Why do we wander? This poem puts it perfectly.
I am the wayfaring dreamer,
treading upon
unseen lands,
a wind blown vagabond
upon foreign
soils.
Before Instagram refreshes
We are out the door—ourselves
Refreshed in the lavender chill,
Headlights feeling their way to coast,
To the crest of the sunrise.
February teases with shifting light
Pink sunsets and a whisper on wings
Soon, darling.
Soon, sunshine.
Soon, spring.
February teases with blessings in breezes
Love notes for strangers
Come quickly, darling.
Come quickly, sunshine.
Come quickly, spring.
I am still learning
About this thing we call life and how it works
And how we keep time here on this earth
How do we mark heaven here below
And find its mercy in our melancholy?
How do we bring it down to our hearts
And keep it there the whole year through
I do not know, do you?
What a beautiful morning to wake up
Granted the privilege of putting two feet safe
On green grass, head to the sky, arms open,
Breathing in air laden with dew and inspiration
And the pending promise of a miracle
We search all summer for a version
Of ourselves that went missing
Somewhere between age 2 and today
But I find me in March and memories,
Every Monday and every moonrise
His words grace our 11th issue of Darling, and we couldn’t be more excited or inspired by the way Tyler Knott gives life to each one of the Darling personas.
We recently had the opportunity to sit down with Tyler to get inside the poet’s mind, discovering just how and why his way with words has global audiences captivated. Read on to learn more about what he thinks poetry really is, how he found his passion, and how he continues to foster it.
I see the words of love songs A thousand times a day In a thousand different ways The truth is love stories are within us And if we’re lucky, beside us But more than that, all around us Of wishes finding their falling stars Tired trees finding, one day, sunshine Hoot owls finding,
Having sought the whole world over And the whole year through To find things beautiful, lovely and true And having failed on occasion I seek to start anew To love you better and to love me too To take the good and bad and broken And to hold them all more loosely To
I do not know why pears choose to ripen this time of year But I am grateful. I do not know how far the church bells carry or if they like their song But I am grateful. I do not know where the stars lay their heads when they
Oh, what a privilege to watch a star-spangled parade At the golden-sunrise daybreak with a glass of lemonade I do believe today’s the day to take back up our cause: To live and love with honor and to find the time to pause The mid-day heat is blazing and
Poetry transplants us. It jars us awake with its pace and rhythm, so different from everyday life. It grabs us by the shoulders and says, as Rilke did so brilliantly in “Archaic Torso of Apollo”: You must change your life. A good poem distills truth and beauty
This lady needs no introduction. You already know and love her poetry from our SoulPancake collaboration films, but in true Darling fashion we wanted to dig a little deeper and get to know the woman behind the words. We had the pleasure of interviewing Natalie Patterson
Soft and slow Falls the quiet evening snow Setting my small world aglow The earth is freshly white tonight And all my soul is calm and right Music, drifting, taking flight Echoes now a sweet, sweet song We wait and wish for all year long: It’s quite simple really: we all belong So love
I am thankful for words, that I may construct A language to at least touch the surface Of the depths of my gratefulness, and the rest I offer In song and living and laughter. I am thankful that we are malleable and can be changed By the wind on a
There is a point in the afternoon When you can almost feel the pull Of the earth shifting, spinning Throwing your emotions to the bottom of your heart And your memory to the recesses of your mind The sun seems to arch its back and then, finally, Arduously, hurl itself back
I breathe deeply and settle the air In my stomach, and shut my eyes The faint scent of beginning on The top of the morning mist I whisper to the bare earth This year, this year, this year
resting in the day to day the dreams forgotten or left to remain at rest a thought a dream a word the cool breeze of the fall sky though the open window of night the cars sound, the alarms ring out and here I lay I think, I dream, I wake
I am Sleeping Beauty minus the sleeping and the beauty, but definitely with the high castle walls and the climbing thickets of wild, prickly brambles from which it would take a machete and a strong and tireless arm to carve out even the narrowest of paths, that is if one could even make it past the fire-breathing dragon