Winter sun, premature
The birds distance themselves
From me
While the world waits
To come down, heaven and all
All upon my head
That permanent thinness
Dusky sunlight
Winding through trees
Washes my back like ice water
The empty darkness
Detached
Cumulus cumulating
In my throat
Choking back blackness
Colourless
Seep into sepia
Painting the tips of the trees gold
Stretched out to sleep across the fields
Forgetting my heart beats
No echoes
Sinking into the dirt
I want to be somewhere
lie in the quiet of that otherness
feel the stars tingle through my skull
pounding bright
the solace of an unhurried tumour
bury me here in the heaving cold of the night
hunger for feeling, anything at all
whispering black
horizons of my thoughts dipping below the curvature
deep cool darkness, liquid absence
tangible warmth all but faded
all but my fingertips still glow pink
and then they will fill the room
inedible masses, indelible eyes
unblinking candour baleful in this canopy of falsehoods
which is falling through.
The air is too heavy to breathe
it swirls, uncatchable
sinks to its knees like fog
whispering its way over the tarmac
watermarks on the bedposts
high tide
footsteps crumbling away
rotting under the star-spangled sky
light fumbling its way
around the edges of the curtains
hurricane gales left it sprawling
glass rattling, nights turning
heartbroken runways.
Crouched between gutters
grey with longing
bleak movements in the darkness
birds setting flight paths
across the fenland
tapestries of meadow,
hulled from the waterways
half-drenched in the morning sunlight
chiffon, dew-speckled, a gift
a final resting place.
The cold hard riverbed
i
I lost you
in darkness, in stumbling alcoholism
the words tumbling over each other
end on end
the breaths tumbling inside my lungs
tripping over each other
in darkness
cascading
wide-eyed, bloodshot words
spilling from my lips, spat from my heart
leaking out of cracks, crevices, corners
wreckage
and the way home was unclear,
debris-strewn
star-struck
alone.
Can you see the tragedy
all around us? Sweet lover
don't forget the day
the last of summer, stars unfurling
cooling as they dart away.
My own blood seeps out
steeps the carpet, insidious
as if the weight of it all
my vertebrae crumble, crushed
one by one
my spine but dust to choke upon,
bones heartless
that I might puddle myself
a flat expanse of skin and
barely-breathing-brain
vinegar-soaked even
as the night comes
creeping
calling
crawling
heaving push & pull
retching scum and froth against sheer cliff walls
that which is not truly mine
cluttered around my floor,
tattered like ribbons
against the star-strewn sea,
autumnal leaves,
corpses
Hey babe
so much of the world looks like love to me these days
and though I always come back to you,
voices have flavours --
colours in the background of so many lips
the decadent spinning of the rush-hour traffic
and a heartbeat in sheer terror
at the speed of it all;
Hey baby
not me
not me
not me
it's not me in the mirror this time, shrouded in forest-mists,
dew-drop animals,
as simple as a game of imitation, a parallel angle --
taps are dripping, love is leaking everywhere
urban rivulets --
fawns graze on the cityscape;
Hey babe
I burnt the prints off my fingers again
leapt over the edge of the world and tumbled back down right into it
I have the same blue eyes as my father.
My hands move in gestures of confidence, speaking in spread palms and long fingers. The wind has burnt my skin, salty sweat and clear mountain air, hair bleached by a hundred sunrises. The cold, clear sky opens my pores, smile lines creasing, breathing. I love the taste of sweetness, sugary tea and singing voices. Life stories kiss my eyelids open each morning, life stories which resonate within my own; the city is my home, the city is my figure: tall and strong against the fog of people.
I knew love from a young age; it enveloped me in gentle arms and held me close, showing me the value of care, of
saving face / saving grace. by 91816119, literature
Literature
saving face / saving grace.
The cataclysmic error of the sunset
tempts the universe out of its shell
to mock my humanity,
listen to the pebbles at my window,
the scatterings of
how beautiful it all is.
His heart --
my fear of --
stress-marks
stretch-marks
impact craters where I held hands in mine
the burn and scratch of the light of day,
yes I can feel my retinas deteriorate
but I am
saving face
saving grace
swiping right for my next tomorrow.
I swallowed yesterday
like mothers' ruin
shot shot shot
and if this is my last living memory,
I think I've forgotten how to be myself.
I should have written more poetry about you. by 91816119, literature
Literature
I should have written more poetry about you.
Lost in your embrace
into your chest she collapsed,
caved
against your collar-bones
weighed down by stones
in her pockets.
