Sta.sh
This article’s deviant spotlight: featuring the sweet =TheSkaBoss. She has offered to answer a few questions as well, to tell us a bit about what inspires her writing and which piece in particular she favors.
ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into
Wow! The response for this has been HUGE!!! Thank you so much all of you who have participated! Don't forget to add #CRLiterature to your watch as well as replying to all these wonderful comments! 
Your submissions must be new deviations entered after today. Please <a wytiwyg="1" href="http://my.deviantart.com/notes/#tk=dgUMWxYIWApzVU1cR2h8BFBPfAwNVFpfXw%3D%3D">
with the subject "Demonstrably Deviant".
Communal Karma
Hello there and welcome to the second edition of Communal Karma.
In the Communal Karma series I highlight the devious little squirrels who have suggested literature DD's in the past month. To do this I will collect the names of the suggesters from the past months DD's. I am aware, of course, that many other deviations are being suggested to our lovely and all powerful overlords but I don't have access to those!
The point of this feature is to make those who support the literature community get seen themselves, a karmic reward for doing good and expecting nothing in return. It might also encourage more people to suggest incredible literature for the site-wide feature, which is also great because it means that the CV's will have eyes and ears all over the site finding amazing unseen gems to share with the rest of us.
Suggesting a Daily Deviation is a very kind thing to do. It doesn't happen at the click of a button and these people made conscious decisions to try to get a piece of literature more attention. So in return I will be highlighting some of their work. Please fave, watch, enjoy.
The Community Volunteers
Aside from the fact that they are the conduits for the DD's ending up on the site footer they also quality control the DD's and suggest their own favourites to be seen. Just because they have a hat doesn't mean they shouldn't get a thank you. So without further ado...
^NicSwaner
"A dawn song set on the sheet music ofTelephone poles contrasted by the sun."
Bitlets 55Nothing good ever happens in a forest preserve that is then broadcasted on the local news.
Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.
I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.
Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:
Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
So let the sparrows in.
The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor
"The birdsong past the beige veil
Of curtains forecasts daylight."
^Beccalicious
"Giggles blushed sunburn."
Gourmet Novel RecipeRecipe for Writing a Novel
Serves: 1. If you’re J K Rowling, billions.
Ingredients
- 1 Tin standard cat food
- 1 Laptop/Computer
- 250g cat biscuits
- Paper
- 5 Pens, various colours.
- 1 stuffed cat toy with bell
- 1 pouch slightly fussier cat food
- 1 sachet gourmet cat food
- 1 bottle of wine, red or white
- 1 Wine glass (Large)
- 1 300g Tin of tuna
Cooking time: 2-5 years
Preparation
(Preparation time approximately 10-60 minutes depending on condition of desk and computer speed)
1. Clear space on desk. If you do not have respective space for junk, throw on floor. Place paper and pens in clear space.
2. Turn on computer and allow 10 minutes for slow loading time. Add 2-3 sighs as windows update informs to restart computer. Restart computer and allow a further 10 minutes.
3. Once computer is ready, open up new document.
Cooking
1. Begin with your plot. Open internet to several pages, use pens and paper to mix r
Cup of Tea Promise
A cup of tea promise
starts, watered down
lies and coffee
depression.
We take a breath,
inhale the aroma of the mug,
accept what we find,
we drink to our own distaste.
Between bitter sips
warmed chests, clutched hands,
we sit in comfort of this liquid--
as if an elixir of life
snuck into the drink.
Despite cups with cracks and chips
we grip our mugs for comfort
and smile.
Cristian Rosas
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
yellow lanterns,
blue, red, green
blue,
yellow, red,
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
Lights,
music people blurre
"cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets."
`thorns
"Lucian's wife was on the floor, limbs sprawled out at an unnatural angle, and surrounded by broken glass. Her black eyes were open a crack."
