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Ts Eliot - Blog Posts
So, I found this great quote (pic above) ...and then I thought, 'Dolores Umbridge has entered Hogwarts'
Picture source: Pinterest
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
T.S. Eliot, from Four Quartets; Burnt Norton. (via xshayarsha)
In my end is my beginning.
T.S. Eliot, from Four Quartets; East Coker. (via xshayarsha)
What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind.
T.S. Eliot, from section I of “Burnt Norton,” Four Quartets (Mariner Books, 1968)
Wither The Wars - a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
At dVerse Sanaa is hosting poetics with an invitation to play Monopoly with a twist. It involves two options (1) Imagine the board as a literary landscape where each square is a poet, choose one of three images and one of two poets from the mix offered and write a poem inspired by the choices. (2) the board is a reflection of society’s darker undercurrents. For more detail and resource follow the…
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coffee spoons and teaspoons
i leave a spoon in the fridge while my mother’s throwing up. eliot measured our lives in coffee spoons, teaspoons, the things we love small enough to be scooped up and held inside our mouths. a sweater unraveling to leave me cold but still thinking i am warm. still capable of holding a spoon to my mother’s mouth, feed her panic with a soft voice to keep it from rearing its head. i wrap my lips around the edges of comfort and taste the metal of our loves. a white bowl does not mask the acrid scent of something bloody falling out from her body, something too large to kept in the same hollow space as her tongue and teeth and words. lovely how we fill our life-spoons with cough-syrup, sweet or bitter kisses, things that linger in a taste and still we can manage to have our mouths open, to fit the loving in. that we can hold everything inside us: a strawberry as big as my hand that leaves a spreading stain on the skin, the vomit dripping over the tiles, eight dry heaves in as many minutes, a shivering form only now realising it is cold, my own sweater i draped over her, the unraveling hem and sleeves, the nested spoons across a counter top with one missing in the fridge, the unspooling thread of time getting tangled up in things. was this once or as many as you can remember. each day i try to form the words in my mouth and find them a little less strange than before.