After having responded to a (cumulative) 200 feedback messages, reading around 500+ deviations, and glancing through 100+
journals and activities, I can honestly say I've seen a lot in this month.
or have I?
Nah, I'm just fooling around with y'all. Here's the feature list:
Journals, Features, and dA news/tutorials:
dA lovelies who don't get the love they deserve... and three pieces by each that you should check out.
pool water is always cold by q-u-w fat by q-u-w w by q-u-w
Feature # 11Hello This feature is making its debut after a long time. I hope I am able to maintain this every week or at least every Month!
For a little introduction:
This feature takes 3 works each from works that I think and Impressive Literary Pieces and works that I consider exceptional literary pieces. This is all my personal opinion so of course one may not see what I do. However this is my feature so back off Just kidding No I am actually serious
From Impressive Literature
This work has a feel to it that I cannot grasp. It is vague in a way, however, I love the expressions that are honest and well thought of. Yes, it is ambiguous to me but I still enjoy it!
This is an honest piece of literature from my dear friend (who has been off dA for long ) which rhymes beautifully and has t
transmit lit winners featureHello everyone how's the week?
on behalf of :iconinsecure-writers: here is a feature for the winners of "transmit lit" a contest created by setmyworldintomotion the promt was: write a poem to or about the world, or some aspect of it. alternatively, write a poem about a global concept. I hope you all will go reading the work of these amazing artists:
first place :iconbonfirelights: bonfirelights
second place :iconshehrozeameen: shehrozeameen
third place :iconsaltwaterlungs: saltwaterlungs
dA GUIDE: HTML, TEXT, EMBED
Codes with this green symbol can be used to: comments, deviation description, journal, user page widgets, dA forum.
Codes with this yellow symbol can be used to: deviation description, journal, user page widgets.
<b> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </b>
<strong> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </strong>
<i> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </i>
<em> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </em>
<u> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </u>
<s> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </s>
<del> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </del>
<small> abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz </small>
* This code doesn't work in
Watcher Feature Round 3I just realised I a little late for my next watcher feature. So instead of the newest 56, you get the newest 59
:iconterratakaya: Mental Exam by TerraTakaya
:iconhomestucker42: Across Time by homestucker42
:iconlunaintegrity: Balloons by LunaIntegrity
:icongoddessofownage: The Mistress (realistic) by goddessofownage
:iconvatsel: In his name by Vatsel
:iconviralremix: Valentines Base by viralremix
:iconinfinitythrice: Star Dust on the Moon by InfinityTHRICE
:iconpolarbearman: Cut the rope by PolarbearMan
Watcher Feature #16Because my Watchers kick ass.
Love dA Lit: Issue 161Welcome to the one-hundred sixty-first issue of Love dA Lit! Every Sunday this article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.
LITplease's Community Portal
A Smattering of Lit News
Literature Links | Workshops, Prompts and Challenges
Literature Contests | Resources | Open Admin Positions
A small overdue feature!I owe Contradictory55 and shehrozeameen each a small feature. I have been very very busy for the past month and I forgot about the small inspiring group that I made! I told all who wrote something, from my inspiration journal 1 that I would feature them!
You can find Contradictory55 's here!
And shehrozeameen 's here!
Sorry for the late feature. I hope to be returning to that group soon!
Share and Share Alike!
Share and share alike.
(S)omething that you say which means that it is good to share things fairly and equally - Come on now, don't keep them all to yourself - share and share alike.
Cambridge Idioms Dictionary, 2nd ed. Copyright © Cambridge University Press 2006.
I really enjoy sharing things with others. The internet is full of people sharing a wealth of this, that and the other with each other!
May I present to you two quick shares for you to check out? Both are about sharing! Perhaps you will share what I have shared about what they have shared!
shehrozeameen shares your poetry and prose with everyone in the dA community,
Maddy's Tips: Building a Strong PortfolioAfter receiving a few emails recently asking for portfolio feedback and general advice, I decided to write up a small list of tips that can help a student or graduate create a portfolio that game studios will want to look at.
Degree ≠ Job. A lot of studios don't look in a resume for where you went to school. The first thing they're interested in the quality of work in your portfolio. If you have the skills, then you probably have the job!
Do more than homework. Lot's of college students get turned down by studios because they give them a portfolio that only has school work in it. Studios look for people that create more outside of class. It can range anywhere from fan art to designing your own characters.