Minotaur 1.1Death's acrid stench clung to the air around Varan. The sickly rot of infection bubbled up, oozing from his shoulder. There was nothing he could do chained to the stone wall with a guard at the door. Arrow splinters trapped in his flesh were killing him slowly.
His death should have been swift on the battlefield, but instead he was ambushed while he bathed. He'd cut down seven men before the poisoned arrow made him too weak to lift his ax. The poison wasn't lethal, unfortunately. Its purpose was to render him unconscious for interrogation.
His sire, the famous Conqueror of Brundan, must be laughing from the afterlife. Even shame failed to g
Mother Nature's WrathThe supposed deity, Mother Nature, was always present on the backwater planet. The bitter cold wind, stinging Bosch's face and ruffling his fur, was a constant reminder of her wrath. At least the sun was shining as he trudged through the deep snow.
"Machu's hungry." Shelly, his small human mate, lagged behind him. The snow was knee deep for her, but she struggled through without complaint.
He did not speak her language, but the translator implanted in his ear understood most human words.
"Soon." In the distance, he still saw the human structure they had escaped. He had killed the humans, but now they were in a race against time. Rescue was
"A sharp pain sliced the back of her head where she bumped the faucet. A wave of nausea washed over her. She touched her scalp to feel it wet and raw. A generous amount of warm blood covered her hand, making her tremble. She stared, stunned. This wasn't part of the plan."
^neurotype
"your tongue is the spark and your breath is propane."
nontraditional haiku for dirty filthy lovers"cherry"
*
blossoms
wilt her
peace
"sea legs"
fresh clover
seeks lips
"petits morts"
bright
crunching leaves
a gasp
Fallterminal—
my grandmother, crumbling
leaves
Liar, liarFlames are dripping from your lips. They puddle around your shoes and lick their way back up your legs. They sear the surrounding air; your tongue is the spark and your breath is propane. Soon, ash cascades across the ground and spills into the gutters. Your pants are on fire.
"ash cascades across the ground and spills into the gutters."
^JZLobo
"His muscles sing with the release of pent-up energy; his body reverberates with exhilaration as instincts are indulged."
Lone WolvesPhoenix was unused to being the prey. The werewolf was usually the top predator of whatever environment it settled into. But that was back on Earth. Out here in space, other worlds had bred bigger and scarier things. Case in point: the monstrous, pulsing blue mass of hunger and rage that currently had a seven-foot brown werewolf scrambling for his life. It was all Phoenix could do to stay ahead of it in this desert terrain. Werewolves were kings of the night, but as the distant mountains began to illuminate, Phoenix wondered if this would be his final dawn.
Every sinew and muscle in his body strained from exertion. His entire being burned from adrenaline and fear. Even with this world’s lighter gravity allowing him to jump higher and move faster than ever before, he was pushing himself like he had never pushed himself before. His claws dug into craggy rocks as he scaled the sheer cliffside sixty feet high. This would be impossible back on Earth, but life and death drove him
One is the Loneliest NumberOptimus Prime wasn't sure why he had come here. The journey to "Dinobot Island" and Black's laboratory had an almost dream-like quality in his memory banks and he had only gotten here five cycles ago. He'd managed to avoid the Dinobots during his journey, thankfully - he didn't want to be bothered. But now he was here and wondering just what force had compelled him to make this expedition.
He stood motionless as he recalled the last time he had been here, some weeks ago. Blackarachnia had extorted him to fetch a component for Prometheus Black so he could experiment on her and the scientist had, of course, betrayed her. Optimus had acted with
FurorEvery year, spring brings new life and new opportunities, but with these also come new threats, new dangers. On a warm spring night, deep within a Montana forest, yet another of these primal dramas has come to fruition. Flora and fauna which had established their own footholds on life are trampled and pushed aside underneath three werewolves without a second thought. At this moment, The Chase is their only concern.
