inkstains and ashtrays

Some call me Wendy, some call me witty. I am a writer. And here lies my rambling thoughts, recklessly strung together like a macaroni noodle necklace.

[wood-pulp]

Visit Original Link

[thisishangingrockcomics-deactiv]

Me chilling out with a beer dyeing m'hair

[jasonfunderburkme]

I eat 2-10 oranges daily Look @ me

[borderline-bordereaux]

Fuck scurvy dude

[borderline-bordereaux]

Winter in Wyoming

Wishbones in windowsills - wheelbarrows and wagon wheels. We split the bones until they splintered like chopped wood stacked beneath the window. Cattle guards rattled like snakes in the pasture, hissing at hooves and dodging bloody-beaked birds below . with the wind the weeds tumbled and down the desert floor the sand danced . Cracked and tired like grandfather's hand, it too had felt the harsh hardness of hooves. I watched from the window while he pulled a long drag and waited. Decades of this habitual ritual split the tips of his fingers into tools too tough to touch. I watched his cigarette dangle from his mouth for another minute before I washed the window and withdrew. W.k.j.

[impressionistes]

Spoken Word Poetry Recs

An updated version of this post that I wrote out for @mythaelogy​ a while back <3 I just need to fan girl about these things (+ I added links)

“Origin Story” by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye

I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.

“When Love Arrives” by Sarah and Phil 

Over and over again (“You are beautiful”)

“Point B/ If I should have a daughter” by Sarah Kay 

And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

“Postcards” by Sarah Kay

Still now, I send letters into space. Hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems.

“Brother” by Sarah Kay

Once, when you were seven, you came into the kitchen and asked mum: “Does my name begin with the letter P because P is the 16th letter of the alphabet and I was born on June 16th and is Sarah just Sarah because S is 19th letter and she was born on the 19th day of June?”

“Suburbia” by Phil Kaye

…father, farther, are little mazes, mouse-traps, cul-de-sacs, this house is amazing, this house is amazing, this house is amazing, this house is amazing, this house is amazing, farther

“Repetition” by Phil Kaye

My mother taught me this trick if you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning

“Photograph” by Andrea Gibson

Electricity bowing to nature / Mind bowing to heartbeat / This is gonna hurt bowing to I love you / I still love you like moons love the planets they circle around

“Angels of the Get Through” by Andrea Gibson

This year has been the hardest of your whole life. So hard you cannot see a future, most days.

“Maybe I Need You” by Andrea Gibson

This is my garden song /This is my fist fight / with that bitter frost / Tonight I begged another stage light to become that back alley street lamp that we danced beneath

“Pork Fried Rice” by Franny Choi

Watch me tentacles and teeth. Watch me resurrected electric.

“Pop Goes Korea” by Franny Choi

Strawberry-cheeked gourmet popsicle ladies who stay out all night drinking midori sours and somersaulting over their polka-pineapple platform heels Pop goes the world.

“Dear J.K. Rowling, From Cho Chang” by Rachel Rostad

Madame Butterfly. Japanese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself. Miss Saigon. Vietnamese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself.

“Names” by Rachel Rostad

When you name your daughter, it’s a prayer for everything you want her to be.

“Conviction” by Taylor Mali

What has happened to our conviction? Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?

“To This Day” by Shane Koyczan

you built a cast around your broken heart / and signed it yourself / you signed it “they were wrong”

“The Crickets Have Arthritis” by Shane Koyczan

See, this is from my father. see, this is from my brother. see, this is from that weird girl. see this is from my mother. it took me two days to figure out that that weird girl, is his sister.

“Move Pen Move” by Shane Koyczan

Write me a poem to make me happy. / So I write. / Move pen move, Write me a bedroom where cures make love to our cancers…

“My Darling Sara” by Shane Koyczan

The failing use of my right hand isn’t actually the failing use of my right hand it’s just another way to tell the time

[magic-of-eternity]

Stupinigi Palace. Turin. Italy

[hypebeast]

[borderline-bordereaux]

winter wolf

I will rip off the hubcaps of your heart, I will tear you apart like an old school car. I will climb atop a mountain and howl at the moon. I will warm your hide only to seek the winter wolf, whose wicked ways bite worse than the frost between your toes. I will sail the skies and ride the jetstreams along the cumulus coastlines. I will not be contained. I will not succumb to the seasons of sorrow.

[borderline-bordereaux]

aesthetic agony

How painful it is-

to be an artist.

I am the most useful

when I feel utterly useless.

[dandyasalion]

Who are you?

