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About Literature / Artist Member 'M'Female/United Kingdom Groups :icondeviantliterature: DeviantLITERATURE
For the love of Literature.
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♥ Beautiful, beautiful work. ♥

"promentory"



:pointr: promentory by Trevor Jones :pointl:

time to go adventuring by Turqmoose

they never said to grieve for dying starsi don't want to write about stars, but
that's all there seems to be:
nebulae drawn up like harp strings itching
to be plucked; echoes of light like calls for
encore; the kicked-off blankets at the
edges of the universe unraveling
at the seams like the nightmares are
finally winning
tell me a story about time, the way the
sunlight hits its mark and how the world
turns away -
how the distance deepens, deepens, the 
dark a gnawing glimpse, the taste of
empty
tell me - weren't we seedlings,
star-built and scattered? weren't
the echoes more than dredges, less than
tidal waves, infantile monsoons
to be grasped and dragged behind
weren't we taught where we came from?
runaway irony (FFM 22)Twenty minutes after finishing the documentary on New Zealand, Nicole had a plan worked out. She wrote it all down in gel pen, an itemised list of all the things she needed; then she got to work.
It wasn’t easy to convince the man in Bunnings to sell her nails, but she put on her best innocent face, and told him it was for her father’s garden shed. It wasn’t easy to convince the neighbour to let her have the old fence palings, either; nor the logs that had been earmarked for a bonfire, but a few hearty fibs and her best “I just want to help my daddy” smile went a long way to convincing them.
Two weeks later, she had bruised hands, a lot of knowledge about how not to use a hammer, and what she hoped would pass for a half-decent raft. She packed herself a bag with some clothes and spare underwear, then packed another bag, this one larger and wheeled, with as much canned food as she could carry. Before she left, she remembered to grab the can op
Ophelia unrelentingI keep all the
even-numbered petals
underneath my tongue :
they're the ones
that say you
love me -
- love me not
in this madness,
in this suspended
state of grace :
I will soldier on,
my darling.
I will not allow
this willow branch
to surrender.


Bieszczady V by BloodyKissesLady

"You've done everything you can do. Save yourself! ...

Asabikeshiinh (Filter)Asabikeshiinh (Filter)
I wear the dream snare like a chain.
The willow hoop filled with spider thread,
sway loose as the aves feathers 
catch beneficence
and the spun yarn traps the fallen.
I tread subconsciousness 
like salmon swim
in the falls of Williamette.
And watch the net
take hold of chimera,
a phantasm of phenomena
as I greet the cousin of death
with a firm shake of the hand
and respectful grin.
But wisps of spirits tempestuous 
reverberate throughout the lace,
as the new day slowly begins to take shape.
Light returns to Earth as my eyes open.
Conceptions' theories last so long
before absoluteness' presence grabs hold.
I'd rather immerse myself in abstractions.
FFM 2014: The Selkie    He watched the waves and waited, every night, bringing only a blanket and the shuttered lantern with one side left open to light the way. And every night she came, stepping onto the shore and slipping out of her second skin, shivering and wet, her dark hair in dripping tangles about her shoulders. Still as lithe and moon-pale as the first day he’d seen her so many years before. Still as remote and unfathomable as the sea.
    He never asked questions, never tried to speak at first, just handed her the blanket and wrapped one arm around her as they made their way up the shore to the Lighthouse. Still dripping she would visit the children’s room, and watch them sleeping as the first blush of dawn touched the horizon. 
    He’d make her breakfast; pancakes were the favourite, and by the time the kids were ready to get up she would be herself again, loud and smiling and present, and the wildness o
It's NotIt's not the lipstick gloss
that makes a kiss
but
the warm pulse beating through
her lips.
It's not their size
nor shape
but the words they whisper,
afterwards.
It's not the color
nor the length
nor the glint
of her hair
that makes her special
but
it is her smile
in the falling rain
reflecting the joy
of yet another Spring,
together.
It's not the time
she spent getting beautiful
that makes her so
but in fact
it is the hours
she was besides my bed
when I was sick
and in fact
it is the minutes
I could hear her breathe
in my embrace
AND in fact
it is the seconds
I saw her cry
(out of happiness)
Because she's beautiful.
It's not the clothes,
nor the jewellery,
nor the colored nails,
nor the drawn-in brows,
nor the words she says
to other people,
and neither it is
her past.
...
It is her mind
that entertains my poems,
it is her charm
that paints my cheeks
(pink)
and averts my shy eyes from her
most briefly.
It is her soul,
that I love.