This deep within the forest, the green foliage is dense enough to snap back in the face of the immense brown werewolf charging his way through it. But he shrugs off the blows, his drive and focus more effective than any painkillers. His fur catches in the branches, leaving behind coffee-colored knots snared amongst the leaves, and even that barely slows down his pace. He feels like half a tree is tangled up within the braid that hangs off the back of his head. But as great a nuisance as the forest growth can be, it has to be doubly hindering for his quarry ahead. The disrupt
"A million bubbles emerge from the water, carrying a barely-managed growl as they reach the surface. The trespasser twists and brings his claws to bear, but by now he is already weakened by a burning lack of oxygen."
The Serial Suggesters
These little gems suggested more than one thing that got DD'ed since the 10th of January...
=LadyofGaerdon
- Eight DD's suggested"My heart needn't beat, to belong to you.
And yours needn't beat, to beckon me."
This Strange World That No Longer Contains YouThey say I'm like you. I hope they're right. They've been saying it for a long time.
My parents always wonder how they ended up with such a polite, demure, sweet, pure little thing. Though of course you and everyone else know what a hellion I can be. But I certainly didn't get any of those aforementioned positive qualities from them. I have you to thank for those.
You raised the entire family and handfuls of our friends. You are Grama to the entire town. But you're my Grama, (even if you're really my great-grandmother), and I was the lucky one out of all of us who seems to have taken after you.
They tell me I'm positive. I'm strong. I'm resilient. I'm not sure I see it. But they said the same about you, and I certainly saw that. They say I'm taking news of your death positively, because I'm glad that even though I was not present, my friends were, your other grandchildren, yours because they were mine. Or perhaps the other way around. I'm sure your cooking earned me more than my
Sepulchre SolaceIt doesn't matter that I can't see your eyes, love.
I've already memorized the deep azure,
and if I stare deeply into the night sky above
I can find their hue, their shimmer in the twinkling starlight.
So it is of little matter that they remain closed
as I lie beside you on your bed of satin,
twisting my fingers through your long, dark hair.
It is longer than when I last saw you,
as you drew shallow, shaky breaths, and I drew you against me,
your frail form clutching with feeble strength
before they took you away.
They didn't want us together, love, you see.
So they hid you away from me, tried to tell me you were gone.
But I knew
"I did not fall in love with plump, crimson lips
now withered blue, against my own."
`Kneeling-Glory
- Six DD's suggested"the pale of your lips cracked
with thirst for that which
will not claim you;"
BoyMany women will write poetry
from you. They will translate
your nose into an apostrophe
your smile to the front side
of a parentheses, the back
to tears only once admitted.
They will filter your father's ashes
into adverbs that define your fingers
quaking along skin and sin
toward fibrous paper.
They will dismiss your flaws
as improperly placed commas
or periods born before their time.
They will inspect, perfect
& infect you with emotions
you never learned to muster.
But none of them will know
you as I did: a boy, bent
beneath the waves of love
and glad for it.
Desolateif you are parched tonight,
the pale of your lips cracked
with thirst for that which
will not claim you;
if you hunger -
the deep and shallow collapsing
into slivered vibrations;
if blindness rejects you, says
no, watch now.
this is the way of it;
if you are breathing the world
into cinders, inhaling each poison
on purpose, striving
toward an apocalypse
because that is chaos
we can categorize,
then you may understand.
"if you are breathing the world
into cinders, inhaling each poison
on purpose, striving
toward an apocalypse
because that is chaos
we can categorize,
then you may understand."
=SilverInkblot
- Five DD's suggested"He has quick handwriting, scripted and elegant, but just obscure enough that you have to put a little effort into deciphering it."
Finish LinesI wonder where the
finish line is when you're a
long distance runner,
and how you know when you get there.
I wonder where long
distance runners are going
and if they're lonely on the way,
knowing they're leagues ahead of everyone,
alone.
Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.
It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.
It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupia
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic ki
"He's teaching me about teaching and I'm learning about learning, and perhaps a thing or two about depth perception in the fourth dimension."
