This blog is a dedicated space for poets of all kinds. Our aim is to share the work of those hidden in the writing community and of course some from our favourites. We try to find new talent, as all of the staff members have different, diverse taste. Thank you for visiting -- Let the inspiration flow.
We track the "poetry" "prose" "spilled ink" and "creative writing" tags.
we are ripping each other apart
he and i
in the best waywho tore us apart, really
you tied us togetherhe (we) splattered the town red with my lipstick
smearing slattern as he went
and two can play at that game
in the same vein(we are cutting each other open
don’t tell me to stop
you don’t know what you’re saying
you never
listen)you are my
best
friend, you don’t understand
we are in love
we deserve this
each other
9 
I rub my nose against the hard edge,
dry skin, crack-burn,
not yet sharp enough edge
edge of my MacBook Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro Pro.
Jazzy’s note: this made me laugh so fucking hard!
7 to fall into
your face
is a must
for melights around
your lips, halos
of wind
around your eyes—
to fall in
a pit of lust
with you
is a mustwho are
you and where
did you go?
I must know
17 Wrap my arms
so tight
in the middle of the night,
like we could fuse our
skin, you
could take me
in, I
need a place to
stay, to
find another
way, you
provide beating
heart, I
find a way to
start, the
compressionup
a-
gain.
14 I count the creases on these
pages. I count the names.
I peel them and tape them together,
I bury them beneath
solid waves, watch the ripples
envelope them, circle above them.
I am floating, floating
from my body, floating above
the crippled tendrils of
white billows.
I count the birds flocking
near me, I count the
few clouds swimming,
I count the two crabs scurrying
cock-eyed by my feet,
yet I still
long for the sparkles in
the water, I long for the
words beneath the waves.
They cry to me, you know,
in hushed, hand-covered screams,
their vibrato turning to
dust and cobwebs,
the arches of their letters
swallowed in broken prisms of
ashy sunlight.
How beautiful their wedding vows,
their promises of silence.
Oh, crinkling white tombstones
on the knuckles of
the sea,
waiting for
my heart to stop it’s
beating.
125 A closed mouth is a paradox
Words are just grains of sand washed on the shore,
Open your mouth -
The words slip out
And land right down on the floor.The loudest people
Have got sealed lips -
The greatest words ever spoken
Came from the tongue
Of a mute.It’s paradoxical by nature
Against all the instincts in our gut,
But our words come out much louder
When our mouths are shut.
7 Whoever saw a library with its windows all gone, overrun with tall grasses
and roof-beams exposed to flood the whole with sunlight? We light fires –
police appear (framed) at the open door to chase us away and allI think about when running is in which Church I am going to hide – which
version of the Bible am I going to leave my head on, and maybe if the weather had been worse how I could have caught a chill and felt the first premonitory shivers on a pew at the front
like the girl in The End of the Affair who died.Fear of grating with circular holes.
Fear of grating with right-angles.Inspect some coloured sand through a telescope on a summer bleached
hill with 90s Winona in nothing but a tank-top. Pretend you are seeing red
planets in real time and fly traps fading with theplastic heat.
13 i am a burnt-out jack-o-lantern
smashed to pieces on your front porch
the morning of november firsti, like batman,
am a model of mental health
10 midnight poems
are like
unidentified animals
silhouetted against
the sojourn
streetlights and
roaming headlights,
evading eyes,
flashing under
the wheels,
vanishing in
the hedges.
37 i will not
be taken for granted.
i have the world to offer
the individual that i offer it to.
i’m sorry that it took you this long
to realize what you had,
but i will not succumb
to pleas for the past,
as i do not plan on repeating it.
it is a tough realization
to understand that this may not work.
trust me when i say
that i wish it was another way.
44 the world is
square and so are
people. the world is
balled up, yellowed
newspaper whose
headline reads ‘it’s all about me,
me, me’;
a few people who say
and mean we’re in this
shit together.
the world is
should we go to taco bell
or mcdonald’s; the world is
new jersey or florida, the world
isn’t the exploration of the depthless
imagination.
squares really think that
from paris to philadelphia
there’s a world of difference
but
squares here are squares there
there’s no variation.
the world is
john who’s tunafishphobic
because of the mercury
lcd tvs for 199.99! it’s the best
deal of the year!
but it’s all hyperbole
the world is
jessica who’s mini-bio reads
i love music, it’s my life
pop and rock and rap artists
who sell their souls and cork
a corporate message like
ass and titties. romance. kiss.
fuck. have fun, get money. it’s summer
while 1.9 people freeze to death
per day in america
because they’re homeless.
the world is
a broken-in seat on everyone’s
couch. a fridge door weighed down
and creaky because of an excess of
condiments. the aids-ridden needle
sitting below the swings, waiting for
some kid to pick it up and accidentally
prick himself with it.
the world is
post nasal drip that your well trained
doctor can’t fix. cancer that spread from
his lung to his testicles. (someone thought
i was going to say dick. but, you know,
that’s just how the world is). the world is
kobe bryant just dropped fifty. you’re not
even a fan, but the media got you giddy.
the world is
condemning and damning instead
of understanding. a macho attitude
being mistaken for manly. nobody
being there, despite the fact that
you have friends and family.
the world is
the kingdom of satan. there’s enough
seats for everybody. what’s your name?
naw, i don’t know you — all these seats are
taken. the world is the gospel of the ego,
can you tell? it’s spread has been a little
lethal.
from the outside
looking in. is how most everyone
feels. lost alone and confused abused
cheated on hated on and thought you
was hot for a minute, but that was just
because you were brewing
in the devil’s stew.
the world is
anne hathaway’s rhymes
the world is
empty words and plain text
the world is
suicide notes and death threats
the world is
leaving the station
have you hopped
on its train yet
or are you putting
yourself at its front, trying to be
the antimachine. a human being
standing on the traintracks?
Jazzy’s note: Love this!
33 back alley url get out yer hang (her) steroid // sociopath // ego crusssssssssssssssssssshing 'neath the weight of black mass revelations revel // ignorance "why can't i get any (dis) respect?" you get what you give cliche apparati never learned tongues i bow you bow we all say bow wow monochrome injustices spreading bee pollen butter fungal (in)in(fect)communicado staccato // wall sconces paranoia princess slumped asthmatic rhythms chronic // depression // shortcircuits crussssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshing 'neath the weight of black mass
joshua’s note: cool shit
3 the sky looks sick.
it’s leaning over the porcelain god, ready to unveil its true potential.
i am standing in my backyard, a cigarette in one hand, a rose in the other.
i am staring up at the sky. the sick sky, ready to open the mouth, ready to vomit upon the earth. i smile and i feel the first few drops of drizzle fall upon my face and distort my view out of my glasses.
i can
hear television static somewhere in the distance. a man has dropped dead in front of the nightly news and the television was kept in focus with his heartbeat.
still, the sky looks sick but maybe that’s good for the trees.
all the animals are hiding. they can hear the sky retching, trying to become prepared for what is to ensue.
i am prepared. i hold a rose in one hand. my cigarette has finished.
i’m lonely but the sky looks like it’ll give some life to something.
the rose withers.
almost instantly. i am scared. that is odd. everything is odd.
camels are odd. airplanes are odd.
the fact that i have terrible anxiety is odd.
the fact that i drink a little too much is odd.
the sky looks sick and that is not odd.
11 let me find the scars you hide;
run my fingers over them.
let me search for them in the dark;
learn the stories they tell
as if it were braille.
let your body speak in whispers
as my hands give you their full attention.
13 