Get on forums. Stay active on the game art forums like Polycount or others like CGHub and GameArtisans. Post your work and speak with other aspiring game artists and professionals all over those sites. Lots of studios
for us to sleep
the grey waves
their dark lullabies
induce the nightmare
ordained by faith
as if we were lost phantoms
destined to remain secret
for all eternity
in antiquated anguish
we become angelic
a soft promise
that these last moments
a single sound
I am the scourge
within your veins
until the stars rain down
to mesh the love
buried so far
beneath the ground
a forgotten witness
to our most sacred dream
ordained by faith
my soul is a monument
to the sea
to the girl with red embersno one ever begged to be dragged along the
cindercoils and the crass curving of my
candelabra. i have been bitter as a noonday
demon biding my time and wishing you ill
wishing you to want my lowhanging fruit
as near to your idle hands as the lanterns
i strung with popcorn and pearls and
a juggler's teeth and unfurled flowers
assigning tasks in this winter festival to
the ones i've kept, telling her with her hives
and her obsession and her sketchitching arms
to set up a barrel of granny smiths for bobbing
telling the martyrpredator with his slender sloe-
eyed hip-jutting girls as coffinbound as my pity as
he gestures tame and tolerant with the widechested
body he imposed upon each of us like a live wire,
telling him to bring his booze and his broken back
and his board games. my list of names and my carnival
punishments flowing as sickly as sewer water and
my knees buckle as i hoist the heft of their weighty
crimes like licking a finger to t
a quoi ca sert l'amourShe remembered that night better than he did. The way he was dressed, how he talked, what he ate, where he was stayingthe ring on his finger, fresh from January, and it shined under the dim light, her warning sign to stay away; a warning sign she took seriously and knew well. She kept the thought vigilant in her mind with every fidgeted rub to her own naked ringfinger under the table, the ghost of the engagement then and the marriage that never was. Her boyfriend beside her should've been reason enough to resist the obvious magnetism and subsequent temptation, but she found herself captivated by this man of her French homeland, who listened to every word she said with a rapt attention her boyfriend would never match. He kept conversation going. He asked questions and listened to her babbling answers. He made her feel special in a way that the Hollywood gift baskets and showering of flashing lights and Al Pacino and Entertainment Tonight couldn't replicate. He was real. He made he
a modern opheliashe found fennel beneath her pillow,
and felt the familiar flutter
of glassfish between her ribs.
to distract herself, she
scattered the reddest petals
in her bathwater.
she braided poppies in her hair
let regret invade her lungs.
FracturedThere was a girl in the middle of the road.
At first, Cowl hesitated. Sometimes on a long journey he knew his eyes couldn’t always be trusted. But, the moment he was sure he wasn’t seeing things, he slammed his hand down hard on the lever to sound the alarm horn of his vehicle.
The Arrow, she was called. He chose the name because it reminded him of a triangular-shaped piece of metal he’d found as a small boy. Of course, he didn’t get to keep it. But that discovery was his first contribution to the clan he’d been raised in. It reminded him of the feeling he’d had, belonging to a family. Belonging to a home.
The Arrow was his home now, and his proudest moment since he’d joined the travelers was the day he’d been voted the new point driver. His baby now led the makeshift procession of twelve “caravans”, though each was fully armoured against any attack and large enough to house upwards of fifty people at a push. Each vehicle was
Across TimeSometimes we can’t find the words
We are looking for.
We scour books looking for an answer,
Until we discover another person,
Who has lived through the afflictions we have.
Even though the person who wrote the words,
Might have left their life long ago,
Our minds go to ease,
Knowing we are not alone.
Slivers of light(French version below)
The most dreadful winter of my life came.
I abandoned the idea of a blossoming future,
Fled the misery of my own motherland,
For a woman I have far too often dreamt of.
Among the singing buds of the Shinto shrine
A white plum caresses my back,
Its petals lull me, my eyes are sealed, sweet reverie,
A convent of grass
The junk of my thoughts
Send me to Amaterasu.
Blushing Lotus, enticing Lilacs, panting Azaleas,
So many mistresses!
Enough perfumes to be drunk from them.
Why, my promise, have I been waiting so long to join you?
Your hair like Sakura flowers
Your laughters sound like Shamisen.
Over the pond, a dragonfly sits down and begins to dream
the garden familymy father met my mother on the train tracks
leading out of Hackensack, New Jersey.
she was clad in blue and embossed with blisters;
he was wearing a black sweater and had a stumbling tongue.
the night they exchanged promises, the moon
was hiding under a cool blanket of factory smoke.
my mother wore a black n’ beige dress,
my father was decked in the finest leather shoes.
their love was a budless stem:
to appreciate it, you had to do some gardening.
the botany of our family is complicated.
i am a shovel and my brother is soil.
my mother is a watering hose and
my father sets with the sun. come winter,
she will freeze in time and we will
barely see him through the clouds.
the occasional drought will manifest into our lineage,
but my mother will burst like a floodgate.
sometimes, it'll get so cold that the crops will be frostbitten,
but my father will break the barrier of clouds.
i will help dig my brother out of messy situations
and we will be
just a plot of land on the map of our f
Fresh AirIt dances on the wind,
a gentle, sweet caress.
In trees it plays,
and sunlight beams
to see it happy,
your very name.
AtlasWeight of the world
take my hand now
too much time
on this route
for lonely ears.
out of a kindness thread.