*Mrs-Freestar-Bul
- Three DD's suggested"Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again"
AttachedI grew roots for my heart
in every twisted chamber
Hitting the ground, deep down layers of earth
There, sleeps every vein I have
Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever young
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from ?
I live where stars grow bigger on a light breeze
Where butterflies were once flowers
Where God blessed my garden in Eden with peace
There, where I lay on a cloud softer than foam
When the day splits into two halves, you see me
My steps are as light as those of a chamois
My hair running wild; wings of an
The martyr of loveI am still a stranger in your battlefield
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting the ground under your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out
You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more
I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Le
"There, sleeps every vein I have"
*xlntwtch
- Three DD's suggested"And you'd better stop cussing even in your thoughts, because you already know none of these Arapahos, a huge family, ever cuss. Not even in joyful moments, like saying "Fuck yeah!" the way your hippie friends do. It just isn't done here. Still, you're thinking "fuckity-fuck" about a damn chicken. "
THAT Woman First they said, "No wind chimes outside the cottages. Three warnings will be given, then you are subject to eviction."
My Granny said, "Humph. I like my old bamboo windchime. I can't even reach it no more to take it down. It's gonna stay, dammit, and I will too."
I told Granny, "Not if they evict you, you won't. I can take it down."
She looked at me over her reading glasses, with that Look she has.
"If anyone's evicted, you can go with em, Sonny. I'm stayin put. Me and that damn windchim
The Music in the Water Hank told her not to put her tent by the creek, but she did.
He figured the young girl wouldn't listen to him, whether she was his cousin or not. He was just an old man by her reckoning, and Hank knew many young folks rarely listened to old men.
Hell, Hank was an old man by his own reckoning. Every winter morning told him that.
The cold said, "You're an old man who can barely get out of bed. It hurts too much to move. Will you make it today?"
He had so far, though sometimes it was dicey.
But Dinah arrived on a beautiful spring morning.
The meadows were alive with wildflowers, bluejays, bees and long gr
"we sat under her stunted pear tree, the one with no fruit but with good shade. She got a boy at a box-store to load it in her car late one night, the boy completely unaware that the pear tree was "acquired." "
`KathrynODriscoll
- Three DD's suggested (Awkwaaard)"The girl with the Frankensteined heart."
ShockwaveFoetal
Trying to fold the pain up
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
Curled up
Protective
But the shockwaves come
Pulsing from inside
Destroying cells
Radiocactive
Curled up
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
Trying to fold the pain up.
Foetal.
StitchesStitches
Her name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any m
MutantHear me read it
I am a mutant.
| My skin does not sallow in the sun
and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
| I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
although my spine;
it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.
"deep in the equilibrium of my thoughts,
hides a parasitic truth, grinding its teeth on mine."
~reflectionsinwater
- Two DD's suggested"A pinch of snuff, the hazel saffron sprouts.
Half cocoa, half milk, shells swollen with rum,
How sweet at first before it burns bitter and dry!"
'if i could erase war'if i could erase war,
all the pencil marks on their plans,
those ones with silvery figurines in a game,
would be gunned down and torn
if i could erase war,
a lachrymal blimp of sorrows in my ear,
there would be no more sirens above my house.
if i could erase war,
then maybe one day, dad could return home
from the wine-stained skies.
if i could erase war,
those thundering cannons with their roar
would no loner be echoing to the dead.
if i could erase war,
the drizzling rain that would come tomorrow,
wouldn't become a shrieking storm dripping to toes.
if i could erase war,
those plagues carried by the wind
would no longer be s
Paper BirdsAlways so gentle
Born of wood from my mind,
Incinerated in the trailing blaze
Rebirth, hatred of all Life, then
Death of a gentle nature.
See me fly away now,
In the rains of embers,
Fall is
Folding her paper birds
For you.
"but i can't erase war,
because then meadows would just be meadows
over catacombs, and they wouldn't cry for our names
six feet above."
