I don’t love him, but he’s here and you aren’t.

That’s the dark and tersely utilitarian nature of relationships right there! Women in particular. 

anon (via wastedoff-yourlove)


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Don’t just reblog, Follow for more Clean posts!



Annee Schwank ON TUMBLR


Annee Schwank ON TUMBLR


The City

The streets of London are ablaze with life
and crimes of all kinds committed at all times of day
But mostly under the gaze of the moon not the sun rays
Young bre’s stray from the main roads
to the narrow lanes of the concrete maze
No delays despite the delays,
life is too swift to find respite in this neon haze

The skirts are too short, too far out from the heart
a matter for that organ this is not
for the faint
nor for the sort whose thoughts are stayed on the precious or the lost          Those who count the cost
penny for penny, pound for pound, breath for breath -
we shall hire them a hearse.

The curse of the streets of London is visited upon those who shun its devices and suppress their vices!
But turn over your gold coin and let her royal highness show you the jewel in her crown in all its splendor
Hey big spender! Render to the Queen what belongs to the Queen and withhold not a thing.  

Make a copious offering until your pockets are lean
The City will reward you with a pocket full of dreams

The Gallows

I am angry at you because you delight in me
And your delight is like a sentence passed down to me
Your big heart is like a prison;
your arteries the gallows, wrapped tight around my neck
Your valves squiz until I cannot breathe
My lungs are filled to the brim with your blood because I cannot swim
I hear your heart beat like kettledrums
that’s how I know my time has come
My cry for help is in vain
It echoes through your chambers but only there it remains
You’ll mollycoddle me until a sacrament is all that is left for me
I pray those vows now like my last words
in the presence of your kin with evil grins
They look like jurors:
"Dearly beloved", the judge presides
"We are gathered here today to hear the case of"
"Will you swear an oath upon this holy book?"
I do”, so the prosecution hastily rests
Then the gavel. Then the finger-cuff. Then the last meal.
Finally, your kiss, and that is how they know it’s me
They take me for what I am and never will be
They take me as yours and for that
I am angry at you because you delight in me
So I rest, but by no means peaceably.


In the company of great kings tonight @ Westminster Abbey

In the company of great kings tonight @ Westminster Abbey

An Except from ‘The Prophet’ by Kahlil Gibran

You often say ‘I would give, but only to the deserving.’ The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture. They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.

Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights is worthy of all else from you.

And he who has deserved a drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream. 

And who are you that men should rend their bosom and unveil their pride, that you may see their worth naked and their pride unabashed? 

See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and an instrument of giving. For in truth it is life that gives unto life - while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness. 

Last Night I (fragments of a poem not yet written)

Last night I bundled into a room

My every move screaming I don’t know what to do!

Though they deem me fit and fitting
able and willing

I contend with myself the morning after and know the truth for a moment

Stop it.

I want to get off here.

Nikos Gatsos, Amorgos

How much I have loved you I alone know
I who touched you once with the eyes of the Pleiades
And embraced you in the wild hair of the moon and we danced in the summer fields
On the stubble after harvest, and we ate the cut clover
Dark and great sea with so many pebbles round your neck, so many coloured stones
in your hair.

Translated by Sally Purcell
Reprinted by permission of Anvil Press Poetry from Amorgos (1998)

C. P. Cavafy, Ionian Song

Though we have broken their statues,
though we have driven them out of their temples,
the gods did not die because of this.
O Ionian land, it is you they still love,
it is you their souls still remember.
When the August morning dawns upon you
a vigour from their life moves through your air;
and at times a figure of ethereal youth,
indistinct, in rapid stride,
crosses over your hills.

Translated by Rae Dalven
Reprinted by permission of Chatto & Windus from The Complete Poems of C.P. Cavafy (1961)