Too heavy a burden
on your shoulders,
around the corner;
take my hand,
we can share
the weight of a dancing sun
make it light, make it hope.
of wars and sorrow,
dispense healing water
from springs of neverending
on our heads
tree of life
will set its roots,
of a feather
alone no more
across the empty skies.
when the moon
take my hand,
Iron CageCan you feel my heart
slamming against your bones
like a crow in a cage?
Do you gnaw at your cheek
until you taste the iron in you
each time that it tremors?
I sure as hell hope so.
we used to make butterfly handsYou told me that when I was older I would understand
and I looked up and saw the sky in paper planes and periwinkle blue.
I reached out and drew a line for you;
traced it all over the globe and back to your wise heart
so that when I was older, my head full of understanding,
I’d be able to navigate back to my place there
and touchdown, settle down with you.
You said that our worlds were too distant,
you with your job and bills to pay and me with my honey-sweet dreams.
I nodded and pulled back my flyaway hair
thinking that if we’re alive together, against all the odds and centuries alive together,
that’s close enough for me.
I kissed you and you told me I was great. Carousel great. Sandy-toes great. Smiles on a Saturday, belly-laughs great.
You snapped the string and flew away.
I’m older and I do understand
that dotted lines get tangled or just fall away completely and
you were right when you said that things aren't quite as pretty
as they are in my party-h
GaiaI wonder if I’ll miss your skies. When we first started out, you promised I would see the Amazon,
that I’d look up and marvel at your canopy and wild sun.
You said that you were mine.
And oh, how people raved about you –
they said that you were an oyster; a stage
and I went on believing that you were a bright cacophony of wood and actors
or some soft seafood delicacy.
I gulped you down like fish and lies
and with you in my throat, I choked.
I won’t tell you you’re cruel when I let you go.
Instead I will tell you the truth:
that you are Alps in France and wide, wide oceans,
high heel shoes and splendid walls,
you are divorce attorneys and air-force planes
and banks gleaming in the stark white sky as they lord over pigeon cities.
You are sometimes hugs from the people I love
and at other times mushroom clouds.
You are the rhythm thrumming beneath the skins of drums
and a dentist drilling a child’s teeth;
the roar of city buses that still scare m
Anna and her Swan SongAll birds die and Anna is not the exception to the rule.
The exception is out there somewhere though, Anna is sure of it. Perhaps it is living on a secluded strip of land, knock-kneed and feathered in grey and white; perhaps it is in the middle of a bustling city, bright-eyed and clad in shades of summer blue. Anna does not know the details but she believes, and that is enough.
Today, Anna's life will serve its purpose: today is the day Anna will die. It is a week early and a little unsure of itself, but it's here and there is no sending it back now. There is only one thing to do: choose.
Anna looks at the world with thunder-storm eyes for the second to last time; she smiles. It has been a life, if not a happy one, and she thinks that people can't ask for more.
This small thought is all that Anna has time for: she must choose.
Oddly, Anna only has two options.
The first is an old scarf that may or may not have held a bright, floral print sometime in
Sonnet Of The Dead - Of A Dying HeartSonnet of The Dead – Of A Dying Heart
How I wished you never found me,
How our meeting was just never meant to be,
With admiration, you got closer and nearer,
Only to find me backing further,
Why did you not just let me be?,
Alone in this abyss of cold symphony,
Reaching out to me with a smile so gentle,
I only looked away, afraid if the walls around me would dismantle,
You saw through me, hurt and broken inside,
Of tears and scars that I’ve been trying so hard to hide,
Tenderly, you took me by the hand and pulled me into a warm embrace,
Then blood trickled down from your lips as tears trickled down my face,
Even when you knew so well of how I never let go of the knife in my hand,
You still wanted to heal this dying heart, despite of all the pain..
A Daughter Now BegottenIf reason could challenge the knowledge of infinity,
the blindness of justice;
should we not call ourselves Gods...
And Gods are we not, for if justice were truly blind,
it would hold the same fate for rich and poor alike...
Under the celestial heaven that shines above,
the beggar's crying face and the rich man's arrogant gaze...
So of The Creation we are, living in throngs of solitudes....
Each solitude made torturous by the lust for more money,
yet eased by the kindness of strangers and the love of God...
Which power of change is made,
unto glory from a prisoner down trod,
to a man of faith, who helped a dying woman in need till loving eclipse.
A daughter now begotten, of starry eyes and golden sun ray locks...
Cherished by God and adored by both parents,
though mother soon to be with the Creator Almighty,
this daughter grows up knowing the brittleness of mortality...
...As her lips of red rose blossoms,
her heart aches as the mourning moon that hides behind the bosom of clouds...
Sweet SomethingsHe whispered promises into her ears that he knew he could keep.
one more off-key anthem, let your teeth sink inIf there was only some way
to pull words back into my mouth
without devouring them
like the damn devil,
then it would've hurt less
than the time the wounds were
like suicide hanging low
in the air, vibrating
from my tongue
to the world's damn drums
wishing I drowned in the silence
and my shaking bones
holding back words
that are supposed to be left unspoken-
until a slight of hand
shoves me into a cliff
breaks like glass.
