You buy your first stilettos, four inches high and fire engine red. You can’t quite strut in them yet, but you will.
The world breaks everyone, and many are strong at the broken places. / Ernest Hemingway I hid this for a long time. Mostly because I sent it off to a publisher, but also because it’s without a doubt my most personal piece on RB. It was accepted by the publisher and recently I read it aloud at the book launch. Yasemin Sumner (who also had a story published in the same book) and Luckyvegetable said my voice didn’t tremble at all. I think they were being kind. After all, when you read your diary out to a room full of strangers, you’re allowed to shake a bit.
And further / That love / Has me marked / Has me tattooed And naked / For life
A writen piece for a challenge in the Gay Sexuality group. This written work goes with Gordon Merrick Justice’s image which was inspired by it. The next stage in this group’s challenge is for me to create a visual piece to go with some of his writing.
ride me
Joni Mitchell has a lot to answer for…
I have…held a decapitated human head in my hands, sliced neatly in half, and marvelled at the astounding beauty contained within.
I wrote this piece for a zine in the US. The aim was to write your life story in only a few hundred words, and it was surprising for me to see which of my experiences flowed out of my pen.
Go on. Open it, sweet one. I dare you.
i’ve been reading virigina woolf and emily dickinson lately. Her breast is fit for pearls, / But I was not a `Diver’ - / Her brow is fit for thrones / But I have not a crest. / Her heart is fit for home - / I – a Sparrow – build there / Sweet twigs and twine / My perennial nest. - Emily Dickinson there were a few things that inspired these words on this blustery rainy day: Writing Workshop’s Exercise Four white witch, black heart / Mariposa, / I bet no-one’s called you that since we lived in our shack by the sea with olive trees and peeling green shutters; when you twirled fire, I painted the sun and all we needed was lemons, salt, and Jose Cuervo. / I wouldn’t miss your launch. / Where was he today? / I don’t care about him. / Here I am. / Does he know you howl at quarter moons? Does he know you drew constellations in black ink on my skin? Do you remember us… cocooned in our chrysalis of tangled salty dreams and coffee-creamed skin? / Your words betray you, my love. Why is your book full of love letters to a girl who wears my middle name and has a scar along her jawline, just like me? / I know that when you come out to your car, you’ll search for this scrap of paper under your windscreen wipers. You’ll hate yourself for it but that’s what you’ll do. / Here I am. copyright © 2008, Holly Ringland. a few days after writing this piece, i stumbled across leith o’malley and his space here on redbubble. when i came upon the mesmerising black butterfly. it was like finding my words and Grace’s heart freshly plucked and arranged in a vase of charcoal and magic.
When Summer drops / onto the city / like an overripe fruit / I dream your kisses / like steam / rising from the asphalt / after the rain
I just love the way she stares me down / Like she wants / My blood Thick / On toast
Edit…thanks also to all those who I see have viewed and read this poem. Cheers. Nice to have visiters ,) A poem that just evolved today – the way poetry sometimes does. Somehow intuitively, somehow from somewhere that must belong to me. Bits of me. It uses words and combinations of words that have come together over months I think, and which I’ve saved (as bits), and then constructed / reconstructed and grown. This poem has become an open interpretation of what stops, what gets in the way and what, maybe, should never have been. This is also a distraction from study :) Peace.
I grab and claw at the glass, bile rises in my throat, adrenaline causing my heart to skip beats.
Re-written, shortened, shorn, edited, positively blister-fied. Last night I had a lot to say after returning from Maui. I purged. Now I’ve deleted. Its still a travelogue from hell, but its much shorter and what the frack, I added pictures too! Still dedicated to my Mr. Barry cuz he asked. Let this log serve as a testament that things are never what they seem and almost always never what you hoped. Wendy and Chi in the helicopter before my panic attack: Photo of the shoreline taken on the road to Hana: View from our hotel balcony: Last, but certainly not least, a Maui sunset: And last but not least, the infamous tattoo: /
Most of us associate tattoos with bikers, pirates and bad guys and the tattoo parlor a sleazy shop hidden in the back streets that open a…
This is a piece I did for the local paper about a friend of mine who recently opened a Tattoo palour in Upwey. / IT’s great to see talented peoples dreams realised and it’s even more fun to sing their praises (well it is to me)
As soon as we’re in the dark room, she grabs me and kisses me again, she unbuttons my shirt and runs her freezing hands up my chest,
third instalment, saucier from suggestion
See the beauty look at my skin / run your fingers over every inch
Someone writiing about inked skin
my 1th solo show!
join me for a fabulous show!
Fragile layers and hidden freedom
So i’m 21 now… and .. well… i’m stoked!
I wanted to share my tattoos and their meanings. I have lots of people ask me, so I am finally going to explain it all. :)
List of my tattoos. / Pictures too, (if they work :P)
The tattoo expanded and contracted like a big ol’ bull-frog.
For the Flash Fiction Weekend Challenge – Frog Tattoo 150 Words. (I have counted twice!! :) )
tattoos, piercings, hair dye .. / all the things that bring brightness / and beguilement to your plumage
Written a wee while ago for the very same, previously mentioned, tattooed wonder. And yes, he is a wonder. He keeps me wondering, all the time. lol
I had my first tattoo at 13 years of age. Reason being, to emulate my father who had tattoos. In the early 60s’, in the…
The evening had gone well. Wesley usually didn’t approve of his brothers taste in women, but Ivy seemed different. / Ivy was confident…
Written for Flash Fiction’s 2nd of July Weekend Challenge Prompt – Frog Tattoo Word Count – 150
It is what it is.. / but o’ the feeling.. / “You never forget your first..”
You like tequila better then scotch and vodka… the tattoo on the underside of your right forearm says I love you in french
summer is good i like summer it makes me write good :P
He could feel the essence of each tattoo seep into his very being. Were they merely representations of tribulation, or something more …...
He had a sick sense of certainty that he was doing the world a big favour when he slid out of the blankets to the floor and shot into the…
This is the first chapter of an updated ‘western’ novel, set in British Columbia in the late 1970’s.
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