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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Ulrica Hume @uhume.bsky.social · 2d

be not afraid. focus instead on the bright day coming, when all will be returned to a way long before. the atomic love is all. it causes the wind to blow, the flowers to lean towards the sun. it is the sound of the waves whispering to the shore.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Traumfängerin 💫 @traumfaengerin.bsky.social · 22h

The Protecting Veil van Tavener door Amsterdam Sinfonietta en Nicolas Altsteadt

YouTube video by Amsterdam Sinfonietta

youtu.be

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Mao and the Sparrows @maoandthesparrows.bsky.social · 18h

Two white tailed deer peer out from within a stand of trees.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

⚷ @birdheartedgirl.bsky.social · Jun 23

Laura Makabresku

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Mao and the Sparrows @maoandthesparrows.bsky.social · 11d

An early autumn landscape. A golden leaved tree at the base of a hill and edge of a field is singularly lit by the last rays of the day’s sun.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Mao and the Sparrows @maoandthesparrows.bsky.social · 13d

A milkweed seed tangled in delicate, bare September wildflowers stems. Touched with the final rays of the setting sun, the silky strands drift in a gentle wind.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Linda @lindabythesea.bsky.social · 13h

What's Next (2022) by Tracy Burtz.
Oil on linen.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Ulrica Hume @uhume.bsky.social · 22h

www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hpU...

Seems Like Old Times with Diane Keaton in Annie Hall

YouTube video by David Gibson

www.youtube.com

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Lyra @lyrasatya.bsky.social · 22h

In honor of #caturday… my four legged loves.

Golden retriever and cat sitting together on a red leather chair.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

jmeirose @jmeirose.bsky.social · 1d

Interesting book for those interested in writing and art of the Bloomsbury group's time.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Dr Dorka Tamás📝🌸🌊 @dorkatamas.bsky.social · 12d

❗COVER REVEAL❗
This photo symbolises so much to me, and I am grateful to the Lilly Library at Indiana University for granting me permission to use it.
Pre-Order it here: www.cambridge.org/gb/universit...

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

c @3boxesofsighs.bsky.social · 22h

Yours

(now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)
- Franz Kafka

dark to light peach dahlia against a black background

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Yaroslava @strategywoman.bsky.social · 22h

A calm Saturday evening
in Kyiv.
I brought you a piece of tender
Ukrainian art.

🇺🇦 Joseph Bokshai
Peonies, 1946

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Ulrica Hume @uhume.bsky.social · 22h

www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hpU...

Seems Like Old Times with Diane Keaton in Annie Hall

YouTube video by David Gibson

www.youtube.com

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Ulrica Hume @uhume.bsky.social · 23h

🤍💫🤍

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

7/4 @sevenfour.bsky.social · 2d

Good morning Buddha

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

@maryfrancesness @maryfrancesness.bsky.social · 2d

🍂 the dry season

imaginary land & seascapes in autumn colours - found in small pieces of stone and wood

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Yuki KATANO @yuki-katano.bsky.social · 1d

The universe is too vast, too silent.
I have no doubt about moving along its orbit.
But what kind of life are you—
One that dwells at some unknown coordinate,
Bearing a name I cannot pronounce?

#TransSurrealist

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Paul Connolly @thepaulconnolly.bsky.social · 1d

Sallow light. Umber of overhanging tree. Angelic lament on my headphones. I halt near leaves, season-sere but shaded in apricot, blush & dark cherry before they die. Music lofts me gently, breeze on a feather, pours out from me then silvers a patch of sky, which sings back. Miserere nobis, I whisper

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

mikemolloy @mikemolloy.bsky.social · 1d

A geothermal area near Myvatn, in north-central Iceland

Photo of a geothermal area in Iceland, Steam rises up from vents in the ground, round about

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

lichtbringer @saintghost.bsky.social · 2d

For #PoemsAbout #ImperfectMe ✨

for @thebrokenspine.co.uk
& @alanparrywriter.co.uk

I apologize for the ungodly length and extend my sincerest gratitude to everyone who still endeavors to read it. Thank you.

$Mirror, Mirror A spell gone wrong. The fairy godmother quit, left the fire for a cigarette break. My dress is as chintzy as lollipop shivers, as cheap as no-fucks-given first love and even that I could never afford. A broom dressed in a rag, owl-grown on eyelash wishes. A wish is something my heart makes when you sing about how the light weeps through the gauze of the leaves when it falls, like a prayer through stained glass, or a girl’s head through the open mouth of her mother’s medicine cabinet. We all know that things are purified by their falling, by how low they can go before they snap. A wish is the insistence to fall like this just a little bit longer, to sweeten the pulp of my ruin once I collapse into smoke. A dream, however, is a different beast: A dream is something tenebrous that lives in the fractures and marrows, that comes for me like a gorge of gray wolves, ubiquitous and bigger than a life, or a couldn’t, or a death. It makes me think about your teeth, how they tear a signature of grief into my wrist, how I mistook a maw for a sparrow’s beak, and blood for godly devotion. You ask what has touched me without leaving a bruise. Nothing. The brittle hair brown as the mud- crested belly of a fox, hunted, tangled in lilac and bramble, keeping watch over what remains of us and what doesn’t when no one is looking too close. Rings of salt around my eyes where at midnight the crows come and pick apart the waning embers until things lose their focus and become mercurial rivulets of maybe and fever. The olanzapine body, fed too sad on gingerbread and delusions; the one that I carry like a coffin or that in turn shoulders me like a cross, because it has to, because it knows no other way. The flesh-simmering hunger to be not only seen but felt. That deaf violent resistance to any threat or touch of disenchantment.$

And there it is,
the seam that is always giving, where the doctor did
his stitches like someone drunk on the moon. Touch it:
It tells a cicatrized story, one that the sortilege of speaking
could not. I am not only an imperfection but a curse, baptized
in a river’s edge that knows neither map nor ending.
Lids and lips dusted with a summoning of need the color
of last year’s rotten apples; as if there was a ballroom I was going to
instead of a padded cell, as if I had lost a shoe of glass
instead of my agency and sense of self.

All this sorcery, just for that one moment.

Because you promised me an elsewhere and another
time, where truth was untrue and real was only a word
that held as much weight as a twig. Where I could go
and be not prophecy but promise; peach, plum, and palms unread
but understood in the unutterable language of fate.
Where I could be held by a world that does not ask of me
to prove it. But you just made me up, didn’t you, divined my name
in some lapse of reason amidst seal-skinned sirens and antlered
hares. Something to rain away the hours, insubstantial and hidden
behind the veil of absurdity. I come alive in your glimpse only,
in that one wisp of splintered impossibility
and just as soon as you close your eyes, all my fake
bones shatter and crumble.

Looking back, I will then be made to wonder
if I have ever been really here at all.
Did I die or did I vanish
or did you just forget to continue to have faith
in my fabled existence, in the frailty of my
mythology?

Because nothing’s more fatal to a dream
than those who do not believe in it.

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Reposted by Ulrica Hume

Paul Connolly @thepaulconnolly.bsky.social · 1d

My recording of my poem Resurrection

Published in @eunoiareview.bsky.social

Posted here for @hool415.bsky.social’s #PromptCombo theme #Visitor & @alanparrywriter.co.uk & @thebrokenspine.co.uk’s #PoemsAbout theme #imperfectme

#poetrycommunity #poetsonbluesky #writingcommunity #poetry #booksky