There's so much regret
caught at the edge of
my lungs and I wish I could
just stop saying that-
a dead heart
and an itch at the back
of my throat and all
but I can't breathe long
Not Like Most Girls“I’m not having this conversation every time. It’s absolutely out of the question.”
“Why? It’s been almost two years.”
Cara turned to him. “David. You categorically cannot meet my parents.”
“Do they have something against solicitors?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with that.”
David scowled. “What then? Puritans?”
Cara unbuckled the seat belt, and fought the urge to smile. “Not exactly. Look, just trust me on it.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The half-smile vanished like a fox down a hole. “What?”
“Not many women in their thirties still live with their parents, Cara. Look, if the situation’s delicate, just tell me. I don’t need to know details. But only dysfunctional couples keep secrets.”
She stared at him, suddenly furious. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Travels of a RoverTen years ago I left my home
To scour the world and rove and roam
From the deepest catacomb
To where the oceans slosh and foam.
In my travels I have gone
To far off places I was drawn
Where small green frogs go to spawn
With cabbages resting on the lawn.
And need I mention the Headless Wren
Which roosts deep within Big Ben
A curious place to lay one's eggs
In the counter-weighted pegs.
I found them wedged among the gears
They all stopped, like startled deer
And gave me a look, which was rather queer
However I can't describe it, I fear.
Underfoot the bells ring and chime
Doling out the moment's time
Hearing this I nearly fell
Under the bronze and silver's spell.
Speaking of silver, gold, and jewels
I traveled once to Burdin-Rajh
And picked up some rather useful tools
For making desert camouflage.
Made by heating silica sand
Into thin, malleable string
Weaving every red-hot strand
While the workmen's daughters sing.
Finally I finished my coat
And pulled it on over my head
At first I thou
The bell jar will not kill meA low white sun ignited:thumb435920027:
crystals on the sidewalk,
even her trash
had its color.
a dead rabbit,
I can't hate The Wasteland.
a striving resenment,
drives my sidestep
to watch cars
fume and glisten,
listen to the radio,
get up for work on Monday and
smoke on the dock.
Of He who Came to this WorldAdrift in the vengeance of her delirium,
I pierced the veil of eternity ....
And upon the breast of madness did I feast,
marooned in shadow’d-whispers
My soul bequeathed to this pellucid-abyss;
— a Halcyon clad in darkness dreaming
Lo, I saw hunters rise in the ether —
ghosts in the seraphic-blackness peering
Of beauteous melancholy, I lay quest
Wherefore, the blood of stars I reap & sow
How the breath of her lust befalls; —
a kiss of diamonds cast deep in the snow
Now bereft a foe beneath my skin,
where impassion'd plee she dare bespeak!
I grasp the silk of a fable spent
Yet thy visage lingers thru season’s fame,
haunting my soul like a Winter’s song
Til the age of silence, my lament doth rain,
unto solemn-brook, wherest thee prevail
And I bare the weight of a thousand skies,
To thy harbor, forever my spirit shall sail
— Arthur Crow © 2014
hook, line, and sinker.dear god,
you're becoming a cuss word &
i don't know if you've heard
but he's rattling the gates of heaven
he says he's wasting his time;
that the day will arrive
when the same string of pearls that sew orion's belt
will fashion itself
to adorn his neck -
alnilam drawing out his pulse from his wasted existence,
atoms colliding with beauty in their movements
to form a speck
a light year away.
he has a tattoo of peter pan
inside the hollow of his wrist,
& leaves open his window
'cause he seems to think
it would help peter to find him.
he believes that we are a collection
of the same atoms of stars peter lives on,
that neverland is a compilation
of lost boys' souls you've drawn him from -
that gravity is no barrier
from keeping his head in the clouds.
this week i've seen many shooting stars
& i don't know if you're weeping,
but those clouds are seeping to his bloodshot eyes,
fireworks blazing through dark night skies
like it's midnight all the time -
but dear go
To stoneAlone in the darkness -- coiled up.
Facing off against insurmountable odds.
These shadows cling to the very flesh
that embodies my stigmatization.
I’ll endure this crown of thorns
Whilst stalactites freeze my heart.
I’ll smile the fakest of smiles,
hollowed out, devoid of meaning.
Till words no longer hurt
and heart turns to stone.
Dishonest I amDishonesty has been, in words apt for it, described
as a fail of etiquettes, of ethics, of manners inscribed.
For to be honest, is to speak of the heart through one's own mind;
to untie the chains that so exaggeratingly bind.
But when I feel pain, or sorrow, or happiness, I set my quill down,
for me to compose an orchestra of truth, in which I myself drown.
