Amy Woolard

This is the force of faith. Nobody gets /
what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing / is to be pure. What you get is to be changed.

—@joriegraham.bsky.social

poets.org/poem/prayer

This is the force of faith. Nobody gets /
what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing / is to be pure. What you get is to be changed.

—@joriegraham.bsky.social

poets.org/poem/prayer

good morning to everyone but leafblowers, perhaps my most despised way we try to control nature

Love poem Gregory Orr 1947- A black biplane crashes through the window / of the luncheonette. The pilot climbs down, / removing his leather hood. / He hands me my grandmother's jade ring. / No, it is two robin's eggs and / a telephone number: yours.

Before I got to UVA & took Greg's workshop my first year, I honestly believed no one was actually still writing poems/books anymore—all poets were long dead.

This was the poem that first made me realize you could do anything in a poem. This poem was a golden ticket for me, doing so much so simply.

I have never been more grateful for a paywall in my life.

the Sartre play of our times, just writing itself in the all-chat

truly nothing brings people together like the Microsoft Authenticator app going down at the beginning of a workday

CLUE (1985)

TeleShrubby is really good, PG

forget "read widely" or "kill your darlings"—*this* is perhaps the best piece of writing advice I could ever give someone

Rest In Power, Alice Wong.

See also: line cooks & bartenders, & tbf, the best waiters as well.

‘You Are All Terrorists’: Four Months in a Salvadoran Prison

The Times interviewed dozens of migrant men sent to a prison in El Salvador by the Trump administration. Independent forensic analysts called the testimony credible and consistent and said the treatment met the U.N.’s definition of torture.

www.nytimes.com/2025/11/08/w...

I'd almost settle for adding some tax brackets to those tax brackets.

It's a big night for Poetry Professors / IYKYK

cc: @senatorhashmi.bsky.social

but also: *chef's kiss emoji*

People who know me know that I am Baseball Superstitious so I don't say anything until ink is dry.

venn diagram of "strawberry waterloo seltzer" & "me online on election night in Virginia" each overlapping with "endlessly refreshing"

this might be the first meme I've ever made, is how tonight is going for me so far

Added benefit: connect a campaign like this w/shifting narrative around "public safety" & redefining what it means away from fear & punishment systems. "Safety" *is* later library hours, skate parks, infrastructure, green spaces, community centers, skillshares, &c

(but also: 💜Build a skate park 💜)

Added benefit: connect a campaign like this w/shifting narrative around "public safety" & redefining what it means away from fear & punishment systems. "Safety" *is* later library hours, skate parks, infrastructure, green spaces, community centers, skillshares, &c

(but also: 💜Build a skate park 💜)

it may be the end of Daylight Savings Time but it's the beginning of My Car Clock Is Finally Correct Again time

This is the one.

And for more than just the only piece worth reading on the nazi tattoo—it's the one worth reading on the Dem problem writ large.

This is figuring it out, scaled to an individual's reach & capacity. Add up all the contributions like this & it makes a real difference.

Things judges have to say out loud in 2025 & we're still not assured it will be followed.

Selma. She's made of absolute magic!

cc: @darthbluesky.bsky.social

cc: @darthbluesky.bsky.social

Eli, the 15-year-old brindle husky/mastiff mix stands in my leafy fall backyard wearing a brown fluffy lion’s mane snood & his help-me-up harness (he has mobility issues at this age).

Eli, 15-year-old King of the (backyard) jungle.

Poppies in October Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly— A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers. O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open in a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers. Sylvia Plath, born 10/27/32

"Poppies in October"

HBD, Sylvia Plath, botd 1932.

She wins GOAT poet just for the word "flamily" here.

Love!