Endless scrolling with careless glances at bright images flashing down the screen. Hardly any meaning connected with these photographs is revealed. Does it strike your heart and give you an overwhelming passion for life? No? Then why should we be here. So impersonal, so cold. All this is is a crowded hallway, or even a walk through a busy street filled with nameless faces that have no definition. No distinction between who played the flute in 4th grade, or who read books instead of going to parties, or who can’t come out to their parents because they’re members of the church. No one knows really who anyone is. A light greeting, maybe, but nothing deeper than the exterior. How will that suffice in this world though? Everyone coasts along the membrane of the lives of these people, but does anyone ever really get to experience the deep, rich life underneath those protective layers? I can’t say I’ve done that. I thought I had broken down someone’s resistant barriers at one point, but it’s hard to say what defines someone who is truly undisguised to another person. I hope one day I can trust someone enough to reveal the past, no matter how unbearable it may seem. I guess that’s the beauty of it though. You find someone that makes it so the past is admissible to think about and share with others. And at that point, you find serenity in their presence. It gives one the hope that maybe, just maybe I can have a future of some sort with this person. When we accept the past for what it is and can respectfully entrust it into the hearts of others, we move forward. How does one trust though? This person is now responsible for a part of who you are and how they handle it is completely up to them. Unfortunate, isn’t it? I find that people are becoming lazy and careless with the souls of others. How do people expect to be taken care of and cradled through life, if they aren’t willing to do it for others? As dismal as that may be, they get away with it. Because there are those people who are blessed with a gentle spirit that gives them the strength to ignore their loneliness. But sooner or later, that desolation consumes you and it takes form. These people we make eye contact with, brush shoulders, or borrow a pen from all have their own story. I just want to know what that story is. Just be genuine for once, anyone. I’m to the point of grovelling for answers and honesty.

[borderline-bordereaux]

i forgot all about this!

[dandyasalion]

From afar,

you looked like a terrorist.

Moving closer your eyes, like brown sugar, I melt.

Unmistakable smirk, prevalent dimples, mouth of perfect, white squares.

But you are a terriorist. One who induces terror, but terror upon the heart.

[dandyasalion]

it's medicinal.

She gives the soldiers courage

And blesses the blessed monks with bliss.

Oh, but how sweet are the fields of opium poppy

As they softly sing you to sleep.

 In the valley you lay,

With those butterfly eyelids fluttering

Your slumber is a rarity

That sends my soul shuddering.

[dandyasalion]

My knees and knuckles are raw.

Once a wound,

then a scar.

Repeat, repeat.

Retreat

into myself where

I find the most peaceful chaos.

My sanctuary

my solitude

my sinfulness

my lack of gratitude.

These knees– they never buckle

no, they only bend.

And these knuckles,

which never dare strike,

are only meant to lend.

[dandyasalion]

My Strange Addiction

Fill my lungs

with your thick clouds of smoke.

let me stick you

on my wet tongue,

pray I don’t choke.

-

Thebaine of my existence,

you are my morphine,

codeine,

mescaline,

ambrosial amphetamine.

-

Once we conquered those white mountains—

do you recall?

 -

before the cheap chach boards,

before these charades,

the chardonnay and champagne;

-

before this hallucinogenic fall.

 -

How lovely it is to plunge

into the faithful ground

after jumping from peak to peak;

How to stop this craving,

What I once sought

I no longer seek.

-

Let me crush your dreams up

Into a melancholic dust,

and let the nostalgia burn

as my nasal cavities turn to rust.

[borderline-bordereaux]

1 JUNE 2014

I woke to her softly tapping on my window.

Oh June, sweet June.

Gone for a year but just as you promised,

you're back so soon.

I walk outside to listen to what you have to say;

she is weeping, the ground is damp,

her sky is gray.

I sit on a bench under my favorite tree,

listening to the sound of her rain;

Oh June, sweet, sweet June!

Another spring survived,

but she weeps for what May

have been deprived

and what a deranged season 'twas

and 'twill always be.

Sweet June, you save me--

each and every year your sweet rain

is never heard with disdain.

June, my darling,

soon I will leave but

I know you will follow, as you always do.

Just as I know you will also flee

faster than the year before.

I feel your tears drip down branches

On my face, in my cup of coffee,

in my hair,

your tears are everywhere.

But do not cry, sweet, sweet June

I know you will be back again soon.

[borderline-bordereaux]

15 APR. 2014

SPRING

there is a madness

 in the air.

hearts pound

faster than before,

awaiting anxiously

 and again

and a

gain.

sweet warmth

awarded heat

from the summer sun,

soon to come.

  The ground is damp, beginning

to green.

I find myself the happiest

when the sky is gray.

Cool breezes send my body shivering,

but I don't mind.

Dead leaves from the fall linger

in the corners of the courtyard

begging to be blown away.

Never have I seen a southern sunset;

nor have I rolled down the rolling hills.

In time, I will get there.

In time I will no longer have

these springtime shivers.

[borderline-bordereaux]

19 FEB. 2014

Today,

it is snowing.

Fat flakes gracefully

descending.

The white sky

masks the snowy peaks.

  How might one be so indifferent?

What causes this feeling

of nothingness ?

It is not emptiness,

because that implies

a space which may be

filled.

Nothingness is simply nothing.

  Sometimes

I have to remind

my lungs

that they help me

breathe.

Sometimes

I forget that

I have to

breathe.

Sometimes

I don't care

to

breathe.

[borderline-bordereaux]

I Will Write

To You

I Will Tell You

How Much

I Care

I Will Write

To You

On The Back

Of A

Maple Leaf

And

Call It Poetry