However, so cursed is the quill, for it yields to my mind, not heart
what it wishes to produce, is not a recreation of emotions, but an art.
I have tried, again and yet again, to teach it what art is, to coax
yet listens not - stubborn quill, it believes my words are a hoax!
Thus all I create are analogies, replications of my mind
pieces, shards of a broken glass case in which I’m confined.
I envy those, whose quills listen to their heart’s sound plea
They are honest and free, a mere abstraction for me.
Thus forgive me those, who are people of trust and respect
for I am a man with the noose of dishonesty around my neck.
The EndThere are shards of arctic sky
in my soup
and they crack
against my voice box
and they snap
into my burnt-out throat
and they scrape
their graffiti on my sternum.
The sky lives in me for a moment.
A biting sky
that fights for resurrection;
it pools in my eyes
and begs to be read
in the subtext of a stormy exhale --
and that North wind
heads north, heads spinning - heads.
Heads. Guildernstern is dead
All are betrayers.
They tempted the madness in me.
They spoke to it.
It grew bigger. I grew bigger.
I grew until madness blacked the sun
there are shards of arctic sky
in my stomach.
For I have seen humanity spread thin
over the mouldy crust of a dead rock.
I have seen them abolish my stars
and blot out hope.
They grew me,
they cultivated me, groomed me
and now there are shards of the sky,
pinwheeling in my oesophagus.
Now the madness has eaten the moon.
Now, We are over.
Kate (day-dreamer)Kate paints her nails teal with black speckles because she says they remind her of egg shells left to warm themselves in the summer sun.
(I tell her I've never seen a teal egg but she tut-tut's at me and presses our lips to the pages of an old book until our tongues are tattooed over by words from a dead poet's mouth.)
Kate cuts her own hair with scissors she found rusting in an old, waterlogged box in her grand-father's attic.
(I tell her rust doesn't cut, only bruises, but she rolls her faded eyes like dice and tells me that's nice but I shouldn't believe everything I read.)
Kate uses honey and paper bark to wash her face because she says it's all made of star-stuff and she likes to touch the night sky.
(I tell her it doesn't equate to the same thing but Kate is a believer and my soft words don't change her.)
RequiemYou are sitting in a car on a blocked motorway, as you do, watching the sun. You have always thought that the world would hopefully end with something spectacular: like a zombie infection, say, or a black hole caused by some aspiring evil genius who got it wrong, or maybe even a mutated school dinner - which you know wasn't just a regular Vegetarian Lasagna. So, naturally, Heat Death wasn't on that list.
The sun imploded seven minutes ago, but you only see it now. Being in your shitty little Morris, your radio is bust. And you have no battery on your Nokia. The scientists told you the news last week, but you weren't listening, and you switched over to the game. Your team lost.
People scramble out of their cars, a cacophony of horns blaring under the increasingly red sky. You don't leave- because the heat has slowly melted the door into the rest of the frame, trapping you inside. Plus, why bother?
You begin to sweat and gasp as the sun shrinks in the distance, taking off your shirt... Y
TomorrowTomorrow you will go the store and smile at the cashier, and he will smile back. For a second, you will be a pleasant human being, someone that someone else likes being around.
Tomorrow evening you will run into some friends and they will tell you all their problems. You will pretend that you can solve them all, and your friends will rely on you to do so. You will remain the perfect person they’ve created in their minds.
Tomorrow night you will cry yourself to sleep and scrub at your face until it hurts.
A Childhood in WinterSnow coming thick upon steep hills beckons,
Excited they climb, with sleds at the ready.
Daring or fearful, a course they reckon,
With each run completed, moves are more steady.
Nerves held in check, their next turn approaching,
They watch all the others, to learn their best moves.
Younger kids listen to parents' coaching,
Older ones show confidence in their best grooves.
Over the edge and down Boreas Hill,
The oldest and bravest, they take the big run.
Steepest and fastest - a test of one's will!
Intense competition and fine snowy fun.
Winter! For children a magical time,
As snow becomes snowmen, and angels with wings.
For this older poet - challenged to rhyme,
Snow is exciting for memories it brings!
eleven reminders to love yourselfi. When I talked to myself in
kindergarten, my teacher caught me
nestled between crayons, and towers of neatly
stacked voodoo drawings, darting to find
the perfect color, saying, "Mommies f-f-feed
their babies through the b-b-belly button;
that's why I have one. But they cry,
I c-c-cried, because I came out of my mommy's
mouth." My mother was called to school
that day; the teacher explained that
I was s-s-stammering a lie and it needed
needed fixing, so my mother
halted my stammer in its tracks
and didn't hold back when she said,
"With a head that big, you never would've
left my body, darling."
ii. The gold of the sun is
painful to me; I'd rather let the Margalla-exhausted monsoon
winds, subtend over its study of yellow
and blue to give me grey, (which once made
me cry because the color wheel said
green was right) and I'd rather
let my scarf darken under the reign of
a lightning-mustachioed sky,
bellowing a thunderous roar
My melanin levels couldn't
dampen me on s
PeaceI never used question dare to.
a S I grew, though, questions soon did too.
un U sual thoughts fed to me
but F ear, me it ensnared in its web.
all ef F ort, all change would be for naught
chang E, out of our grasp, and made was I
only a p R isoner theirs until the end of time.
seven I nsufferable years, thought of as nothing but
a fie N d.
