Sam Rasnake

It is a strong line. Yes.

Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey “Truth be told, I do not want to forget anything of my former life: the landscape’s song of bondage — dirge in the river’s throat where it churns into the Gulf, wind in trees choked with vines. I thought to carry with me want of freedom though I had been freed…”

Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey “Truth be told, I do not want to forget anything of my former life: the landscape’s song of bondage — dirge in the river’s throat where it churns into the Gulf, wind in trees choked with vines. I thought to carry with me want of freedom though I had been freed…”

Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey

“Truth be told, I do not want to forget
anything of my former life: the landscape’s
song of bondage — dirge in the river’s throat
where it churns into the Gulf, wind in trees
choked with vines. I thought to carry with me
want of freedom though I had been freed…”

Scenes from a Marriage / Ingmar Bergman, dir. (1973) “To my surprise I must admit that I don't know who I am. I haven't the vaguest idea.”

Scenes from a Marriage / Ingmar Bergman, dir. (1973)

“To my surprise I must admit that I don't know who I am. I haven't the vaguest idea.”

Standing bug talks to man wearing a suit across cloth covered table, has one leg of some kind of tea cosy, tea cabin table, patterned carpet floor, illustration

Hello Tuesday.
'I am the Bahum Bug,' it declared. Edward Gorey.

Telemann: Viola Concerto in G major TWV 51:G9, I. Largo. Manami Mizumoto, baroque viola 8K YouTube video by Voices of Music

Nite, peeps. Extremely preoccupied, but hoping sleep will eventually win.

“Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.”
~Frank O’Hara

Telemann Viola Concerto, G Maj
youtu.be/ot0c-_kjqDA?...
#classicalmusic #poetry #goodnight

Powerful statement - 'words are not signs, they are years'. Yes.

"We talk because we are mortal: / words are not signs, they are years."
Octavio Paz, To Talk (tr. by Mark Strand)

"Then there was a silence he had never before experienced: in it, you could hear the years."
Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon (tr. by Barbara Harshav)

photo of the 4 books mentioned in this post placed in a 2 by 2 grid on my bed.

random 4 book shout-out (was gonna add "of writers i follow" but i dont follow cadwell) —

• shigidi & the brass head of obalufon by wole talabi

• ordinary notes by christina sharpe

• no gods, no monsters by cadwell turnbull

• the ballad of perilous graves by alex jennings

support black authors.

"I look at originality. I look at narrative. I look at structure. I look at character. I look at the emotional journey. I look at language. I look at theme. Any creative writing is made up of multiple ingredients."

Big love for this craft article by @mattkendrick.bsky.social 💙💙💙

River Keeps by Cathy Ulrich What is lost in the river is all the things thrown or dropped or tossed: keys and beer bottles and a silver-plated bracelet with a clasp that came undone and someone’s bag they didn’t want, a plast…

“... the little pinky bone, after he came to the river and never left, and …”

because “here is the sound of flow and tumble" and "here is the feel” of Cathy Ulrich in @flashfrog.bsky.social flash-frog.com/2026/03/09/r...

Incredible @oormilaprahlad.bsky.social @indrapramitdas.bsky.social you might like this.

Entanglements - a poem by Karl Tierney Because I cannot point to some little Gibralter and say "That's the one!" like Queen Victoria shopping, I've let myself be the one who's picked. So when the last one came along, a veritable fan, those tin wrists and acne scars paled in comparison to a flat ass and ears that don't match. But both with broad shoulders, boy of boy could we argue like men and cut the mustard without the dreadful shame everyone's incessantly discussing these days on TV, in congregations, meetings of all sorts. To make a not-so-long-story even shorter, I got committed for life -- his, and then with no money left -- mine, declared emotional bankruptcy -- a preemptive strike at the next one. - July 28, 1991

cover of HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?: The Castro Poems of Karl Tierney, Jim Cory, Editor. Sibling Rivalry Press, 2019

Publisher’s Weekly called Karl Tierney’s posthumous collection, Have You Seen this Man: The Castro Poems of Karl Tierney “an overdue introduction to an important voice in American poetry.” Patrick Nathan: “At the height of the AIDS crisis, Karl Tierney wrote dark and radiant poems about queer life.

During the pandemic, I had days when I felt I was by myself on a shore drained of the tide, dragging a stick across miles of wet sand. There were also days when I was a boy again, sliding down a snowy hill on a flattened cardboard box. And there were days when I remembered the teacher who made us memorize a poem each week, and when we asked why, she said we might one day find ourselves in a wreck at the side of the road and we would recite these poems to stay alive.

Rick Barot ♥️

A beautiful reminder of what poetry can do.

