This is True

Poetry, Prose and Pictures - From Cairo, Egypt
tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #897 by Tyler Knott Gregson
*It’s official, my book, Chasers of the Light, is out! You can order it through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, IndieBound or Books-A-Million *
Text for Tired Eyes:
Take me to our places,the stones and sticks in the green hills.Take me to the rooftops made of earth.The heather and the mossand the warm rain that makes colanders of clouds and mist.Take me to the fires that burn out in the night,the embers dancing from the chimney to tangle with the stars.The green lights that flow like waves in the cold still airand the steam that rises from the tops of our headsas we stay warm in the water.Take me to the lanterns rising into the black,wishes carried on flame and fabric,prayers to all the gods we have never seen.Take me to those high white peaks,to the colored flags climbing center polesand the breathless air we struggle to breathe. To the mantra painted rocks filling freezing streams,the gentle hands weathered old. Take me to the swaying trains, the hands on the walls to keep our balance,The sleeper cars and sliding doors, the crumpled maps in the reclined seat backs. Take me to the cold mornings and the breath that rises, sunrises on snowy streets, to the coffee in your handsto the paint under your fingernails, from the logo on the styrofoam. To the sand covered shores  and tide pools that hold the sea,to the sea that holds the moon and the stars that fall until you sleep. Take me to our shared slumber in scratchy sheets starched too stiff. Take me to the cheap hotels and take me to the palaces  we will never afford. Take me to the nights that never end,  the lost and wander worn feetthat collapse into bed as the sun is rising. Take me to the early evenings,tired legs sleeping sound before the sun falls below the hills. Take me to our places, the creaking floors and our boots making songs atop them. The dim lit pubs and fiddle dances, the globe lights glow the hour long talks the quiet romances. Take me down the old dirt roads, the rock walls and clover grasses.To the green and the gray to the blue and the white. Take me to our places. Take me to our place. To the tree that filters the light and scatters it like a kaleidoscope,to the patterns on your face and the racing of your heartbeat. Take me to the tree light and teach me of relief.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #897 by Tyler Knott Gregson

*It’s official, my book, Chasers of the Light, is out! You can order it through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, IndieBound or Books-A-Million *

Text for Tired Eyes:

Take me to our places,
the stones and sticks in the green hills.
Take me to the rooftops made of earth.
The heather and the moss
and the warm rain that makes colanders of clouds and mist.
Take me to the fires that burn out in the night,
the embers dancing from the chimney to tangle with the stars.
The green lights that flow like waves in the cold still air
and the steam that rises from the tops of our heads
as we stay warm in the water.
Take me to the lanterns rising into the black,
wishes carried on flame and fabric,
prayers to all the gods we have never seen.
Take me to those high white peaks,
to the colored flags climbing center poles
and the breathless air we struggle to breathe.
To the mantra painted rocks filling freezing streams,
the gentle hands weathered old.
Take me to the swaying trains, the hands on the walls to keep our balance,
The sleeper cars and sliding doors, the crumpled maps in the reclined seat backs.
Take me to the cold mornings and the breath that rises,
sunrises on snowy streets, to the coffee in your hands
to the paint under your fingernails, from the logo on the styrofoam.
To the sand covered shores  and tide pools that hold the sea,
to the sea that holds the moon and the stars that fall until you sleep.
Take me to our shared slumber in scratchy sheets starched too stiff.
Take me to the cheap hotels and take me to the palaces  we will never afford.
Take me to the nights that never end,  the lost and wander worn feet
that collapse into bed as the sun is rising.
Take me to the early evenings,
tired legs sleeping sound before the sun falls below the hills.
Take me to our places,
the creaking floors and our boots making songs atop them.
The dim lit pubs and fiddle dances, the globe lights glow the hour long talks
the quiet romances.
Take me down the old dirt roads, the rock walls and clover grasses.
To the green and the gray to the blue and the white.
Take me to our places.
Take me to our place.
To the tree that filters the light and scatters it like a kaleidoscope,
to the patterns on your face and the racing of your heartbeat.
Take me to the tree light and teach me of relief.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

Do you know the legend about cicadas?
They say they are the souls of poets who cannot keep quiet because, when they were alive, they never wrote the poems they wanted to

John Berger, from G.: A Novel (vintage, 1972)

(Source: fables-of-the-reconstruction, via abiding-in-peace)

(Source: cinderdream, via ratio-essendi)

Take me

Take me

(via ratio-essendi)

We are perpetually on the brink of utter ruin -
Or eternal salvation.
Such is the tragic beauty of our lives.
Always tipping between the two.

Unless of course you have lost yourself,
And been found.
Unless you have died to yourself, and have been raised.
Then, your feet are deep in utter ruin,
But you are irrevocably saved eternal.

:) yes true

:) yes true

(Source: dolorimeter, via teachingliteracy)

Sometimes it is hard to focus on the stillness long enough to reflect on the tree…sometimes I have to hold my breath to take a picture, as if I can make life still by pure will — when all I have to do is wait and watch.

Sometimes it is hard to focus on the stillness long enough to reflect on the tree…sometimes I have to hold my breath to take a picture, as if I can make life still by pure will — when all I have to do is wait and watch.

new-poets-society:

Map her - a.r 
garden-of-vegan:

Whole grain bagel with mashed avocado, fresh cherries, dark chocolate chips, and raw almonds.

My kind of meal!!

garden-of-vegan:

Whole grain bagel with mashed avocado, fresh cherries, dark chocolate chips, and raw almonds.

My kind of meal!!

There was no relief from being
human and so I turned to stone
and now there’s no relief
from being a stone. I didn’t
choose to be a stone.

Dianne Seuss, “Oh I’m A Stone,” from Wolf Lake, White Gown Blown Open. (via literarymiscellany)

(via literarymiscellany)

I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

—Kahlo, Frida. The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait.  (via wordsnquotes)

(via deeplystained)

You are like night, calmed, constellated.Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

—Pablo Neruda, I Like You Calm, As If You Were Absent  (via seulray)

(Source: stxxz.us, via howitzerliterarysociety)

It is June.
I am tired of being brave.

I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.

— Maya Angelou,1928-2014 (via sfmoma)

(via howitzerliterarysociety)