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mossyfrets
11 525,348 M Meaningful Journey 13
PathStep 11 Compassion hearts69,483 Forum posts189 Forum upvotes401 Current upvotes401 Age GroupAdult Last activeSeptember, 2026 Member sinceSeptember 27, 2022
Bio

^^

Swim for the music that saves you when you're not too sure you'll survive

https://voca.ro/17UPPLai117T (Komet)

A bird sang and I was rich 

The common thing between me and my cab driver is we're both lost

Nature does not ask who you are. It simply lets you belong - Jack kerouac

No more emails, if you want to reach me light the beacons of Gondor

Our personality has limits. The soul has none.

You're mountain of tiny courages

- - -                                          - - - 

I love writing poems and reading with all my being just like I love my pets especially Shiro, maria and bishu, bugs and nature

Some of my fav books or book title feel like finding a coin in the pocket of my coat. Finding a good book always feels random and incredibly lucky. After all, I've been sticking my hands in pockets for all my life and never finding anything but old crumpled tissue. And some days ofcourse, I come across amazing book title and books which have been actually astoundingly brilliant.

Here are the titles and books I love

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Lord of the flies, Life after Life, Do andoids dream of Electric Sheep?, All the light we cannot see, Love in the time of Cholera, The Catcher in the Rye by Harper Lee, The Dharma Bums and On the road By Jack Kerouac, And Hippos were boiled in their tanks by Jack Kerouac and William S Burroughs, A violent masterpiece, East of Eden, Persuasion by Jane Austen, The heart's invisible furies, The unbearable lightness of being, Five quarters of Orange, When breath becomes air, I who have never known Men, The last good kiss, Noone belongs here more than you, The heart is a lonely hunter by Carson M'cullers, To kill a mocking bird by vintage Lee, I have no mouth and I must scream by Harlan Ellison, Nightbitch by Rachel yoder, A heartbreaking work of staggering genius by Dave Eggers, On Earth we're briefly gorgeous by Ocean Vuong, Something wicked this way comes by Ray bradbury, Their eyes were watching God by Zora N hurston, How much of these hills is Gold, The Ministry of fear by Graham Greene, The loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, Mother Mary comes to me, The lion women of Tehran, Call me Ishmael, James, Anna Karenina, Customs of the country, Let's explore diabetes with Owls, The song of Achilles, The axeman's carnival, The Most secret memory of Men Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon, Oranges are not the only fruit!, Four difference between pigeons and God, One hundred years of Solitude, The Sun also Rises, Small things like these by Claire Keegan, Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au, My summer without men by Siri hustvedt, The ocean at the end of the lane, Her smile will untether the Universe, Heart of darkness, Absalom, Absalom!, The grapes of wrath, For whom bells torn, To an undifferent God, God of small things, The hand that first held mine by Maggie OF, Everything that rises must converge, Darkness at Noon, Things in Nature Merely Grow ^^


Escape

by D.H. LAWRENCE

When we get out of the glass bottles of our own ego,

and when we escape like squirrels from turning in the cages of our personality

and get into the forest again,

we shall shiver with cold and fright

but things will happen to us

so that we don't know ourselves.

Cool, unlying life will rush in,

and passion will make our bodies taut with power,

we shall stamp our feet with new power

and old things will fall down,

we shall laugh, and institutions will curl up like burnt paper.



















Recent forum posts
mossyfrets profile picture
Even here something blooms
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
9 hours ago
...See more Cruelty is difficult to understand and suffering that serves no purpose is equally mysterious. If we imagine a world capable of containing such things, a world governed by harshness and struggle, we encounter another puzzle: the sudden appearance of brightness and power, like a song rising unexpectedly from the darkest place. Unless people throughout history and across every culture have somehow been deceived by the same illusion, there seems to be something real about beauty: a kind of grace that exists without needing to justify itself. About five years ago, I witnessed a mockingbird descend directly from the roof gutter of a four-storey building. It seemed completely spontaneous and unconcerned, as natural and effortless as the opening of a plant or the first spark of a flame. The bird simply stepped into empty space and began to fall. Its wings remained tucked against its body, almost as though it were perched on a branch and singing rather than plunging toward the ground. It was dropping faster and faster, accelerating through the air until just before it might have struck the earth, it slowly and deliberately opened its wings. The white markings beneath them appeared, its broad tail spread out, and suddenly the fall became a graceful glide. The bird landed lightly on the grass. I had just come around the corner when I noticed it. No one else was there to witness what had happened. That made me think about the old philosophical question of whether a tree makes a sound when it falls in an empty forest. Perhaps the answer is that beauty and grace do not depend on someone being there to notice them. They can happen whether or not anyone is watching. The least we can do is try to be there.
mossyfrets profile picture
A House of Rain
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
2 days ago
...See more If you would like to know more about rain then perhaps you should enter a house after it. Any house can become a house of rain. For example, you might find a house called Rooms for Quiet Days. Inside, you might find a kettle beginning to sing. And even though it is the height of summer, even though the sun is a weight pressed against the windows, you might still make tea. It is good tea but admittedly better suited to colder evenings. You might then leave the cup on the table and open the window because that is what windows are for. Then you might lie down for a while because that is what summer is for. What might you dream then, if not rain moving softly across the glass, like a thought passing through the house on its way somewhere 
mossyfrets profile picture
Ledger
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
15 hours ago
...See more The air has stopped breathing. Hands around a fragile flame. There are decisions, and then there are what we once used to call reminders, scattered across the sky like fallen feathers. A choice - to remember how we were carried from one place to another with gentleness, even after the light faded, and then the night, and then stars.
mossyfrets profile picture
If I am to be found
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
June 22nd
...See more A red bird, a faded bush, still flowering. When another joins, it is not by chance- every morning has to open like this. Its hinges so cold, even in summer, through memory, like feathers, belong to no season. If I am to be found, it is to be like this. Hands closed. How desperate I am to not lose anything, least of which that I am desperate to put down. 
mossyfrets profile picture
A Sunday late night scribble
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
June 15th
...See more Noone can control the weather, but the birds seem to be quite invested. The clouds are doing their part- hurting each other and apologizing  so quickly it is almost like a joke. I want to be a privy to the kind of air that doesn't move, but instead  beckons you to move around it, like a rock or a broken heart. If I were a bird, I would be one no bigger than an eyelash, discovered too close to the end to name. If I were a cloud, I would accept the apology, such a good joke it was.
mossyfrets profile picture
Putting the stone back in the river
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
June 13th
...See more The Night stampedes across the river. Not through it. A miracle cannot be anticipated, wanted, or otherwise coordinated. The same is often  said of stones that, once spotted, picked up, and held, seem to radiate in the hand. It's ok to put the stone back in the water. It's ok to go back home, carrying  something that  nothing else, not even the hoofed dark, could touch.
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The End of An Argument
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
June 13th
...See more Sure. Everyone has, at one time or other, felt the wind across their face, beaming little fiddles  that we are. While elsewhere, the foxes in the snow, as if they had not fallen, but simply  fell, there, burning. Sure. I won't deny that.
mossyfrets profile picture
Poems by other artists
Poetry / by mossyfrets
Last post
June 22nd
...See more I will use this thread to share poems by other artists  Where my Books Go by W B Yeats All the words that I gather,    And all the words that I write, Must spread out their wings untiring,    And never rest in their fight, Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,    And sing to you in the night, Beyond where the waters are moving,    Storm darkened or starry bright.
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