that poor lady turned to stone

Ask me anything  

i appreciate the sassy people in life.


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


early beaks, late prey

inside the roped lines
I keep my play,
I flip in static serenade,
I edify permanent mistakes.

mostly you,
mostly the corroding bass.

— 1 day ago with 12 notes
#poetry  #writing 

and then there was that time anxiety swallowed me whole

— 2 days ago with 2 notes
#pause button 
360/365

lopesided:

Today the sun appeared
late & hung heavy,
dragging the sky
like a bough bent
beneath
its winter’s breath,
and in early evening’s
pink I drove toward
the horizon
and picked the sun
like a fig
from its tree.

— 2 days ago with 15 notes
honchcrow:

pikachu bout to get lit the fuck up

honchcrow:

pikachu bout to get lit the fuck up

(via stuvadpotatis)

— 5 days ago with 271482 notes
muddy soles

i feel so heavy anyway.

/
convention is a semi-automatic
accusation.
propelling slices through 
the water’s beads.
disfiguring their sensations.
/

i am feet undressed by the moor.

— 6 days ago with 12 notes
#poetry  #writing  #poem 
"

Step back now and look again at the femur.
Turn the bone upright and it is a glyph,
a perfect representation of the number one.
The research team names her part-skeleton
Australopithecus afarensis.
More shovels arrive in the morning.

The next day, workers dance to that Beatles’
song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,
playing on the tape recorder.
They drink a bottle of shiraz
and christen her Lucy.
I raise a glass of tej over the Hadar site and sniff
forest honey that grand-mother mixed
with gesho leaves to make wine.

This reminds me of grandmother.
Grave-soil and termites fell from her mouth:
Don’t ask me again about where we come from.
Because her body was so covered in skin, hard as flint,
she sometimes called herself Stone-Dress.
I begged her not to leave the village.

Grandmother wore black obsidian,
even though the desert cracked beneath her feet.
The belt was carved from the upper delta
and an emerald stream ran down her back.
When she carried a bag of chicken bones,
she clapped and chanted sangoma, sangoma, sangoma.
Grand-mother placed the bones on a shrine
but could not read what they said.

Come closer and see several hundred fragments
of ourselves scattered across the Afar region.
They say that the number one is linked
to a noble number, the whole which is made
of many parts: ulna, jaw and teeth.
It is the number of the first mother.

"
One by Denise Saul
— 1 week ago with 22 notes
#poetry  #writing  #poem  #denise saul  #lit  #Stop what you're doing and read this 
neednothavehappenedtobetrue:

this is my dog. he is supposed to be dressed as the big bad wolf in Red Riding Hood after he has nommed the grandmother and donned her clothes
but look at him. he is not a bad wolf. he just looks like a granny. 
he just wants to hear how you’re doing far away at school and are you eating enough can he make you soup do you have a good coat it’s starting to get chilly out. 

neednothavehappenedtobetrue:

this is my dog. he is supposed to be dressed as the big bad wolf in Red Riding Hood after he has nommed the grandmother and donned her clothes

but look at him. he is not a bad wolf. he just looks like a granny. 

he just wants to hear how you’re doing far away at school and are you eating enough can he make you soup do you have a good coat it’s starting to get chilly out. 

(via verabradleyhearse)

— 1 week ago with 14657 notes
flippermood:

Rainy Autumn by flippermood
Not the best one, not yet, but within the next few weeks everything will look wonderful. Stay tuned 

flippermood:

Rainy Autumn by flippermood

Not the best one, not yet, but within the next few weeks everything will look wonderful. Stay tuned 

— 1 week ago with 44 notes
عالمين

viperslang:

of motherland, its mockingbird ancestral
ravines twined from mezrab, pinpricks of
phoenix palms jabbed into the roan-brown
deep dune seas; its rose otto twilight spread
in a whisper of coral velvet. the island’s dargah
lamplit caravanserai for the gypsy goddess’
berceuse a row of pharos glittering above
the clothesline. tiny mirrors of glowworms
festoon the campfire. a girl with a mouth
like a massacre; teeth like butterfly knives.
you, stranger, are an ode to russian roulette
& look how she teaches you to draw
a dance out of death

Scherezade Siobhan©

— 1 week ago with 61 notes