L. V., I Found This Poem Dripping Down My Forearm After Taking A Bite Of A Freshly-plucked Summer Fruit

Detail of "Woman Serving Fruit" by Jules-Alexandre Grun (French, 1868-1938)

L. V., i found this poem dripping down my forearm after taking a bite of a freshly-plucked summer fruit

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6 months ago

Detail of "Набережная Рей в Базеле в дождь" ("Ray Embankment in Basel in the rain")
Alexandre Benois, 1896

The rain winds up inside me. I rage and I pour. And I drown all at once.

I settle into a gentle tap tap tap at the foot of your bed.

L. V., i found this poem when you kept me awake ‘til 4 in the morning

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literaryvein

1 year ago

In the paintings, you are the onlooker. The passerby. The blurred figure in the corner that’s almost concealed beneath the shadow cast by the ornate gold frame. Centuries later, art students pore over this shadowy figure, trying to give meaning to it. Like what does this represent to the painter? What symbolism does this shred of darkness holds? Of course they do this right after analysing the colours and the light. They do this after they have gotten bored and tired of analysing the hands of the main figure around which the landscape was created. Because none of this vibrant world would have been created without the muse. But there will come a time to look at the shadows, and wonder why they’re there. Why are you here?
- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem left forgotten by a stranger at the local café

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literaryvein

7 months ago

Detail of "Distant Thunder"
by: Andrew Wyeth, 1961

In my neighbourhood, the man who wanted to die lived to be a hundred and two.

In my neighbourhood, the man who wanted to live died yesterday.

L. V., i found this poem stuck between a stray dog's teeth

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literaryvein

1 year ago

your writing is the one i keep coming back to all these years

This is lovely to know <3

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Detail of "Das Signal" ("The signal")
by: Hanno Karlhuber, 1995

I’ll admit there are bursts of happiness in my life

but I am left wondering with whom I should share them with

L. V., i found this poem staring at me from under the bed

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literaryvein

1 year ago

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your people <3

hope you have a wonderful day!!

(ps, i got your link i'm just waiting to get my laptop read them properly)

Literature. [Plath, Sidney Sheldon, Pessoa, Woolf, Toni Morrison…]

Tea. [Iced, during the warm weather. Hot, when it's cold outside.]

Films. [Jeunet, Wes Anderson, Ari Aster, A24, Cartoon Saloon, Studio Ghibli…]

Music. [Einaudi, Yann Tiersen, Of Monsters and Men…]

Spontaneous trips with friends. [Like where are we going, what are we up to? No one knows. Oh, we're here. What is this place? Oh, there's a cat. Suddenly there's a drink in our hand. Oh, let me take a photo of the cat.]

(i'm glad to hear this. hope you like it!)

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thank you for asking <3

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literaryvein

7 months ago

Detail of "Lady Writing a Letter" (1887)
by Albert Edelfelt

L. V., i found this poem in between lines of an unsent letter

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Person 1: "If only love bloomed on trees"

Person 2: "But we still have apples, don't we?"

Person 1: "Yes, but the seeds are poisonous."

Person 2: But isn't love poisonous too?

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love writeblr writers on tumblr poetry poets on tumblr anonymous spilled ink literaryvein okay am i really going to be person 2 here anon? when i wrote this i sort of was person 1-

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literaryvein

6 months ago

My mouth says: wouldn’t it be easier if our hearts were like flowers?

On the Balcony (Detail)
Childe Hassam, 1888

Someone asks patiently: what do you mean?

Wouldn’t it be easier if, on certain days, we could just pluck out our heart

like a flower, plant it temporarily in a pot, so we can get on with our day?

Then once we get home, we can plant it right back in its place.

Because today’s one of those days that doesn’t require a heart.

L. V., i found this poem in the midst of an anxiety attack

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literaryvein

1 year ago

Poetic Surgery

I lay you down under the sun
where god can see you.

Someone hands me a scalpel
and I make the first incision—
right at the soft spot between
the third verse and the fourth.

You bleed. You open up like a flower
at the hands of a Summer child.
I have poetry in place of bandages
so I plaster the silence with free

verse because apart from being myself,
I’ve also grown tired of being locked up.
Years from now, they’ll finally find
a cure for our kind of sadness.

Until then, we’ll drink our pepper
mint tea and write lousy poetry.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem as the peppermint tea circled down the drain

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