And her hair filled your eyes
tickled your neck
with her lips,
shuffled the deck
while she unbuckles your favourite trousers
the darkness swallowing
the discarded clothes
to the sound of swallows
congealing in the dawn.
And you, a frightened fawn
stark naked, captured by her eyes
ribs interlocked and fingers
heaving in the tide of bedsheets,
push and pull -
stand tall
for me, stand tall, for
me, my
peace of mind
tease out the knots
in our heartstrings.
She won't love another
she won't cut your words
from her walls;
the drawing of breath by YouInventedMe, literature
Literature
the drawing of breath
what makes the change the fang the slope of the jaw we are soft tamped & gentle uncalloused of hand . come circle the portrait an outfitted sorrow all my words leaving him un(a)dressed still he exhales like I do
How to Write a First Draft Without Perfectionism by illuminara, literature
Literature
How to Write a First Draft Without Perfectionism
Maybe you’ve heard that first drafts are supposed to suck, but what does that really mean? What does a sucky first draft look like? How do you allow yourself to suck? Why would you even want to allow yourself to write something that sucks in the first place?
Because otherwise, you’ll most likely be crippled by the writer’s arch nemesis: perfectionism.
Did you just cringe? We all experience it when we sit down to write, arrange everything just so, type a sentence or two (or a bit more if you’re lucky), and then it strikes—your inner editor. It smacks you across the face and demands that you fix that grammar mist
Please join me in thanking HugQueen (https://www.deviantart.com/hugqueen) for her care and dedication to the literature community :)
Thank you HugQueen (https://www.deviantart.com/hugqueen) :heart:
Mentions and a word of thanks! by Ghanstrom, journal
Mentions and a word of thanks!
Just over two months ago, I started posting poems here as a personal project. I love poetry and felt like putting my words out there for others to find and muse over at their leisure. I was pleasantly surprised by both the amount of traffic my page saw, and by the feedback and interaction I've received from those who've stopped by to read my work. I had considered writing a journal like this when my page hit several milestones for views, but decided against it because my goal isn't so much to harvest views as it is to share thought and reflection with others. However, I felt now would be a good time to express my thanks and excitement at
(2015) NAKTARRA'S RAD AS heCK ROUNDUP by Rose-Em, journal
(2015) NAKTARRA'S RAD AS heCK ROUNDUP
Rockin' it in at three years being actively a part of the deviantART community. And next year I'll be making an article saying I've been hanging around for four years. Then at one point I might even learn how to count past four and we'll figure out what comes after that together. It's been rather lovely watching people come and go over the past few years. I get to meet a lot of people from a whole lot of different countries and a whole lot of different backgrounds. Makes for an exciting world when everyone and everything is at my fingertips.
What at my plans for 2016? Well, for a personal goal I've picked up a copy of 1001 Movies You
My teenage years are narrowing to the tip of an arrow, and I'm not sure who they are getting ready to pierce. I wonder if it's me? Soon I will be 19. The year after, I will be the adult who has no more excuses. And I look at myself, burying myself under teas and coffees and Korean dramas and blanket-burritos, and I wonder how the heck every other adult I see did it. Growing up feels like decomposing. I already feel like a shell of what I used to be, and forgive me for being an extremist in saying I have fed parts of myself as fodder to the machine of capitalism. The cute little quirks I had are gone. I no longer smile easily. I had someone na
Holidays, DDs, and White Feature by spoems, journal
Holidays, DDs, and White Feature
For me, the holidays are always a time to reflect on the state of life and things. I look on this past year, and in spite of whatever happenstance I might consider as negative, such as health issues or the general and seemingly unending malaise of the world, I am forced to conclude that it was, in fact, as good a year as I could want. As joy often goes underreported, I’m here to say that good things did and do happen. And they will continue to happen.
In the realm of DA, I received a DD feature on my poem Pertrichor http://spoems.deviantart.com/art/Petrichor-469483593 , thanks to LiliWrites (https://www.deviantart.com/liliwrites) . Considering the recent changes to the
Winter sun, premature
The birds distance themselves
From me
While the world waits
To come down, heaven and all
All upon my head
That permanent thinness
Dusky sunlight
Winding through trees
Washes my back like ice water
The empty darkness
Detached
Cumulus cumulating
In my throat
Choking back blackness
Colourless
Seep into sepia
Painting the tips of the trees gold
Stretched out to sleep across the fields
Forgetting my heart beats
No echoes
Sinking into the dirt
Hi, there! You can call me Cee, if you like. I love poetry, prose, languages, music and the sea.
If you ever want to get to know me better, drop me a note, and we can share social networking details!
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 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 !