Failing And Flying
Failing and Flying
Jack Gilbert. Refusing Heaven, 2005.
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It’s the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean on the other side of the island while love was fading out of her, the stars burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming, the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that. Listened to her while we ate lunch. How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph.
More Posts from Catalystcorvid and Others
ive been calling these asterisms this whole time regardless what they looked like i had no idea that theyre actually called dinkuses. dinkuses. that doesnt sound real
This google docs template (created by rukidut) allows you to create wikipedia-inspired biographies for your characters. you need to be logged in to edit it, but all you need to do is go to file > make a copy and you'll have your own version to do whatever you like with.
I've given it some minimal testing and found that the formatting doesn't transfer over to microsoft word, but that it can be saved as PDF with minimal issues.
Click here to try it out.
Me: I want to create! But…it’ll be bad.
Voice inside of me: So let it be bad.
Me: Let it be bad?
Voice inside of me: Let it be bad.
Me: Let it be bad!
Geocentric
Indecent, self-soiled, bilious reek of turnip and toadstool decay, dribbling the black oil of wilted succulents, the brown fester of rotting orchids, in plain view, that stain of stinkhorn down your front, that leaking roil of bracket fungi down your back, you purple-haired, grainy-fuzzed smolder of refuse, fathering fumes and boils and powdery mildews, enduring the constant interruption of sink-mire flatulence, contagious with ear wax, corn smut, blister rust, backwash and graveyard debris, rich with manure bog and dry-rot harboring not only egg-addled garbage and wrinkled lip of orange-peel mold but also the clotted breath of overripe radish and burnt leek, bearing every dank, malodorous rut and scarp, all sulphur fissures and fetid hillside seepages, old, old dependable, engendering forever the stench and stretch and warm seethe of inevitable putrefaction, nobody loves you as I do.
Geocentric: Poems - Pattiann Rogers
Friendly reminder to artists, writers, and anyone else working at a desk:
Stand up, uncrunch your back from whatever pretzel cosplay you were doing, and take a quick walk to get water, eat a snack, or use the bathroom.
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catalystcorvid reblogged this · 3 months ago
Hi I'm Crow, a 20-something hobbyist writer with a renewed love of reading. I post writing snippets, poetry & quotes from books that I like, as well as useful resources I find around the net. Accessibility and accurate sourcing are a priority. If you see me online, do me a favor and tell me to log off and go work on my novel. Icon by Ghostssmoke.
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