...if the worst happens, and only one of us survives, something of the other does, too."

misty forest by Itapao

alonestill the olympic lights.
a bitter almond breeze,
       soul-numbing & grounding.
and a band of thugs, and a woman waiting
in vain to catch a ride.
         further and further away.
none of this will ever be captured on film.
  you can erase the place but you can't
stamp out the stink
  and how it accretes and why do you remain
so sharply eagle-eyed uncomfortable sober. pushing for a space
between molecules where you feel you are not
                                          wanted
into the sanitizing chill of an empty bridge and highway.
a fascinated child,
   your icy mittenprint on the kiosk window
now shattered but you know
                 there will be dahlias again
but by then
        you will have crossed the street and
dry heaved grotesque self
SplitI didn’t know what to do for her. Or to her. Or with her. She cried, a lot.  She thought I didn’t know, didn’t notice, or maybe just didn’t care.
I saw her dancing in the rain one Saturday afternoon, nude. Not a stitch on her, and dancing by the creek, red welts rising on her skin from the biting mosquitoes.  She never danced. I watched, and marveled that she could dance and still look sad.
When the rain let up, she stopped and stared at the creek flowing and bubbling over big flat mossy rocks. I called her name without using my voice, and she turned, but then looked away again. I wondered where she was in her head, that she could stand there and ignore the itchy bites and not worry that she was naked.
I envied her lack of self-consciousness. I pulled my heavy cardigan around my shoulders, even though it was hot and muggy out. I hid in its folds like a turtle hides inside its mobile home.
Sometimes I could feel her tugging at me, begging. I was stubbor
creature sunthrough polymer tongue, you creature sun
               teeth tapped wide on empty hollows
you’re leasing the crowd for white feather streaked
                                                    yesterdays
      keeping them in jars,
              razing the mantle
and asking us to stay
                           down the burning phantom
                    (down the dying star)
                           into your dark tomorrow;
                       
                into endle


Dolina Malej Laki by paczek



music and quote from michael mann's the last of the mohicans [1992]

Please be kind enough to :+fav: this, so that more people will see it!

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deviantID

91816119
'M'
Artist | Literature
United Kingdom
DLDs: 3 {x} {x} {x}
DDs: 2 {x} {x}


Hi, there! :ahoy: You can call me M, if you like. I love poetry, prose, music and the sea. :love:

It's a joy to see such a tight-knit community here on DeviantART, and I am eternally grateful to everyone who has supported me and really made me feel at home. I am especially honoured by those who take the time to :+fav: and even comment on my work. Every word you post about my pieces will help me to improve and show everyone who I am in a better manner.

And if you're looking for a literature artist to admire the work of, please take a look at my "friends" list. Those are some of the best writers I have met, talked to and critiqued as well as some truly lovely people. Do pay them a visit and read their work; they deserve it. Spread some :dalove:!

I look forward to hearing from you!
91816119

:heart:

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:iconmedoriko:
Medoriko Featured By Owner 12 hours ago  Student Writer
Thanks for the favorite of my DD :heart:
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lombregrise Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Professional Writer
Thank you for the fave! :sun:
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blackoutpoet Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the :+fav: on my flash piece! :D
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27GreenStrawberries Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thanks for your +fav on "The evening matters"! :)
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Felizias Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist

Welcome to All-about-features! I love deviantART!

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AlwaysRainCheck Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Student General Artist

Hello and welcome on  :iconinsecure-writers: we are thrilled to have you in our group! Get Together 


Feel free to contact me or NicholasName through notes or comments if you have any concern, idea, problem or request, we are always happy to listen and to help!


Much love to you Heart

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BlackBowfin Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Hello there and thank you for faving Our Wayward Stars.  It's much appreciated.  Have a good one. :)
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SuddenlyAutumn Featured By Owner 3 days ago
thank you so much for the favorite :love:
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LuminescentRayne Featured By Owner 3 days ago
Thanks for the :+fav:!
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