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This band is Savannah based and we're trying to get out the word so they can hit the road! Check out their reverb nation page and like them on Facebook

http://www.reverbnation.com/control_room/artist/3652494/songs

#the white liars #blood and alabaster #alternative #folk #music #indie rock #savannah #georgia

gifs-i-dig

#bitches be crazy #leslie knope

my cat says, "no writing for you"

#writing #persian #cat #what a dick

What a pity,

Mr. Kitty

Went off to join the zoo.

They cut his whiskers,

Sold his sisters,

And painted him with glue.

He did some tricks,

Got kicked and hit,

Then he caught the flu.

When he got sick,

They threw him out quick,

Now what’s Mr. kitty to do?

http://rushrushing.com/category/the-misadventures-of-many-misnomers/

#mr. kitty #lions #writing #original #poetry #illustration #hannah miller #misadventures #misnomers #art #slavery #rush rushing #love #childrens stories #poems #revisions #rewrite

only revolutions

My barrenness. Sam’s solitude.

And all his patience now presumes.

Luster of Spring’s Sacred Brood.

By you, ever sixteen, this World’s reserved.

By you, this World has everything left to lose.

And I, your sentry of ice, shall allways protect

what your Joy so terrifyingly elects.

I’ll destroy no World

so long it keeps turning with scurry & blush,

fledgling & charms beading with dews,

and allways our rush returning renewed.

Everyone betrays the Dream

but who cares for it? O Sam no,

I could never walk away from you.

——————————————————————-

Solitude. Hailey’s bare feet.

And all her patience now assumes.

Garland of Spring’s Sacred Bloom.

By you, ever sixteen, this World’s preserved.

By you, this World has everything left to lose.

And I, your sentry of ice, shall allways protect

what your Joy so dangerously resumes.

I’ll destroy no World

so long it keeps turning with flurry & gush,

petals & stems bending and lush,

and allways our hushes returning anew.

Everyone betrays the Dream

but who cares for it? O Hailey no,

I could never walk away from you.

Mark Z. Danielewski

#wish i could write like him #inspirations #Mark Z. Danielewski #only revolutions #poetry #writing #love

a note to your past and future selves

No one wants to deal with the shit they've swept under rugs

with the reasons they've given themselves to thugs

in the backseats of cars in exchange for the drugs

that led to vigorous sex they confused for real love.

One shove wakens the memory

I see right in front of me

her strength overcome fleetingly

by his hands that were once seemingly:

Protection,

and Affection,

and led to your inevitable conception…

which led to your demise,

as you've come to despise,

all that look into your eyes,

or all that think you are a prize.

You could say it's his fault-

all those personal assaults

you've caused with the wounds that you've covered in salt.

But Kid, no one's to blame

so don't live in shame

of the scars you were dealt or the baggage you haul.

your insecurities have the worst of you

don't let them get the best of you

go on, invest in You-

before your past turns to ash and your heart turns to rust.

Becca Rush, 2 August 2013

#poetry #writing #original #loss #note to your past and future selves #rough draft

Waldosia

I scanned faces on that crowded street

I saw your green eyes…

your black hair…

All but your stare

But I knew you wouldn’t be there

I waited under a bridge with Apollinaire…

But I knew you wouldn’t be there

I watched the water boil-

I made pasta, for two

I made the red sauce

from scratch

for you.

But I knew you wouldn’t be there

I put on pearls, perfume, and did my hair…

But I knew you wouldn’t be there

I checked the mail everyday

at ten.

Aunt Jo sent her sympathies

-and Cindy,

and Tim.

