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.
I never saw anything nearly
as beautiful as the whirling
dervish so
distilled in a continual
move
ment
I’ve been watching
the perpetual spin from
three prisms: historical,
literary, and religious,
and I still stand nonplussed
my mouth Agape
at such an exquisite synergy
between discourses —a sybaritic art
with spiritual purposelike a wholesome shiver
or resuscitation
in the hollowed out river
of our dying culture
15 
the violins wept
as the tides
carried the body away
into the ocean’s mouth
dancing into the abyss
12 I put away a pretty page
for you, I’ve dog eared
you. At least I’m not
old; I can tell you’re
still a kid by the ratty
converse shoes,
you left the prints in
my car. With my
brains and your
lack thereof,
we could go
nowhere. We’re living
for nothing, and we’re
going to die
for nothing. You could
grow up and be happy
and forget me, and then
everything would be
alright. But I’ve dog eared
you, old boy.
20 The first time I watched a beheading, I was thirteen. It was an American soldier. I can’t remember if it was from Afghanistan or from Iraq. The video was put online, and my brother brought me into the room when our parents weren’t home, and he pulled it up. The video was grainy and buffered a lot,…
5 Once you kissed me and called it art.
Since then I have watched as you have
changed from gold to green and now you
taste of bitter apples, of sleep deprivation.Once I built brick walls from your teeth
and prayed for a treaty to end the war
that was between your skin and flesh.
You used to laugh a lot, and once
I bottled up the noise to keep.Once you told me you missed me
and once you told me it was weird
that I just kept showing up, and
sometimes I think about you and
sometimes I make lists of mistakes
I’ve made, and you’re at the top.Once you were golden and warm;
I found no faults in your freckles
and wanted for nothing but the honey
that dripped when you laughed.Now you’re green and a bit bitter -
the downfall of man rewritten.
11 the way you shake me.
I keep holding on
to the way
you hold me.
Now teach me
to forget the way
you forgot me.
7 It began with a chair. On a Sunday night. It began in a parking lot near a shopping center in the middle of a city in the state of New York. It began with one breath, three words, five sentences, sixteen second-glances, fifty-five thousand moments of self-doubt, and, perhaps, three hundred thousand and fifty-one wishes. Michael falls in love with Susan. Melanie brushes her hand against her upper arm, just outside of a cafeteria. He enjoys the sound of his voice in the morning. They are young, searching among a sea of flying fish, sticking their fingers into muck, straining decay through their palms. It takes a while and they’ve been counting like a child counts coins in a glass jar. They rattle about and their sound is so hideously beautiful, some of us might stop and listen.
21 If you’re a poet/writer who lives in Sydney and you’d be interested in some community poetry/writing projects, please like this post or drop me an ask. I can’t divulge any details for now, but I’ll assure you that it’s going to be awesome. :)
(and if people could reblog this to spread the word, that’d be great too!)
16 I want to hide
in the shadow
of your smile
(when the night
has been bestowed
upon us
and your heart
has fallen
so lonelily.
The soft hum
of your thoughts
in the silence
of your home
after the creek
of the floorboards
have gone quiet )
Dream of me,
something so sweet.
(via bonesaboveandveinsbelow-deactiv)
12 If I could paraphrase your body language I would say it is an amethyst stone. They say the death of a butterfly could cause an earthquake like the tremor of your knees. My name tastes like toothpaste diluted by bathroom sink water and most days I wish I was dead
or holy.
I am. I was. You are always praying for cigarette smoke, the lines dancing across your hands are cigarette smoke or cigarette smoke rings that remind me of the messiah (I am the messiah and I am the one who raped the moon and I am sorry I’m not sorry because she would not be so beautiful without the sorrow of her dimness)Can you help me please I am falling, slipping, fucking back into my upright position and I am keeping death tucked into the cuff of my sleeve so I can blot my face with it.
Let me eat the robin egg, it is the color of the sky.Step into me, tell me your astrological sign, and slide your tongue down my throat. I am trying desperately to be a poet I am trying desperately to use my eyelids as curtains and to memorize their colors I am trying desperately to remember who I was before I was obsessed with the structure of my own bones. I want to understand the meditative figurative slither
that wraps around
my palms and belly fats and suffocates my pores. I have learned to hate now even the curves of my breasts.
Yasmin’s note: Really lovely.
12 i broke myself
to see if you’d fix me
experimental dabbling
with cold, fixed hands
eyes set
(record the data in neat hand,
the words like windows opening
to embrace each potential dawn)
i broke myself
with a hammer
with a saw
with fingers (mine)
i broke myself
and i made you watch
i broke myself
and i waited,
clipboard in hand
Sonja’s note: This <3
27 resting-on-the-rings-of-saturn:
i knew her before i
met her and
when i met her
i knew i would love her
like a sea only
focused on knees, only
on the bends and
breaks of motion.she was the color of
giving up and
with her winter hands she
played the piano keys
of my spine, and she
made me into music,
and she sighed…
Sonja’s note: Wonderful.
(via resting-on-the-rings-of-saturn-)
19 Among my numerous projects there’s also what a consider a mission: promote Tumblr writing community on Twitter. Why? Simply because TWC is giving so much to me. I created the list “Writers on Tumblr” on my Twitter account but I’m afraid I lost some pearls along the way, so who has started following @FranGWlide and I didn’t include them in the list, please raise your hands (like this post). For those ones who haven’t still followed me, please do it. A very important matter is to allow retweets, they, like reblogs here on Tumblr, are the real vital breath of Twitter. I’m going to get in touch with some editors to spread a nice initiative about hash tags (very important on Twitter) I’ve never asked for it, but please reblog.
Love you all,
Fran
8 and i live in the lining
of your skin, the sheets,
the black and the blue,
facing the depths of
addiction alone in the
night with the thought of
love spoiled like that
of sour milk in the heat
of august in coming,
in leaving. in the
watching of going,
the bottom of your
soles rising and falling
away from a familiar
gait. i sense the
ripening of words
not yet typed, of
feelings not yet
written, but felt
still in the dark,
in the night of an
august retreating.
8 