Story Grove

Planting the acorns of creativity + inspiration

152800 Notes

eyeofstone:

we will go swimming(original poem by Miri Stone, 07/23/2014)stand with meat middaywe will go swimmingas childrenflip flops flung on the beachthe remnants of an ice cream massacreon our beach towelssand trapped in our sunburnt hairsunglasses like forgotten tiarasastride our headas we line up our toeson the slats of the wharfholding hands for courageso none is left behindas onewe dive into the cool crystal surfstand with meat midnightwe will go swimmingas forbidden loverswhen icy waveslick at our naughty bitswhile millions of phosphorescent bugsexplodein the inky blackness around usif we’re luckywe’ll see a shooting starin the peripheral visionjust as our salty lipstouch

such a wonderful image! thank you muse & tumblr peeps for your everyday extraordinary inspirations #poem #poetry~~~we will go swimming(original poem by Miri Stone, 07/23/2014)stand with meat middaywe will go swimmingas childrenflip flops flung on the beachthe remnants of an ice cream massacreon our beach towelssand trapped in our sunburnt hairsunglasses like forgotten tiarasastride our headas we line up our toeson the slats of the wharfholding hands for courageso none is left behindas onewe dive into the cool crystal surfstand with meat midnightwe will go swimmingas forbidden loverswhen icy waveslick at our naughty bitswhile millions of phosphorescent bugsexplodein the inky blackness around usif we’re luckywe’ll see a shooting starin the peripheral visionjust as our salty lipstouch

eyeofstone:

we will go swimming
(original poem by Miri Stone, 07/23/2014)

stand with me
at midday
we will go swimming
as children
flip flops flung on the beach
the remnants of an ice cream massacre
on our beach towels
sand trapped in our sunburnt hair
sunglasses like forgotten tiaras
astride our head
as we line up our toes
on the slats of the wharf
holding hands for courage
so none is left behind
as one
we dive into the cool crystal surf

stand with me
at midnight
we will go swimming
as forbidden lovers
when icy waves
lick at our naughty bits
while millions of phosphorescent bugs
explode
in the inky blackness around us
if we’re lucky
we’ll see a shooting star
in the peripheral vision
just as our salty lips
touch