`OfOneSoul
- Two DD's suggested"October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never accept rides from hillbilly truck drivers in the middle of nowhere.""
Monkeying AroundRex likes to play with his meat.
Each meal is a game and a treat.
Along came the lemurs,
caring not for strong femurs;
his arms are too short to reach.
Dear Daddy's GirlDear Naive 15,
You're ignorant as Hell.
You dress in baggy blue jeans, wear an oversized hoodie every day, and never let your hair down. Students at school, and even your mom, think you're gay… and you don't even know.
All of your classmates blame you for a burn book that circulated after that Mean Girls movie. Everyone thinks you're a jealous bitch and secretly they mock you. How can you not see that?
Your teachers are all positive that you cut yourself and that you're always on drugs. Even now you have no idea why they ask you to take your jacket off during class. Could it be that you always wear long sleeves?
It's okay, sweetheart.
Disillusioned
"You girls need a ride?"
October looked up, letting her eyes stray from the gravel beneath her feet. She had been walking along the highway for so long she had started counting her steps to pass the time, hoping that when she finally looked up she would see civilization. Abigail ran to the truck driver's passenger door, haphazardly pushing past October as if she had never ridden in a vehicle before.
October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never acce
"She threw the rock into his face, leaving him no longer recognizable as a human being. He was scum; a rock to meld into the Earth and eventually be covered in blood-stained moss. After a few more thrusts, Abigail tossed the rock aside lazily."
The Singular Suggesters
and last, but definitely not least, these marvellous deviants suggested something that got DD'ed since the 10th of January...
`thetaoofchaos
"hoarding a crown of bedcovers to my chest"
windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,
as lithe as your impermanence.
and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,
spoonholed piles of mexican brick
where nothing ever touches down,
nothing here alive receives
the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,
the ugly wind that meets the mudline.
[metaphors]
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i’m a souless
speck
i lick at what is manifest
beneath your
Comforter
Every
Residualtoday’s reason to keep living:
i thought of this six word story:
here’s a pen, let’s end this.
i survive, a blossom that heaves through winter
like a lonely citystate, an intemperate Sodom
waiting for God’s discrimination. i see it
foaling its own diminishment
when it had no right to colour
me. and i’m reminded of how i
start each morning with an ambered prayer
and end the darkness with a glass bullet
that i have taught how to dance.
still i spin an echo, a copy of
desolation, the weight of a single judgment. i see
the sun spill out of the dull morning. muted and mocked,
caged in iron weights that tug
"a vital atom of myself, sliding away, laced in
cold imperatives, split and sequenced for a final fall."
*JakesException
"fiddling out a swan song
of choral pleads."
:thumb338276531:
"tainted hands curling and
statements retracting
now the podium is red"
`HaveTales-WillTell
"And my coughing jags, once intermittent, have become deeper and far more frequent; in fact, a given spasm can last for hours or even days, to the point where I'm left hacking up nothing but fumes."
Alzheimer'sHis house is made of crumbling slats
of rotted knotted oak
peeling paint
and weakened joints.
The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
dragging fresh sunlight in
and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
he visits the front porch
less and less often.
He prefers to explore
those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.
Old Age Should BurnLike so many before me, during the twilight of my years my belly has expanded dramatically, even as I've lost so much of that which once gave me structure and strength. My frail skin has turned a fierce and blotchy red, with innumerable breakouts and occasional massive flareups. I'm no longer the bright light of the party which not so long ago I used to be, nor do my most intimate lifelong companions find me to be anywhere near as scorchingly hot as I was in my prime. Several of them, in fact, have already abandoned me.
With advanced age, even basic control over the simplest of bodily functions has been compromised. Lately, for example, I've
Massacre of the InnocenceGeorgie Porgie threw an orgy
just outside L.A.,
where Jack Be Nimble grabbed his thimble,
outing him as gay...
Little Jack Horner bought Time Warner
before the bubble burst,
though Jumping Jack Flash saw the crash
and liquidated first...