S ometimes I dream of that day
m I ne suffering still fresh, not a haze.
al L for what?
mad E difference none to the world I did.
made N othing of me other than fuel for endless war, and hate.
the di C e rolled in favor of bloodshed, for
jewel r E d, diamond precious more.
I cry, w E ep, and never sleep
for e V ery night, when close mine eyes
min E ears hear their cries;
fa R m ablaze, children’s charred carcass...
m Y family from me be torn and
Damned I be until
sAy no more shall I. Unt
FebruaryI’m finding it hard to believe it’s only February. The day is so warm that I can venture out in merely a T-shirt and thin jacket; this part of England seeming to have bypassed winter altogether and gone straight into spring. Flowers bloom in the rain-dampened earth – crocuses, snow drops - the usual signifiers that the weather is warming. As I walk beneath the canopy of old oaks, their branches stretching up and out towards the pale blue sky, I see the remnants of last week’s storms. Some of the trees have fallen completely, a tangle of roots now dehydrated and dying. Branches and other debris is scattered across the path too, causing my journey to zigzag as I dodge the miniature wooden mountains.
Despite my semi-treacherous choice of route, I enjoy this way the most. Above me an angry squirrel yells hoarsely at a magpie which blinks uninterested in the rodent’s screams. A Great Tit perched on a thin stick sings loudly, drowning out most of the other noise
TTruly has he spoken in his word,
Tested the commands that we have heard.
Thank the Lord for wrath and mercy both,
Thank the Lord for pruning and for growth.
Tread upon the path that He has set:
Time is his. Why hold onto regret?
Trust in Him whose walk has never slipped;
Take His grace, and by it be equipped.
Winter Tries To RememberPerhaps it was the way her delicate crystals would soak and shudder as they touched the earth. The first few times the flakes fell they would wither and die, but they were laying a foundation for the ones to follow. Maybe it was her hushed movements that could bring the busiest streets to a standstill. Each snowflake formed piles of white petals on windshields as the storm carried on. Maybe it was how she would string subtle wreaths along windowsills by the break of dawn. Or it could have been how, even in a frosted rage, her beauty shone through to him.
Winter shifts in his seat, causing a small blanket of cold air to sweep across part of the world. The people feel a sudden chill, but shrug it off. Winter takes his time as he thinks, recalling how she would bleach branches with her soft touch. He remembers how the moon would sing, jealous notes tinting her song, as snow fell. Assembling snowflakes high in the air, she would place each one with a careful hand to the ground below. She w
vraiment, tu me manques / te juro que no puedo vivir sin ti
allow your taut flesh your waterfall wish / see if the scent of someone else's hair
Price of Love"Girlfriend," Boyfriend"
They're just titles,
No one holds the deeds to my heart,
My love is not for sale, and
My affection can't be bought;
Official love is just an investment
In my interests, and a price
I'm just not willing to pay,
It's a debt I will not welcome,
A ransom I won't give into,
A deal I will not make.
Bleeding TearsI sit in this room
Accompanied by just candlelight
And empty white walls
The air is asking for tears
And I sit here, just wishing
That all would be quiet
Even if for just one moment. One moment of peace and prosperity.
That is all I ask for, yet only the quiet tears of the air answer and I sit here brought down by the headaches of my own demise.
How much longer will this story last? I can't feel much longer, but the pain feels as though it will never end.
I guess that in it all, I was just asking too much. To bring hope, light, and peace into the darkness of the world. Now, the white walls laugh as I enter the last phase of my own emotionally-stricken demise.
I was never meant to be a writer. Good bye.
You don't need a cape to be a heroSome heroes are born glorified;
Praised from the moment of their creation,
Blessed with the gift of greatness.
Others are just born plain,
Lingering in normality and dwelling
In the usual.
The heroic are strong,
Perfection in an imperfect world.
Fighting the immoral and defeating
Those who stand idle with the devil.
These are the idols of our ancestors,
Of our storybooks,
And of our minds and hearts.
That is the only hero known to us.
But there are other exemplars,
Ones we see every day,
Yet fail to notice their grandeur.
These heroes of the norm;
They do not fly with red capes,
or glide like winged angles.
They do not descend from gods,
Or the heavens.
Not all heroes wear capes.
A good deed of kindness,
Courage in the face of danger,
Faith in the face of hell---
All these are qualities deemed valorous.
