Poetic Ideal: a language scrubbed clean by silences.

If we listen, the air is heavy with poems, ripe for plucking.

Branches are roots, too, in the sky.

Perhaps it is not poetry that purifies the language of the tribe, but Silence.

The true poet, or mystic, is not too proud to admit that, in matters great and small, they cannot proceed until they receive further instructions.

One never becomes a poet, except when they are writing a poem.

Yahia Lababidi, Skipping Stones,” Berfrois (12 October 2012)

It’s a late night and there are tears streaming down your cheeks.
I see you lying in your bed hating that you’re still awake.
It’s okay.
It’s alright.
Everybody has nights where their heart strings are out of tune
And the only song they can play
Is the one that sinks into bones.
There is nothing wrong with the somber notes of teardrops on the floor
And eyelids that can’t bear the weight of sadness anymore.

I won’t tell you that it doesn’t matter,
I will tell you to cry harder and let every piece of the dark fall out.
I want you to shed every broken bit of memories that sting,
Cry until only the light exists.
Know that you are not a burden and if you need,
You can have my shoulder all through the night.
If you need,
My phone screen can be the moon with a voice that guides you home.

I see you,
And I know you hurt.
To me you mean the world whether you believe it or not;
I will not let you be alone if you want someone.
And if you want no one,
I will leave a note quietly under your door;
Feel free to fetch me whenever your backbone gets sore.

Let this be your something,
Your anything,
Let this poem be my way of saying
“I am so damn happy that you get up in the morning.”
Because to imagine you no longer taking breaths,
That is one of the worst things I could ever have in my head.
The earth wouldn’t spin the same.

I see the little pebbles collecting slowly in your hands.
I know arms get tired and muscles get heavy and that at the end of the day
Sometimes the weight is too much to carry.
Hold on.
Hold on just a little bit longer with me.
And at sunset,
We’ll skip all those stones back into the sea.


"I See You" - Nishat Ahmed

For any of you out there having to bear too much weight.

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Mars and the Science of Skipping Stones

Mars Science Laboratory project scientist John Grotzinger tells the story of how skipping stones, before they take flight across the smooth surface of a river or lake, are born of rushing water.

The Curiosity rover has found “skipping stones” of its own in Gale Crater, and many tell a tale of a time when water flowed on Mars’ surface.

Will that story include indications of previous life on Mars? Only time will tell. On Earth, everywhere we find water, we find life. Let’s see if that story is solely ours, or if it can be written on other planets as well.

Those of us working on NASA’s Curiosity mission are haunted by waters as well. Where those ancient waters lead us remains to be seen, but they provide us with our roadmap. Now it’s just up to our instruments and our patience with a few detours if we feel the need to explore tributaries.

(via NY Times)

Skipping stones || Callum & Brody

Callum was ambling slowly down the shoreline of the lake, weaving in and about, not following a straight line. He stopped to pick up a stone, flicking it at the water, and chuckled when it landed with a plop in the water, having not skipped even once. “Well, isn’t that just shitty,” he muttered, crouching on the ground to look for another in amusement.