such a wonderful image! thank you muse & tumblr peeps for your everyday extraordinary inspirations #poem #poetry

~~~

we will go swimming

(original poem by Miri Stone, 07/23/2014)

stand with me
at midday
we will go swimming
as children
flip flops flung on the beach
the remnants of an ice cream massacre
on our beach towels
sand trapped in our sunburnt hair
sunglasses like forgotten tiaras
astride our head
as we line up our toes
on the slats of the wharf
holding hands for courage
so none is left behind
as one
we dive into the cool crystal surf

stand with me
at midnight
we will go swimming
as forbidden lovers
when icy waves
lick at our naughty bits
while millions of phosphorescent bugs
explode
in the inky blackness around us
if we’re lucky
we’ll see a shooting star
in the peripheral vision
just as our salty lips
touch

(Source: mantranativa)

Filed in poem poetry inspiration friendship swimming beach beachlife love lovers nature

716 Notes

Love.

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
Remember your hands; how did your lips
Feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
Have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
My vague memory of you. I live with pain
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
Vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
Glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of
Summer pain me; because of you, I again
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.

Pablo Neruda (via observando)

I love Neruda.

(via costumecanuck)

So wonderful #poetry #rocks

(via costumecanuck)

43 Notes

eyeofstone:

The gods live here(Original poem by Miri Stone, 08/23/2014)Squeezing betweenThe thighs of earth motherWe move on blistered Wrinkly feetTramping through the raw blanketsThat clothe her welcoming secretsYou turn to me to pointAt a waterfall gurgling with life, love & playNo, don’t say a thing —I say with my silent finger A promise on slightly curling lipsYou subsideHurt in your eyes Quickly giving way to recognitionAs the sacredness of this place seeps inPassed the 4G connectionsAnd satellite hypnosisDripping into the flickering death boxesBack homeInstead you bend your bodyWith fresh vigorFlowing up through your tired solesWith each footfall You draw this magic inCoursing up through your solesYour calvesYour thighsThrough your bellyAnd into your pumping heartWhich is thrumming with it’s triumphant fanfare"Well come.You are well come!”Call the tuisIn the canopy above usWhile the fantailsFlit a war danceAround our headsFeasting on the bugs we stir upFor here in this feasting hallWe serve a simple purposeYour brain for once is silentIt leaves you with a strange disorientationA spiritual hangoverSuddenly vacant of all butOne foot after anotherThe call continuesSending us UpUpUpWe don’t talk nowNo more need for wordsTrust has settled between our shoulder bladesCushioning our heavy packsInstead we watch our breathPuffing a mistOf vanishingAs we climb higher and higherTo erupt On the mountain topJoyous and giddyFrom all the wonders unspokenNot kings and queensNo not princes or princess eitherNot land owners or peasants or even priestsFor after this journey we know we own nothingWe are mere travelersPassing throughIt is the gods that live hereNo wonder we cannot find themIn the concrete junglesBack home…(Thanks to the wonderful person above for posting the image which inspired this poem and the person before who posted it to iheartit and the photographer, whoever you may be, who took the original photo who inspired us all!)

Flood of inspiration poured out from this image… #love #creativity #natureismymuse

eyeofstone:

The gods live here

(Original poem by Miri Stone, 08/23/2014)

Squeezing between
The thighs of earth mother
We move on blistered
Wrinkly feet
Tramping through the raw blankets
That clothe her welcoming secrets

You turn to me to point
At a waterfall gurgling with life, love & play

No, don’t say a thing —
I say with my silent finger
A promise on slightly curling lips

You subside
Hurt in your eyes
Quickly giving way to recognition
As the sacredness of this place seeps in
Passed the 4G connections
And satellite hypnosis
Dripping into the flickering death boxes
Back home

Instead you bend your body
With fresh vigor
Flowing up through your tired soles

With each footfall
You draw this magic in
Coursing up through your soles
Your calves
Your thighs
Through your belly
And into your pumping heart
Which is thrumming with it’s triumphant fanfare

"Well come.
You are well come!”

Call the tuis
In the canopy above us
While the fantails
Flit a war dance
Around our heads
Feasting on the bugs we stir up
For here in this feasting hall
We serve a simple purpose

Your brain for once is silent
It leaves you with a strange disorientation
A spiritual hangover
Suddenly vacant of all but

One foot after another
The call continues
Sending us

Up

Up

Up

We don’t talk now
No more need for words
Trust has settled between our shoulder blades
Cushioning our heavy packs
Instead we watch our breath
Puffing a mist
Of vanishing

As we climb higher and higher
To erupt
On the mountain top
Joyous and giddy
From all the wonders unspoken

Not kings and queens
No not princes or princess either
Not land owners or peasants or even priests
For after this journey we know we own nothing
We are mere travelers
Passing through

It is the gods that live here

No wonder we cannot find them
In the concrete jungles
Back home…

(Thanks to the wonderful person above for posting the image which inspired this poem and the person before who posted it to iheartit and the photographer, whoever you may be, who took the original photo who inspired us all!)

Flood of inspiration poured out from this image… #love #creativity #natureismymuse

75625 Notes

Don’t you dare
Shrink yourself
For someone else’s comfort -
Do not become small
For people who refuse to grow.

m.v., Advice to my future daughter, #2. (via wickedbabylon)

costumecanuck
thanks for the picture & the welcome back!

(via costumecanuck)

2 Notes

as you walk on by
(original poem by Miri Stone, July 21st 2014)

while I sit at this cafe scribbling
my son is getting restless

I think
I’ll get to the end of this page
but -
        perhaps not.

now my son
        is getting vocal.

so that’s how I come to be -

nursing one-handed
my son crooked in my arm
my arm jammed
in between me and the table
precious real estate
for a precious time-out -

as you walk on by this everyday cafe

my son doesn’t seem to mind
he is too busy growing

but I do believe
I have caught your attention

my reflection
in the coffee shop window
defines something of a reversal 
on the traditional monument to all-consuming motherhood
as painted on every wall, canvas, stained-glass window
in history

unwittingly 
I have become 
an exotic specimen
in your neatly manicured day

as I sit here
words tearing across the page one-handed
all the while nursing casually
as if that were the aside
in this situation 

admittedly -
        it is an absurd aside
that would make my 11 year old self split into a fit of giggles 
and point behind whispering hand

I might even join in
if I were not currently 
scribe
slave
to this passion
flowing out of me and onto this page

so -
       is it admiration
romantic re-imaginings of some distant passed
or
       curiousity
of a sight not often seen
or
       disgust
that has your eyes 
stuck on me 
needing to be peeled away 
as I look up suddenly
to catch the inspiration 
floating by in the ether 
near my coffee table

yes -
        my latte is casually cooling
shocking I know
even more shocking if you knew
my everyday ritual
trekking out to my local cafe strip
peering 
all-knowingly in
to see which barista is worthy 
of my caffeinated prayer of -
       oh god that is good

but as you may see from the distant intent in my eyes
I have not a moment to lose
before the fickle ideas will flit away
to some other more receptive receptical 

so excuse me
for being practical (& reasonably demure)
in service of my craft
as this lightning strike drives my pen

I am in fact
writing down something
about motherhood

and as I said 
my son doesn’t seem to mind
he is too busy growing

as you walk on by
(original poem by Miri Stone, July 21st 2014)

while I sit at this cafe scribbling
my son is getting restless

I think
I’ll get to the end of this page
but -
perhaps not.

now my son
is getting vocal.

so that’s how I come to be -

nursing one-handed
my son crooked in my arm
my arm jammed
in between me and the table
precious real estate
for a precious time-out -

as you walk on by this everyday cafe

my son doesn’t seem to mind
he is too busy growing

but I do believe
I have caught your attention

my reflection
in the coffee shop window
defines something of a reversal
on the traditional monument to all-consuming motherhood
as painted on every wall, canvas, stained-glass window
in history

unwittingly
I have become
an exotic specimen
in your neatly manicured day

as I sit here
words tearing across the page one-handed
all the while nursing casually
as if that were the aside
in this situation

admittedly -
it is an absurd aside
that would make my 11 year old self split into a fit of giggles
and point behind whispering hand

I might even join in
if I were not currently
scribe
slave
to this passion
flowing out of me and onto this page

so -
is it admiration
romantic re-imaginings of some distant passed
or
curiousity
of a sight not often seen
or
disgust
that has your eyes
stuck on me
needing to be peeled away
as I look up suddenly
to catch the inspiration
floating by in the ether
near my coffee table

yes -
my latte is casually cooling
shocking I know
even more shocking if you knew
my everyday ritual
trekking out to my local cafe strip
peering
all-knowingly in
to see which barista is worthy
of my caffeinated prayer of -

oh god that is good

but as you may see from the distant intent in my eyes
I have not a moment to lose
before the fickle ideas will flit away
to some other more receptive receptical

so excuse me
for being practical (& reasonably demure)
in service of my craft
as this lightning strike drives my pen

I am in fact
writing down something
about motherhood

and as I said
my son doesn’t seem to mind
he is too busy growing

Filed in poem poetry motherhood nursing creativity muse amwriting wheninspirationstrikes