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.
twenty-nine days
straight of
waiting
for spring rains
that wash away
wintermy beard is graying
faster in these winter
evenings, fraying at the
ends with the fasting
realization that
these transition seasons
serve as nothing more
then footnotes in our
never ending calandercrossing out each day
as if a victory of survival,
twenty-nine times
(via 1therealvagabondking)
41 
I’ve got you trapped in a corner, and all I can think about is dust, about tear gas and split skin and moving across oceans. There was never any grit between our teeth when we kissed, no substance to the bruises you left running down my neck like a purple archipelago. I keep holding onto the syntax of your eyelids, how your hair looked beneath the soft cafe lights. Did you know I’d write poems about you? You must have; I was candle wax in your hands, one inch away from flight. In the pocket dictionary of places I have been that I keep with me in my spine, underneath the word home is only a description of your arms. I still have you trapped in a corner. I still can’t let go. There’s a shrine in my bedroom for every poem that has ever made me ache, and you are folded between pages like a razorblade.
I’ve got you trapped in a corner, and all I can think about is mushroom clouds, is bone fractures and roadkill and chapped lips. Your mouth is the place I want to go to when I die.
10 And all I want is hundreds of your breasts falling upon me.
Pressing down
on my face or my chest. Each like a little hug on a perfectly
chilly night.
And I want to lose my touch in skin softer than I could imagine—
god, every inch of you is beautiful.
Please, hands, grasp all about me
with a desperation
I can only describe as love. Love.
I miss you tonight.
I miss you always.
6 the night remains naked of moonlight, contemptibly ceding to the snowfall; a turtle fighting a rabbit, at ease to give up the battle for the sake of the war. ”but what if it never ends,” she whispers to herself. she doesn’t want to drown in an avalanche, misunderstood, with frozen digits from…
12 If a writer knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one ninth of it being above water.
-Ernest Hemingway
Five Minute Story’s goal is simple: To push its followers to explore complex ideas in limited space.
Time yourself. You have five minutes to give us something true and raw, to make every brushstroke scream with meaning.Follow! Send in your stories! Spread the word!
I’m hoping this becomes a lovely little champion blog for all of our incredible prose writers. :)Let’s make this a reality, everyone!
(via john-chrostek)
63 When does A Literation accept submissions?
We accept submissions for the first two weeks (14 days) of each month. On or about the first of each month, a theme for that month’s issue will be posted. Submissions will be accepted from that moment until MIDNIGHT central U.S. time on the 14th of…
160 
One day we’ll arise in the wake of a dawning day
and whilst the aureate flood engulfs bare human shells,
our thoughts will dance, abundantly rejoicing with
our hearts ablaze in fulgent flames and trembling sighs -
entangled with the summoning sound of the ordinary world
and she’ll loosen the constraining strings once stitching
the girdle of ghostly dictation together, to listen for the first time
and we’ll know we’re so much more than beautiful.
15 Nahlia’s Note: I love how sweet this is.
When we meet
there will be no voices,
just a lone whale bray
lingering across the ocean,
just the slap
of water to rock
spilled into our earlobeswhen we meet
a chandelier will kiss
our shoulders gently,
trickling soft solé
down the walls
and you will sigh,
grateful to escape
the scrutiny of fluorescentswhen we meet,
your eyes will crinkle into a smile
and we will share glances
from across the cherrywood,
exhaling steam amongst the pine,
and the snow will fall
softlylingering
on windowsills
and wishing
it were dust.
13 there’s something about the early hours of the morning that have me thinking about you
and in a way that tugs my heartstrings because you are locked away when the sun comes
shining through the windows in the morning time but i cannot stop you from streaming
into my consciousness early in the morning before the dawn birds begin to sing and the
dew forms in all the pastures in all the countryside far away from where you reside in the
complexities of my twisted heart.
9 i am cracked orange nail polish on a left middle finger, chipped vanity for all the world to see; the forty-fourth sunset right before la petite planète spun out of orbit and choked the universe in rose ashes. i am broken, failing, destructive, crashing through windows and into unsuspecting hearts.
18 I had a weird realization, just now. With Spilled Ink retired, Burning Muse is now one of the older reblog projects. When I created Burning Muse, I had no idea how long the project would last. I was honored that we receive the support of Spilled Ink. I was touched that veteran rebloggers like poeticallyprofound took the time to endorse us. I was thrilled when editors like Jen followed and mentioned us!
There are so many others, include every one of you wonderful folks who follows this blog. As well as the lovely staff of Burning Muse, and the brilliant co-editor Kat.
I want to say that Burning Muse will always support and cooperate with our fellow reblog blogs, remain devoted to our readers, and the writers who share their incredible work with the TWC day after day.
We will never forget the kindness and support we’ve been show. In response to that gratitude:
I’d like to ask the admins of other reblog blogs if they would be open to making a commitment with us, to keep the legacy of Spilled Ink alive by tracking #spilledink (for poetry) and #spilledinkprose (for prose), and making it known to the TWC that you’re pulling from those tags.
Burning Muse will always track #spilledink and #spilledinkprose in gratitude and remembrance of one of the original reblog projects.
Much love!
41 The editors have decided to extend the submission deadline for N/A - to FOREVER. That’s right, we’ll now accept submissions on a rolling basis. Themes have also gone to the wayside: we just want to publish the best work we can find. If it has words and brings out goopy thoughts, we want to read…
35 Once in a blue moon,
I danced my life with these words —
weaving myself out.
(Source: phantomofwords, via whirlingasteroid)
21 