dusk, old perfume bottles, cotton sheets, dried rose petals, hand written love letters, old buildings on a street made of stone, ballet, copper, dark lipstick, melted wax candles, grand architecture, rivers that run through cities, women in silk dresses, ballrooms, doves, lavender, gold jewelry, french tipped nails, chandeliers, the women’s powder room, glasses of champagne, harps, long lashes, and lipstick stains on blushing cheeks


Endless List of Favourites + Actors ||  Eddie Redmayne

  I didn’t train to be an actor, I blagged my way into it, and I always feel I’m waiting to be found out. So whenever you get a job, there’s a moment of euphoria and then the realisation, “Oh my God, you’ve got to do this.” And you feel there should be some scaffolding. I’ve worked with people who have their preferred way of rehearsing guaranteed by clause in their contract. But it’s not like I have a process, it’s a very formless thing, and there’s no one telling you, “This is what you’re going to do and this is how you’re going to do it.”

These poems are as heartless as birdsong, as unmeant
as elm leaves, which if they love love only
the wide blue sky and the air and the idea
of elm leaves. Self-love is an ending, she said,
and not a beginning. Love means love
of the thing sung, not of the song or the singing.

Robert Bringhurst, from “These Poems, She Said,” The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English, chosen by Margaret Atwood (Oxford University Press, 1982)

Eddie Redmayne

Remember that time that 

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

Miss Fleur Delacour and 

Originally posted by thedailyquibbler

Newt Scamander 


Originally posted by trianglemix

caged birds only sing of mourning

as senescent sun pulls
west with longing
and clipped wings itch with
airborne ghosts

caged birds only sing of mourning

of cat eyed monsters,
crouched and waiting;
of curious cruelty by
small hand squeeze

caged birds only sing of mourning

when beloved strangers
gather ‘round to
place evening shroud
on aureate coffer

for a caged bird only sings of morning

if hope can rise through
open window,
and soar to freedom’s
eastward glow

– courtney ann scarborough, “birdsong” 2/1/17 (hope prompt via @poetryriot)

(inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem “Caged Bird”)

Sophie Anderson, Birdsong, 1881

Anderson was born in France but spent most of her artistic career in England. She specialized in genre painting, particularly that of women and children in rural or natural settings. Her work and timeline most closely align with the neoclassic movement of art history in which artists and sculptors draw inspiration from that of Ancient Greece or Rome. For example, the gowns in Birdsong are reminiscent of of the tunic-like garments worn by women in ancient times.