Done by average people,
So to every child who dreams of being a hero-
You can be an inspirational
A Photographic Dream The faded black and white photograph sits idly on the vanity. My exact likeness stares out at me from within the flowered frame. We stare at each other, admiring the intricate feature we share. She seems to understand how lucky I was to inherit such beauty from her, the ideal embodiment of femininity. A sort of arrogance glints in her eyes; her plump lips seem to smirk. Her creamy, alabaster skin glows with confident. She is aloof, to say the least. I know everything about this woman, my grandmother, as well as myself, by this photograph. I am the spitting image of her. I know that I am much more than my sorry excuse of a mother. I know that there is more to me than her. Because of my grandmother, I know that I come from more than a disrespected, cheap drunk. This photograph of my grandmother shows me everything that I could ever be.
One day, I know I will leave this place I am forced to call home. I will abandon the lower-class without a second-glance the f
ConfrontationWhy do you kiss me the way you do?
First so tenderly- I almost feel cared for
And then so firmly- I almost feel wanted
Why do you hold me the way you do?
At first so awkwardly- and I feel awkward too
And then so close- and I feel safe and dare I say—cared for? Dare I?
No- I dare not
It feels like you are
Fumbling- around in the dark with hands out stretched
You seem unafraid of what your hands may brush
Yet when they come upon what might be an “us”-
Your presence fades away and I am left alone
At first I-
I liked you so much I-
I convinced myself you just wanted things ‘simple’
You didn’t know how much you liked me
Enough to tenderly place your mouth upon my cheek and smile that sinfully sweet smile at me
At second- that night I stayed over
“I’m going to do something crazy” you said and I-
I didn’t process what happened until twenty-two minutes after the fact or some ridiculous amount
And I was happy- I still liked you so much
Stream of ConsciousnessSteam of Consciousness
Second grade must seem like limbo now. I was a naïve kid. I didn’t do anything in class unless told to. Being the new girl, no one associated with me unless told to by Sister Raphael. I didn’t care though, I just did what I was told, did my work, at lunch at my desk when everyone sat with each other, did more work, and then went home to do homework and play with my toys. The boys were all right; I worked well enough with them. Didn’t do anything outright. The girls went out of their way to ignore me, talk about me, but I didn’t notice. It was normal to do so, I thought. I knew right from wrong like how they said it in the Bible; I knew they were being bad. But if it affected me at all, I was soon distracted by something else. I just went with the motions.
-- (my name), come here.
Sister Raphael waved me to her desk. I was nervous at first, shivers going up and down my body and my heart jumping, but when I sat down, we ate together, an
Which one?Darjeeling is great:thumb434444410:
with some Beauty and the Beast,
or maybe Snow White?
Human Nature: The First RuleDarling;
we are made of pieces
so that we can break.
would we be mended once again?)
Heart on the runShe's on the loose
Looking to seduce
Whatever you do
She's gonna hurt you
Before the night is done
She'll be on the run
Wings of fire
Beating with desire
Heart on the run
Escape to the sun
Stop to recharge
She's on the large
Can't keep her bound
Won't turn around
She's so cunning
Wings of fire
Beating with desire
Heart on the run
Escape to the sun
Her Prince Charming
Turned to Mr. Harming
She's out the door
Stop no more
She's on the run
Off to the sun
Wings of fire
Beating with desire
Heart on the run
Escape to the sun
On Cute BoysI see it in your eyes-
it must be true, no?
In your eyes is the glint of question-
whether I am of the downtrodden happy tribe,
whether I am a viable star to colonize
in hugs and kisses,
Because I am here,
waiting for you to find beauty
in my mundane mediocrity glorified,
and I am ready to respond
with descriptions of you almond-starred,
ready to dance along to obscure hipster rock
only we could dance to.
I am here,
waiting for someyou
to make love to me in the dust
of my previous obsessions,
in this desert globe classed
Wishing WellDespite all that's happened
Between you and me,
Because of all that's happened
When we were together
I take my leave from us.
I cannot turn back time
Correct your mistakes
Still I want to turn back time,
Give you another chance
You can waste once again.
A coin falls down the well
Of foolish wishes.
More coins fall down the well
They're telling of a far
Too big and stupid heart.
All of the stress and pain
You have put me through
After all the worried hours
That you have caused for me
Still I'm wishing you well.
Born amid stars, sprouted a sprig divine
Followed by twig sprung out of fertile soil
Gold dust and feathers her temples shall foil
While juicy vines around her wrists entwine
One of forest folk like her mother dear
Robed in sheer sunlight, hair with bloom adorned
Sings tune of wisdom to heart of acorn -
- Oak tree, the home to that her life adheres
Angel of timber, woodland's tender ghost
Nymph with green wings of silky foliage
The branches provide shelter and salvage
To harmless soul that once tree dies, is lost
Ya'aburneeDon't ask me to walk the path of life without you, my dear
even the brightest beauty I'd see of a darker hue, my dear.
Oh, I can't think of my personal universe divided and broken,
your presence in my mind no longer true, my dear.
