You don’t need to look at any other Tumblr again in your life after reading “The Poetry of Pablo Neruda As Read by Cats“
Can you write a poem made of hashtags and Twitter trends? SoulPancake wants you to take the challenge.
Honoring Allen Ginsberg on his 86th birthday (photo via eNothing)
Happy birthday to one of our favorite poets, Walt Whitman
“You twain! And all processions moving along the streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to
walk hand in hand!” - from “A Leaf for Hand in Hand”
Day 23 of #NaPoMo: American poet Kim Addonizio. It’s always happy hour in a Kim Addonizio poem, or at least it seems like it with her confessional words of a “drunken bitch.” Addonizio teaches, plays harmonica and sings, performing and giving readings periodically all over the United States. She lives in San Francisco. (photo via Aging Like a Fine Wine)
Poet of the Day for Day 21 of #NaPoMo: Dr. Seuss, aka Theodore Seuss Geisel. Where would the world be without the beloved rhymes, illustrations, and work of Dr. Seuss? “You can go on a Zike-Bike if you like,” and “the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all,” in the world of Seuss. With 46 children’s rhyme books published, Seuss will forever be honored as one of America’s greatest poets. (photo via Young Island)
Featured Poet of the Day for #NaPoMo: Shel Silverstein. A Chicago-born poet, a playwright, illustrator, and artist, Silverstein’s work and rhymes resonate through millions of readers around the world. He is most famous for his children’s books The Giving Tree and A Light in the Attic (photo via Library Land).
Happy Birthday to our Poet of the Day, Tristan Tzara #NaPoMo. A Romanian essayist and poet, Tzara was a devoted nihilist and one of the main founders of Dadaism (photo via dbaldinger.com)
Day 14 of #NaPoMo, our favorite: Rainer Maria Rilke (photo via Buzznet)
Poet of the Day: Elizabeth Bishop #NaPoMo (photo via The Guardian)
“2pm beer”
nothing matters
but flopping on a mattress
with cheap dreams and a beer
as the leaves die and the horses die
and the landladies stare in the halls;
brisk the music of pulled shades,
a last man’s cave
in an eternity of swarm
and explosion;
nothing but the dripping sink,
the empty bottle,
euphoria,
youth fenced in,
stabbed and shaven,
taught words
propped up
to die.” – Bukowski, Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame
