end of line.

homo homini lupus est

Skip to content
  • Home
  • Me
  • poetry.
Search

Month: June 2021

Meditations on the consensual hallucination.

June 30, 2021 / April Joy / 1 Comment

Everyone is happy on social media. I know I promised to finish my thought on Kundera, and I will! I promise. I’ve gotten sidetracked by a series of conversations I’ve had on social media, however, as one does. I don’t think I’ve actually finished a thought since I joined Twitter. It’s quite embarrassing for someone … Continue reading Meditations on the consensual hallucination.

Levity.

June 22, 2021June 22, 2021 / April Joy / 2 Comments

I have no idea where I got this picture but I love it. But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. … Continue reading Levity.

This is the way the world ends.

June 20, 2021June 20, 2021 / April Joy / Leave a comment

Datta: what have we given?My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment’s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesThe Wasteland, TS Eliot. I have a hard time writing about faith. I grew up Baptist, a pastor’s … Continue reading This is the way the world ends.

This wave.

June 5, 2021June 6, 2021 / April Joy / 1 Comment

The Tempest. J.W. Waterhouse / 1916 How do we learn to be still? To allow people the grace to ebb and flow around us without reacting to their emotional whirlpools, their tempests, or their doldrums? Don’t look at me — I have no idea. I am a reactor. I become a tempest in response to … Continue reading This wave.

Follow end of line. on WordPress.com

drink me

  • Twitter
  • Instagram

the wasteland

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

the archive

  • February 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • September 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • December 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • January 2020
  • July 2019

marina

This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.

burnt norton

And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.

Statcounter

Web Analytics
Create a website or blog at WordPress.com
  • Follow Following
    • end of line.
    • Join 51 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • end of line.
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...