katherine mw

IG: violet_crimes_poetry

[ogrefairy]

Tyler (@crpl-pnk ), passed away on November 8th. I drew this in their memory. They helped me see myself in a different light and they inspire me to this day. Cripple Punk will keep on carrying on to inspire even more people.

[imgage description: An art nouveau inspired digital artwork depicting Tyler, a pale, lean, nonbinary person with short, dark hair, a cigarette resting in their mouth, and a black cane covered in stickers. They are wearing a spiked choker, a burgundy over-shirt, over a black shirt, and black jeans. Behind them is a wreath of yellow roses to symbolize how they will be remembered and their legacy.]

[queer-zines-deactivated20240829]

I try to keep this just as a place for zines, but a close friend of mine is in trouble. GG is a community organizer and the creator of the zine Up the Witchpunx. GG (a disabled trans woman, right) and her partner, Ezmy, a Latinx trans woman (left), are being forced to move out of an unsafe and extremely hostile living situation in Olympia, Washington. I’ve been heartbroken as I’ve heard about how my friends have been gaslighted, accused, and now even threatened with a knife. I have encouraged them to stick it out before but now the situation is too dangerous. They are leaving tonight.

GG and Ezmy are raising money for housing and a vehicle. They have some friends to stay with for a while, but their needs remain urgent.  To help Gretchen and her partner survive, please donate. I want my friends to have some hope of secure housing during the holidays. paypal : [email protected] 

https://cash.me/$Eloress

Furthermore, all the sales of GG’s most recent zine, Up the Witchpunx: Radical Hope, are going directly to GG and her partner for their survival fund. The zine is sliding scale, so you can choose any amount to donate.

Buy Up the Witchpunx! Radical Hope and donate to the survival fund

[heather-still]

He Mistook Me As Greek

Remember when you told me that my body is one of ancient Greek architecture I thought that was a compliment. Standing extravagantly in thought and the like, but didn’t it succumb into disarray at the sight of the Roman Army? I asked you who the Roman Army was. You said it was a metaphor for my heart disease. I was never good at running away I tried I did I tried I ran but my legs are made from matchsticks and my heart is a bonfire I was never good at standing up to you I tried I did I tried I brag but I have a mouth full of humble. And my ego a crushed tablet under your heavy thumb. Remember how you used to hold the pillars of my heavy philosophical building in your hands? You dunked my ideas into your tea and watched me soften and crumble into nothing between your fingertips. You must know I’m not all ivory tower  and curled ribbons piled on my head I am not a present for you. You tried to drain me of my tears building your Roman aqueducts to fuck with my Greek architecture you were wrong because my body is built on Barbarian structure my matchsticks and bonfire have since burnt you into the backpages of history.

[violet-crimes]

poets against paternalistic bullshit always ✊

[surrealismart]

Horses by the Sea 1981

Eyvind Earle

[violet-crimes]

rest in power, Tyler, the creator of the movement that taught me more about disability pride than anything or anyone else. this is an extract of a poem I started writing before I was sure, and finished right before I saw confirmation a few hours ago. the cripple punk community changed my life, it is a lifeline for so many of us. neither you and your work will ever be forgotten.

[new-poets-society]

Sometimes, just to exist I fear I am creating a terrific violence. I’m sorry to say I relate more to a young man eating meat than I do to the sea. Try as I might, there always seems to be something dripping from my teeth.

-k.k. (allpaintedsinatrablue)

[violet-crimes]

"Baggage" - a poem about ableism

a cheery little number about ableism and eugenics, inspired by both a conversation with a friend about feminist parenting. re-upoaded after a few tweaks.

hello void I have been doing more live stuff in the last few months than written stuff so I decided to make a recording of my latest poem. please absorb at your leisure.

[fox-party]

Ghost art by Taraneh Azar

[sailor-nagato-deactivated201903]

[violet-crimes]

someone’s messed with this to cut out the credit and like 2/3 of the drawing, so fyi this is rupi kuar from milk and honey! (original image here)

[street-heart-posts]

Salt

Somewhere out there her sun is setting 34000 feet above the Atlantic over 1000 miles from home.

She doesn’t know it yet but she will arrive too late.

With each passing hour she is gathering salt

for the wound her mother leaves.

–T.C. (2017)

[violet-crimes]

“perfect” (part of the alphabet series)

new posts more frequently on my new ig: violet_crimes_poetry

[violet-crimes]

please take a look at my new ig! violet_crimes_poetry

[outsh]

Stacked by Malte Brandenburg

[visual-poetry]

by viktor&rolf

[uutpoetry]

The Ghosts We Know

Howie Good

There was only grass. I couldn’t pass it through my throat. Yet I forced myself to swallow in front of the children so they would accept it as food. I start feeling anxious now when I am in an open space. I’m afraid of the blank. I felt safer in the midst of the shelling, a time for nothing much – one child teasing another, twins committing suicide together, a man drinking in the woods. We dialed F-U-C-K-Y-O-U and L-O-V-E-Y-O-U to see what would happen. Someone rang at the door and gave us his ear in a folded piece of paper, saying, “Take it, it will be useful.”

Assembled from the words of refugees from the Syrian civil war and three articles in Hyperallergic: “Figurative Painting That’s Emphatically Human,” “The Best Art Books to Read for Free in the NYPL’s New E-book App,” and “How Van Gogh’s Ear Incident Went Viral in 1888”

Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely.

art by Angie Naron

[violet-crimes]

I cut my finger and wince, it’s not bad just a scratch I stand up to walk over and run it under the tap 
but you’ve crossed the floor and before I can catch my breath
 you’re holding my hand.  Your fingers lightly gently lift mine to the light 
and I see nothing else at all.

excerpt from “I owe you dinner” by Katherine MW

now published on Words Dance!

(via violet-crimes)

[violet-crimes]

I can’t look away.

 Hands shaking with anticipation as I place a square of dark chocolate, right in the centre of a bowl of rice pudding. You elevate my expectations, leaving smooth sticky trails on my fingers.

 I bake with thoughts of you.

 Folding in hot air and prayers, cinnamon and nutmeg. Watching my future through an oven door only to collapse in a heap, a raw sticky mess hot condensation streaming down my face, when it finally, finally, opens.

- Katherine MW (alphabet project)