I Just Finished Reading The Dictionary Of Lost Words By Pip Williams, And

there's something very lovely about doing homework in bed in the late afternoon on a sunday while listening to beatles records and having a pumpkin spice candle lit and the sunlight slanting golden in through the window and the wind blowing and the bright red leaves on the trees and feeling very productive and peaceful and happy

I was thinking about how poetry is all about the human experience, and that led to wondering about experiences that most people don't get to have. This all led me to wondering whether there were any poems written by astronauts, and I found this one, which I thought I'd share.

Last Day in Space

Tomorrow we light our rocket,           we burn our engines and likewise,                    burn a hole in the sky,                              And thus fall to Earth. How does one spend your last day in space?           Looking at Earth,                    a blue jewel surrounded by inky blackness,                              Pure Occipital Ecstasy. Unconstrained by your girth,           you fly with vestigial wings. The atmosphere on edge,           iridescent blue with no earthly parallel,                    Electrifying Diaphanous Beauty. Guarded by Sirens of Space,           singing saccharine songs,                    beckoning you to crash on the atmos-reef which tears you limb from limb                    and scorching what remains                             into cosmic croutons that sprinkle onto                                        the garden salad of Earth. One last feast out the window,           A looking glass of Wonderland. Offering both a portal to see your world,                    and a translucent reflection to see yourself. Contemplation;           what is your place in this world below,                    how do you change it,                              how does it change you. We are wedded to this planet,           until mass extinction we do part.                    Perhaps one planet is not enough. You study your charts,           we prepare our spaceship,                    and our minds. We make ready our descent,           into these seemingly gentle arms. The eager anticipation of hugging your wife,           your boys with grins followed by pouting faces,                    both excited to see you but not understanding why you left. Oh how does one spend your last day in Space.           What would you do?

-- Donald R. Pettit

(A NASA astronaut who has been on three space flights, with 370 days in space. I found this poem on the NASA website.)

So like.. when the sky fills with echoes of thunder and flashes of lightning..and when raindrops begin to hit the dry pavement.. you’ll come over right?

I love you:

The words I gave you

So you could tear me to pieces

Or hold onto me

I gave you my heart

So you could make it bleed

Or wrap your arms around me

I gave you my thoughts

So you could choose to destroy them

Or fill them

I gave you my life

So you could burn it

But you decided to save it

-- by me

I heard if you make a post about blackout poetry someone will make blackout poetry of it.

come on little blackout poetry vampires come inside I invite you in

make some blackout poetry I want to see what you come up with

I’m ready for really good shit and that means hilarious ones

good shit is also just blackout poetry in general

chefs kiss

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas

Maybe this one's overrated, but it's my favorite.

Failure is not an option desktop wallpaper

Images taken from Visions of the Future

the dowager countess violet crawley is everything I aspire to be

my best friend: *exists*

me: *yelling like she's hard of hearing and shaking her by the shoulders to get my point across* I LOOOOOVVVEEE YOOOOOUUUU!!!!!!!

Why are you watching your cellphone

when there are so many stars in the sky?