Posting some ekphrastic poems just because. I hope you like them. This one is about Joan Mitchell's "City Landscape."

This one was published originally in @westchesterreview! Thank you again.

www.westchesterreview.com/koss

#ekphrastic, #poem, #joanmitchell, #painting, #abstractpainting,

A Detroit Summer by Placid Angles on Apple Music Album · 2026 · 4 Songs

A Detroit Summer by Placid Angles

music.apple.com/us/album/a-d...

#electronicmusic

Minimal HHaus Music by Rose Knapp

music.apple.com/us/playlist/...

#electronicmusic #housemusic #minimalhouse #microhouse #djmix

Congratulations to Anjet Daanje and David McKay for winning the Republic of Consciousness Prize! If you're interested in learning about the translation process for THE REMEMBERED SOLDIER, click here: wordswithoutborders.org/read/article...

22. There will be a day full of ambulances and I want you driving one.

Shane Jones

Paris is old

I peer into my eyes in paris and there moondog greets me and tells me he loves paris and that charlie parker loves paris —and paris will grow old with me, but I don't wanna grow old with french folk who speak in abstracted riddles knowing nothing about the burden of my consciousness…

[The dream says it’s more stripper] by Zoë Ryder White "You bring the tea cake, the sweet demeanor."

"See how it compensates?
It gets sloppy. It spills
down its bra. It’s sticky. It howls.
Milkweed. Remember?
You’ll be enmeshed soon."

River River poet @zoeryderwhite.bsky.social with a poem at Only Poems today -- www.onlypoemsdaily.com/p/the-dream-...

The world is being torn apart by rich men with new atrocities on the daily, and I have to remember that the school lunch app/vendor is called SchoolBitez so I can find it in my inbox.

Cover the newest issue of Rattle, with cover art by Nicky O'Connell. In the image, a stone path through a gloomy forest (all trunks, no leaves) navigated by a school of gentle blue butterflies, each carrying a lantern.

Text of a poem called "Island of the Day Before" by Jane Zwart, too long to reproduce here.

Text of a poem called "Island of the Day Before" by Jane Zwart, too long to reproduce here.

Grateful to have a poem (with its title lifted from an Umberto Eco novel) in the newest issue of @rattlepoetry.bsky.social, a Magazine--and community--I've loved for a long, long time. Thank you, @timothygreen.bsky.social.

“An enchantment has entered my eyes, a beautiful vision arose in my mind and made its way to my heart.”

-- Mirabai, "The Cry of the Heart" - Translated by Sushil Rao

A soapbox poem, of sorts, for @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
and his wonderful series...

Frank Stanford

"the warrior"

I was born
I ride tomorrow

Once we had the sea for free, now we are going to pay for it

Jack Marshall

Socialization #23: Family Art Museum Visit Another pietà. A French queen. A Hollywood staple by Annie Leibovitz. A princess in velvet adorned on a chaise. A widow weeping. A glamorous starlet. Another queen. In the art museum, a mind is an envelope. Each painting falls in. A child is the image’s first communicant. We read the captions to ourselves. When men speak of the unborn angels, I suspect an immaculate flesh bore them privately. Everything private is mistaken for preciousness. A hernia hidden beneath a corset. All beings are bourne by a laboring body. Life is art’s spite. The womb that gets used finds no respite.

Everything private is mistaken for // preciousness.

Alina Stefanescu @alinaetc.bsky.social

Thanks, Dave. I appreciate the nod. 🙏

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 10 A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond.

Picnicking on ice, clock-time vs. earth-time and more with @myheadtheforest.bsky.social @dharmabam.bsky.social @jannoble.bsky.social @samrasnake.bsky.social @dmeischen.bsky.social @aempoet.bsky.social @webbish6.bsky.social @mariapopova.bsky.social
2/3 www.vianegativa.us/2026/03/poet...

Miss you, Mother. Much love to you. "I could hear the world spinning but in a different direction – yet the moon was the moon" Quotation from the anthology Through the Looking Glass (Ballerini Book Press). https://ballerinibookpress.ch/rareswanemporium-bookstore/

Miss you, Mother. Much love to you.

"I could hear the world spinning but in a different direction – yet the moon was the moon"

Quotation from the anthology Through the Looking Glass (Ballerini Book Press).
ballerinibookpress.ch/rareswanempo...

Chocolat / Claire Denis, dir. (1988) “When you look at the hills, beyond the houses and beyond the trees, where the earth touches the sky, that's the horizon.”

Chocolat / Claire Denis, dir. (1988)

“When you look at the hills, beyond the houses and beyond the trees, where the earth touches the sky, that's the horizon.”