Jack said Jill was taking the Pill
to ward off impregnation;
the Three Blind Mice have lobbied twice
for victim's compensation...
Little Miss Muffet had her tuffet
liposuctioned out,
and L
"of rotted knotted oak
peeling paint
and weakened joints."
~burytheorchids
"The freshwater pearl necklace
didn't go with jeans"
PearlsThe freshwater pearl necklace
didn't go with jeans, tank tops, shorts,
oversized sweaters, nightmares,
tangled hair, broken clocks,
or old tee shirts,
but I still wore it
everywhere,
as part of a perpetual tribute
to the woman who gave it to me.
until it broke in the bathtub,
and pearls went flying everywhere,
and my momma paid
forty-five dollars
for it to be locked in a drawer.
Resolutions (New Year's Hiakus)I lean up and peck
you on the cheek, flushed with joy
at our New Year’s Eve
celebrations. We
may have many distant dreams,
but now I kiss you,
and feel your face flush,
and the cloudy sky seems lit
by two brilliant suns.
So this year I seek
not money, beauty, or health
but to live like this:
with you at my side
and with my mind at peace, just
the way I am now.
Burger QueenShe ate her French fries as if she were high society. She cut each one into small pieces with her plastic fork and knife, then pierced one with her fork and dipped it into her side of ketchup. Then she raised it to her mouth and nibbled it. When she went to take a drink from her small Coke, she did so with her pinky raised and only drank in small sips. She set her drink down gently, as if it were a delicate china cup she was afraid of breaking.
I looked around and sighed. The burger joint reeked of humanity. Grease hung in the air like humidity, and there was tension between everyone, as if all the customers were negative magnets repelling e
"The burger joint reeked of humanity."
*riparii
"from the bowstring of a word"
Crows"Crows," I whisper and she flies,
brown arrow shot
from the bowstring of a word.
DormantSleep and sway and constancy
rain, two steady days, then three--
the horses crackle through the leaves
and stamp away the mud.
Brown grass lies tired, over-grazed,
bit down from roots to dirt
but winter lends her sympathy.
Her breath, the sharp-edged air;
her arms, the gaunt-limbed trees;
she paces, slow
where field mice cross themselves
against the shadow of the wing
and sacrifice their young.
I go wordless, spellbound
trading bravery for sleep,
alone and sound; a bed
where I abandon you,
the livid world I sought,
I find
that I was never yours
and you were never mine.
SaltBefore you were ready
you took to the sea
and I smiled at you
with the fine white teeth
of a shark
Before I was ready
your hands harbored me
in deep water and stars
where my wrinkled soul
swaying and slow
opened its foam-grey eyes
"I smiled at you
with the fine white teeth
of a shark"
=SingingFlames
"The Rust Sea spread across Cybertron's equator, an immense red scar across its surface. Erratic pillars twisted into the sky. Corrosive gasses bled from the ground, slowly eating the land away, turning everything to an endless expanse of rust. "
Transformers: All for One - Friendly FireTitle: All for One – Friendly Fire
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None (trust me)
Author's Note: Thundercracker tries to break up a fight between his trine mates, with unforeseen consequences. This is the sixth part of the 'All for One' series, but each one is a standalone fic and can be read without any knowledge of the others. Internet cookies to anyone who notices the Star Trek reference. Time conversions – klik: 1.2 minutes, joor: 6 hours, solar cycle: 1 day, deca-cycle: approximately 3 weeks, vorn: 83 years. Talking through comm channels is shown, ::like this.::
"You killed him." Skywarp stared at the body. He, Starscr
Transformers: Interior DecoratingTitle: Transformers: Interior Decorating
Universe: G1
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Note: This is my Flash Fan Fiction for the emotion theme of “Festive.” We didn't need to include the actually word, just the mood. I'm not sure I really succeeded. This is more in preparation for a festive time. Word count: 290
“You said I could!”