But I knew your letter wouldn’t be there

I knew you wouldn’t write, or call, or care…

I knew your letter wouldn’t be there

Becca Rush, written early 2013 sometime on a Greyhound going somewhere

#waldosia #poetry #writing #inspired by guillaume apollinaire #french poet #le pont Mirabeau #guillaume apollinaire

Sapphic inspiration

#sappho #anne carson #if not winter #the original lesbian #poetry #writing

untitled

handwriting won’t jokingly speed the riddle all alone her baby sits on messy shelves completely left to gather the milk that her mother refused to give her herself it wasn’t like they had the slightest inclination like all the people they knew in their glorious youth the end came in the shape of an arrow sharpened by attempts to quell the truth it’s funny how easy it is to remember the noisy slights thrown swiftly and solid but how you don’t seem to remember that lovely September when your hearts were still full and the leaves had not fallen

Becca Rush 7/15/13

#poetry #writing #endings

haiku about my home Hello, I miss you Land of opportunity Your stars shine in me Becca Rush 7/14/13

#haiku #writing #poetry #arkansas #native #homesickness

pretentious pictures of my various (worthless) moleskine scribbles

#poetry #writing #moleskine #rough ideas #no one cares

end-visions

i want to live in the city

i want to be pretty-

far

from who i once was

and from-

home

that place I came into all alone

dry as bone.

dry as the lie you once told from your sad lips,

old as the ones who carry us on their broken hips,

placid as the lakes we pursued as kids.

we kept paddling but the ghosts of the underwater cities pulled at our feet.

wouldn't it be nice to meet

under different circumstances.

(isn't that always the case)

instead we avoid dances

like they're the plague

avoid each other

become the vague-

versions of ourselves that we always feared we'd be.

somehow I've become you and you've become me.

Becca Rush 7/8/13

#poetry #writing #visions

the guillotine

Thick mud caked boots

Cracks in his skin like dry dirt

Head tipped, turn, lost, left loose

Off the hinges

Fallen, torn, ripped, hurt

Burst from his shoulders like hell

He would’ve stopped if he thought he would’ve fell

His hair wiped his blood like a mop

They say the bottom takes you straight to the top

Teeth like wood chopped tongue

The last breath was the only good one

Becca Rush, 5-14-13

#poetry #writing #guillotine

creature

we're all creatures to someone.

in the city that never seems to dream-

here we sleep to dream.

no waking wishes known to float through this foggy graveyard,

no one to help you through your life that's so hard.

have a quarter on me,

it won't even get you coffee.

but it'll make me feel real good,

when i drive through your neighborhood,

with my doors locked.

our skin thickens on our backs and we gather speed through steel streets.

in a city where the stars don't shine,

here we know nothing of 'mine'.

once you were held and your stubby toes pulled,

one: little piggy, two: drop out of school.

it isn't a mystery,

it's as plain as the eye can see.

you're now held by a system

with hatred in its system,

in the form of a cardboard box.

here's the wrong key to a door that's locked.

(becca rush, June '13)

#poetry #writing

o yeah it’s friday night and i Juuuu-uuuu-uuuu-uuuuu-uust got… a book of poetry!

#anne sexton #embarrasingly excited

grief

a box, a vase, a bag of bones.

everything you’ve always known — out like a light.

the deepest unseen scar,

caused by this black tar.

Regret on that hospital bed.

Silence accumulating things unsaid.

Sometimes it makes sense.

Most days, it’s a part of us-

consider your exterior hardened, your character deepened.

Some days, we’re thankful for the darkness life has dealt us-

consider your knowledge expanded, your Grief weakened.

Many days, we’re not.

Why …

the ultimate ellipsis …

the questions, they kill us.

the Oracles said: know thyself, and nothing in excess

(but what would they know from their bone yard

amidst tombs and dust…)

we hope and pray this helps-

elevate us, and harmonize,

perceive the truth, avoid the lies.

death contorts our human sentiment and -

Justification = solace

Solace = gratitude

Gratitude runs deep and colors our lens.

we anticipate it’s stay.

The longer it stays the longer we stay sane.

In the end we’re bruised, but not broken.

by Becca Rush (April 2011)

#poetry #grief #loss

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