Forgive this weak, frangible heart; too much wonder
vanishes in the clouds as morning dew, my dear.
Without Spring a Winter, for both of us will come; the things
we can do to change the world are none but just a few, my dear.
I am grateful to whatever force brought us together,
when I say always you know it's true, my dear.
But there is so much more to our forever than I can say,
there is my stupid fear of losing you, my dear
there is the unstoppable train of time, unforeseen
a future; so into the abyss this cry I threw, my dear
may be numerous our days, and happy. May I be the first
to say farewell, the first to say adieu, my dear.
Una Preghiera (alla tristezza)English version below
Una Preghiera (alla tristezza)
che io possa sentire la goia
e guardare al mattino
che le parole perdute
e la musica
come il sorriso.
correre senza pensieri
sotto la pioggia.
sognare, gridare, ridere;
A Prayer (to sadness)
may I feel the joy
and watch at morning
may all the lost words
and the music
like my smile.
to run heedlessly
in the rain.
I beg you;
to dream, to scream, to laugh;
The Lightning Leaps from the Sky The wind blows high and the sky hangs low,
Tall ships are swallowed as the billows roll,
The storm rears back with a bended bow,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
Thunder roars o’er sea and coast,
Bright light flickers like a fleeting ghost,
Aye, ‘tis when we can see the most,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
The light’s gone out on the beacon tall,
The keel cuts jagged ‘neath a leaking hull,
The masts all groan in the wailing squall,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
MermaidYou prepare a sea of jasmine -
bubbles anxious for a soul
to seep its foam-frame into
when the tub is filling full.
And as the water rises
'neath a faucet taking flight,
I delve into the surface -
your reflection in the light.
"I've hidden many treasures
upon the porcelain below -
diamonds wrapped in sea salt
and starfish strung aglow.
But only one elates me;
her perfection draws me in.
Find her and I'll crate thee
in ocean's crowning pin."
I look up, eyes bewildered,
as the jasmine-ridden mass
starts to overtake me,
leaving skin to cover fast.
I remember him once saying
that a mermaid he desired,
and nothing artificial
could keep him quite inspired.
"Ah, I think you've found her,
my utmost cherished gem."
And just like that, he steals me -
tucks my fingers within his.
I didn't think a man could look
past bubbles small and plain
and see something much deeper -
my heart lost in tiled-terrain.
PearlsAnd even though they stand neck-deep in the debris of their land,
They still stare out at it as if it’s still a glistening gem amongst coal and false gold
Even though they cannot move more than one fourths of their bodies,
They still dance as if the world was theirs
And even though they’ve lost their instruments,
They beat the stones that were once their homes together as to reminisce magnificence
Even though they are deemed empty echoes of once was,
They still chant that now is now and then is forever
Late OctoberOctober rain spills on top of fallen leaves; puddles of water over red, orange and yellow. Glassy pools of color raging in a last flourish of life. The drops are cool on the tongue and refreshing- sending a shiver down my spine as they drip down my neck.
Autumn's rushing wind
Little lakes of brilliant hues
Fields of thriving corn.
Spring Has Held Life in Her HandsSunlight is pouring past her lips as she cradles newborn fawns. Vines twist and spiral into a calligraphy of green memories; she bats her eyes causing petals to glide on softened breezes. As she hangs leaflets on branches and tucks in tree roots with blankets of moss she smiles. Mountains cry, with snow trickling down their peaks. She places circlets of white flowers at their feet; her hands brush the sliding snow away.
She builds a castle of iris and lilies over the world with purples, pinks, and reds dotting the horizon. The people look up and shudder as a sudden peace engulfs them. Spring digs moats of morning dew beneath drawbridges of grass. Placing a tiara of clovers against the sides of dead trees, grass spurting forth from their wounds she sings. Birds flit between the branches of her hair, chirping a song of return into her ear.
The clouds stretch awake at the sound of Spring, chuckling hello with a wave of white. Forests clamor for her touch and she obliges, unfu
I went back to the diner.
There were the people,
chewing on their food,
and I was on fire,
I was a nuclear fusion m***********,
so I asked people where I could sit down
and when they told me there was no room
I flipped tables,
I yelled at the customers,
and slammed people to the floor.
I screamed, “This is a man beyond repair!”
to anyone who gave a s***,
and I was a nuclear fusion m***********,
and they brought in the cops
and I threw them, too.
They brought in the marines,
and I laughed in their faces,
because I was no longer a person,
I was a m************ force,
They dropped a missile on my skull
and it didn’t make a dent.
They dropped the universe on me,
and I didn’t blink.
This is a man beyond repair,
this man will bring you all down,
this man has stopped caring about your excuses.
I am no longer the mud puddle.
I am no longer in the background.
I refuse to be a nobody,
so I went back to the diner
yeah I've been busy... but all of it was worth the effort Keep writing, all of you, and stay blessed. You're all awesome.