with the loss of belonging and home. The theme of human relationships were prevalent in her work.
.
#Oil #acrylic collage on #canvas. 100cm x 70cm, 2021
.
#BrigitteDietz
.
#HildeDomin #art #artist #portraitartist
#portraitpainting #oilpainting #mastoart #mastoartist

‘Rhondda’ - #RSThomas
(An Acre of Land, Montgomeryshire Printing Co)
#Rhondda
#bardd #barddoniaeth #cerdd
#poet #poetry #poem

to extinguish stress
a daily meditation
is just the ticket!

#MastoPrompt - #extinguish

ART
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/double-ying-and-yang-blue-art-sharon-cummings.html

#meditation #meditationpractice #yoga #peace #peaceful #yinandyang #art #artwork #artist #artists #mastoart #fediart #collageart #collage #buddhism #buddhist #spirit #spiritual #spirituality #haiku #poetry #poem #poet #writing #writingcommunity

years of tomorrows
the tides of time move swiftly
always seize the day!

#575prompt - tides

ART
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/effervescent-zen-yin-and-yang-art-sharon-cummings.html

#art #artwork #fediart #mastoart #poetry #writing #haiku #AYearForArt #artist #smallpoems #writing #writingcommunity #poet #poem #life #kindnessmatters #kindness #buddha #buddhism #buddhist #spirituality #spiritual #healing #peace #selfcare #martialarts #yoga #meditation #yinandyang

Rising Up
©️ Nona Rose 2011

Pretty pictures on the wall
Stare down at me in mute anticipation
They've been waiting for so long
It won't hurt to wait some more
There's no life in this room
The curtain's faded and carpet's worn
The wardrobe needs a paint
And there's no air to breathe
Someone shut the door long ago
Maybe it was me
And society is stuck outside

🌹

If you’d like to read the rest of this poem, follow the link below. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, observations.

https://nonas-poetry-corner.blogspot.com/2011/02/rising-up.html?m=0

#poetry #poems #poet #PoetryByNona #PoetryCafe #PoetryCommunity #writing #WritingCommunity #RisingUp