The Rhyme with Reason Project

WE ARE THE GHOST WRITERS part of The Rhyme with Reason Project
"This group is meant to let any poet, writer or artist get their work out into the public without having to go through the process of publication. Different sects of artists are being set up all through out the US in and close to major cities. Come a certain future date, these cities will be bombarded with a sort of 'guerrilla warfare' through literature. Through different mediums (that will be further disgusted in future posts) writing shall litter the streets. There will be no names on any of the work, the point of the project is to bring the art to the people, not the glory to the artist. (The tumlblr blog has author although) We ask you all to please help us and partake in this project with us. If you are unable or unwilling please leave this group. If you would like to participate, please spread the word to as many people as you can and invite them. We are currently creating a website which will disclose this in further detail. Thank you.

Please submit any art or poetry to:
theghostwritersarchive@gmail.c​om




Thank you all for the support and everyone participating. I hope you all are excited for the new changes! Keep writing!!
"Thank you. Please submit any art or poetry to: theghostwritersarchive@gmail.com”

LET THE MOVEMENT START

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_146462375422125&ref=ts
January 23

To the children of the muse


*Re-editied

1 John 3:18
By Naomi Jacobson


whose gnarled fingertips are a cry of virtue
of what glazed eyes whisper:

“i am not a creation
this is the result
of the hellish waybeing inside
the shell we shared”

with an eye glazed more
he shall mourn:she shall pity:
with violent desecration
the life drifted;
a stool on its side;
over the roof of a cookiecut house
in the center of the
batch

the feathered reaper booms:

“it was you! who so vindictively
breathed life into Him
in a cradle of powdered sugar
with noxious conditions

you did not understand; you did not understand
it is the blood on your hands
i sway gently before you”


integrity is godly, inquisition is divine
but he
was just a bundle of sticks, bound
together
by nothing at all

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I’ve Written Her This Poem a Million Fucking Times but I’ll Write it again.



We have a death-wish.
A dream of becoming a thousand shards of a regretful kiss,
broken across our backs,
with only serrated memories to make love too.

Girl if we fall again…
if we crash into kamikaze bursts of flame 
then I will cry your name all winter.
I will cradle our emptiness until the warmth in me is sucked dry
I will remember you like a red dwarf star!

you will be my first and last
homicide.
i will be your first and last
addiction.

We will move on to love in the arms of others

Do you ever question our love?
I hate that sometimes I don’t know if I love you.
I hate that I dream of you in the indigo moments of early morning.

I will sing our prayers like a dove-song to the sky.
I will wash the last hint of you in a bloody horizon,
and reach out for you in the light of our last sunrise 

Everyone will hear us die.
the loud,
brittle
crack. by 
Sean Avery Medlin

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She.

She cried silently, looking straight ahead at the same TV screen her mother and grandma were gazing at. Headphones clamped on her ears, the water in her eyelids dripped down her cheeks as she blinked and hoped neither of them would notice. She’s goign to forget, she’s going to sleep, she’s going to smoke weed, she’s going to hold someones hand…she’s going to kick him in the balls

by Sarah Blomfeldt

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Cars on the motorway sound a bit like waves

Before I go to the toy shop in the sky
I want to belong to the broken doll
Excited pup in his masters throes

Demoness of beauty, I am yours
Zero zero in the eye of the tornado
Twisted like a naked doll
Happy and alive
but so close, so close, to imminent, inevitable, destruction

If I had a gun I’d paint the walls red for you
Stamp my big boots into their skulls
Their eyes roll, my eyes roll

Aeroplanes in the sky look like sharks

By Prince Lu Lu

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Yoyo.

Around the world
She’s walking the dog
Flying saucer
Loop the loop

I’m her yoyo
Dropping in soho
I’m her yoyo
Feeling solo

Eiffel tower
Over the shoulder
Hop the fence
Around the corner

I’m her yoyo
Droppinng in soho
I’m her yoyo
Feeling solo By 
Prince Lu Lu

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1 John 3:18


By Naomi Jacobson


whose gnarled fingertips are a cry of virtue
of what glazed eyes whisper:

“i am not a creation
this is the result
of the hellish waybeing inside
the shell we shared”

with an eye glazed more
he shall mourn:she shall pity:
with violent desecration
the life drifted;
a stool on its side;
over the roof of a cookiecut house
in the center of the
cutter

“it was you! who so vindictively
breathed life into Him
in a cradle of powdered sugar
with noxious conditions

you did not understand; you did not understand
it is the blood on your hands
i sway gently before you”

discipline is godly
inquisition is divine

+

Goddess Marina

Sick with lust, hating my love
Cocking my gun, shooting for fun
Ice maiden of my dreams
Melted and ran away from me

I was left so cold, pulling hooks from my chest
She showed me who i am, a hot blooded man, too much to stand

Mistress Marina
Mistress Marina
Marina Marina
Mistress Mistress

Promises broke after the ice
She let me roll the dice
Russian roulette with no bullets
Click click click, click click cluck

I was left so cold, pulling hooks from my chest
She showed me who i am, a hot blooded man, too much to stand

Goddess Marina
Goddess Marina
Marina Marina
Goddess Goddess

By Prince Lu Lu

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Memories.

Old memories I once thought I’d like to keep
They’re all dry
And they’re bitter
Guess it’s time to throw them all out 
out
out
Fuck how that word makes me feel shitty
out
out of luck
out of pot
out of love
get the fuck OUT
I NEED OUT
It’s too familiar to drone on
like some sort of fucking saint
I aint no saint
I aint holy
Kinda moldy
Thousands of “years” can do that to you
and magic mushrooms
so I’m not quite sure the real reason of my indigestion
Rambling again
But I got hold of that rope that leads me back
to the makeshift raft I made out of old bones I once dreamt about
and marijuana leave stems
and stuck together with resin
I seemed to have misplaced that train of thought
And there goes the rope.            by 
Shankara Getchonis

January 12
The Writer's Address: Echo.

thewritersaddress:

she was my hopeless romantic, my beautiful
girl Echo.
absorbed, besotted to the brink of our summer
love affair.
our togetherness was wonderful but we were
short lived
by summer’s end our passion had dwindled, until we
became doused out wood of a damp camp fire, our
warmth twisted like…
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poplipps: Can you hear me now?

poplipps:

Can you hear me now?

January 11

(Source: youhadafastlifee, via dwunk)

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Thin, twisting seams intertwine across my chest and across each shoulder blade; I want to prick each sect of this cord and make it stay; Of course there’s company; There’s always company. Risque behavior drives them out or draws them in; I prefer the former so I can wither and become thin; They all look so colored. We look so dull, droned; The company refers to some as others; We’re really no more sturdy than the seams sewn; They’ve observed and they know; But they can keep picking at us until …
by sours

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Announcement

Announcement: Hi everyone, I wanted to make a quick announcement saying the by the Summer of this year we will have hoped to put together a website in which all of your wonderful work can be displayed to the public. I also wanted to apologize for any delays and insure to you all that all work will soon be posted. It’s been a busy few months but both Alex HolyGrail Sluckyand I are really looking forward to the changes that this new year will bring to this projects dynamic. Thanks again everyone! Keep sending in your lovely work! 

-Janie Jones