33 match(es) found in quotations

Warren Falcon :
far where my Mother toiled with me safe upon Her back, my first keel, the bow upon which I first learned to kneel to earth, to sea I rocked in Her motion rowing the faithful Earth the yielding softness of She to me (shipwrecking all my my future hardness eventually) my boy hands not yet bleeding with pens and poems
[from 'What Pablo Saw In His Final Dream - Una Cancion Por Pablo Neruda']
Warren Falcon :
I'm drunk again thinking of you, how I cut my baby teeth on Stillborn glass, feet bleeding on always wet roads. One mile out of two I'm thinking of you, how you wouldn't let me love you, just hold your hips in jeans, 'just friends'.
[from 'Planet UnRequitia Poem #98']
Warren Falcon :
All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being. Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew, bruising hands, purple insides flare warrior nerves to unknotting surprise. Magpie dances. Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovers in milk floods. Touch gently first what has been too long concealed. Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into "Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion." Wield roughly then through gates too long shut. When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop. Magpie, my keeper, is flying.
[from 'Archeology - What The Stele Says Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover']
Amelia Gray :
“[Olive’s] left foot was bleeding through a wide swath of bandages onto the tarp it was resting on. The bowl next to her was full of blood. Olive looked a little pale. “I don’t think I should move,” she said. “What are you doing?” Roger shut the door behind him and stood with his back to it. “I decided I might try to eat my toes,” Olive said, closing her eyes. “But now that I’ve started, I don’t think I should move.” Roger pushed himself off the wall and knelt down next to her. He unbuckled her silver belt and reached with it under her dress. He looped the belt around the top of her leg and tightened it. His hands were not shaking. “Sit on the loose end,” he said, pushing it under her. “I hope that works.” “You brought flowers,” she said, blinking. “Olive,” he said. “You cut off your toes.” She looked down at the bowl. “Are they still toes?” she asked.”
[Amelia Gray, Museum of the Weird]
Walt Whitman :
In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)
[Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Memories of President Lincoln (l. 18-20). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.]
Read more quotations about / on: song, brother, death, life
Walt Whitman :
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
[Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Memories of President Lincoln (l. 18-20). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.]
Read more quotations about / on: heart, weather, red, cold, people
Henry David Thoreau :
On the thirty-first day of March, one hundred and forty-two years before this, probably about this time in the afternoon, there were hurriedly paddling down this part of the river, between the pine woods which then fringed these banks, two white women and a boy, who had left an island at the mouth of the Contoocook before daybreak. They were lightly clad for the season, in the English fashion, and handled their paddles unskillfully, but with nervous energy and determination, and at the bottom of their canoe lay the still bleeding scalps of ten of the aborigines. They were Hannah Dustan, and her nurse, Mary Neff,... and an English boy, named Samuel Lennardson, escaping from captivity among the Indians. On the 15th of March previous, Hannah Dustan had been compelled to rise from childbed, and half dressed, with one foot bare, accompanied by her nurse, commence an uncertain march, in still inclement weather, through the snow and the wilderness. She had seen her seven elder children flee with their father, but knew not of their fate. She had seen her infant's brains dashed out against an apple tree, and had left her own and her neighbors' dwellings in ashes. When she reached the wigwam of her captor, situated on an island in the Merrimack, more than twenty miles above where we now are, she had been told that she and her nurse were soon to be taken to a distant Indian settlement, and there made to run the gauntlet naked.... Having determined to attempt her escape, she instructed the boy to inquire of one of the men, how he should dispatch an enemy in the quickest manner, and take his scalp. "Strike 'em there," said he, placing his finger on his temple, and he also showed him how to take off the scalp. On the morning of the 31st she arose before daybreak, and awoke her nurse and the boy, and taking the Indians' tomahawks, they killed them all in their sleep, excepting one favorite boy, and one squaw who fled wounded with him to the woods. The English boy struck the Indian who had given him the information, on the temple, as he had been directed. They then collected all the provision they could find, and took their master's tomahawk and gun, and scuttling all the canoes but one, commenced their flight to Haverhill, distant about sixty miles by the river. But after having proceeded a short distance, fearing that her story would not be believed if she should escape to tell it, they returned to the silent wigwam, and taking off the scalps of the dead, put them into a bag as proofs of what they had done, and then, retracing their steps to the shore in the twilight, recommenced their voyage.
[Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 1, pp. 341-343, Houghton Mifflin (1906). As Thoreau later makes clear, the "apple tree" in this passage signals that this story is a new world replication of the Fall of Adam and Eve.]
Read more quotations about / on: island
John Montague :
its crumbled yellow cup and pale bleeding lips fading to white at the rim of each bruised and heart- shaped petal.
[John Montague (b. 1929), U.S.-Irish poet. The Wild Dog Rose (l. 99-104). . . Contemporary Irish Poetry; an Anthology. Anthony Bradley, ed. (New and rev. ed., 1988) University of California Press.]
Read more quotations about / on: yellow, heart
Matthew Arnold :
What helps it now, that Byron bore, With haughty scorn which mock'd the smart, Through Europe to the Aetolian shore The pageant of his bleeding heart? That thousands counted every groan, And Europe made his woe her own?
[Matthew Arnold (1822-1888), British poet, critic. Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse (l. 133-138). . . Selected Poems and Prose [Matthew Arnold]. Allot, Miriam, ed. (1993) J.M. Dent.]
Read more quotations about / on: smart, heart
Anne Sexton :
... with her shoulders as bare as a building, with her thin foot and her thin toes, with an old red hook in her mouth, the mouth that kept bleeding into the terrible fields of her soul . . .
[Anne Sexton (1928-1974), U.S. poet. "Love Song."]
Read more quotations about / on: red
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