“No, I said if you insisted on this idiocy, to take it far away from me,” Starscream growled. “At no point did I give you permission to steal my paint.”
“Or mine,” Thundercracker chimed in.
“The storage bays aren't close to you a
TF: Entomophobia - Halloween TradeTitle: Entomophobia
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Disturbing imagery
Author's Note: This is my submission for the TF-SecretSanta Halloween Trade for xDeadlyxxxDesirex. This is a Halloween story, so I tried for scary. It's not as lighthearted as my normal fics, although it has its humorous moments (I couldn't help myself). I pulled on two personal fears of mine when I wrote this, to try and add some real creepiness to it. I hope it works. Time conversions: Klik 1.2 minutes, Nanoklik approximately 1 second. Comm transmissions are marked with colons – ::like this.::
The Rust Sea spread across Cybertron's equator, an immense red s
"Skywarp fidgeted, his optics darting from the entrance to his busy leader."
*UnspecifiedUnknown
" the ash of this poetry
will be teemed unclosed to undone,
scattered and doubled in the design of the sacrificial eyes
of Dajabón."
Reversed Singularity? but of time, i do digress
& my intentions have been writ
in sumerian, and dreamt; but
here to live obsolete:
swift swing, precarious pang
with my heart's guiltless intention
--fingernails scratch & fit
your name; tasting still
succulence, feeling still
tyranny of will, being still
drowned cortex-deep, hearing still
--the wisp of a faltered laughter
sheltered & swaying & playing
amongst the dead, the horned
honoured and torn, formed
long and forlorn'd--
oh time, my bittersweet demise
dying is no longer a sacred art
and is sincerity in its purest form
cloaked with fault & artless bourne
antelaphobiaI have been warped by instance. I am light-stroked stardust posted past laconic theories of relativity. My essentiality has been broken down and integrated within three kings and their chaotic ambivalence, residing in the North American skies. I am sematic ghost-fumes and lethargic cosmic bonds, found faltering beyond Earth-bound shooting stars. I am the loose-limbed willowed substance of Lady Aurora’s saturated bosom; an acronychal rising. I am the zeitgeist of time itself, ageless and dug from the apt Taoist eyes of yesterday.
Silence conspires for me: quivering quiescence. Solitude is my petrichor, and I am victim to torrential dow
the birth of strugglelisten: we are but simply
listlessly drunken tragic historians, and these
jaded bones seek to unravel
the space in time between antediluvian soil
and ingested sun. they seek
to measure, reinvent, and project the reciprocal
cause and effect of our beings as sound. they
coil and ignite, purging cortexial limbs by flame
of hedonistic tendency and
incandescent prowl. the ash of this poetry
will be teemed unclosed to undone,
scattered and doubled in the design of the sacrificial eyes
of Dajabón. we parry what is perceivable
by essence; the toned actuality of naked
light, and shelve our disclaim by means
of the lapsing efficienc
"I am light-stroked stardust posted past laconic theories of relativity. "
~xTintedlullabyx
"even with a knife in my hand that could easily skewer my heart, make it squirm and still like a dying nightingale – sealing its death with a pathetic squeal of almost-song. "
Speak in Silence"Baby."
That's what he would call me: Baby.
"Baby," he'd call in his don't-wake-the-living voice.
(The knob turns and the door creeps open, the scent of him drowns the room. I stare into the splashes of darkness behind my eyelids and stay still – he has the eyes of Medusa, he is always watching, he has the eyes of Medusa, he is always – "Good girl," he coos.)
"Baby," he would moan, crushing my bony wrists beneath his forearm.
(Razor blades tear into my abdomen, or maybe it's my head. My screams are muffled against his chest, until I no longer bother to scream.)
"Baby," he'd say, his arms like prison bars, keeping me in Hell.
(Tears spi
I bet you cut"I bet you cut yourself," he says and it takes
All of me and more, and there is nothing to take. I laugh
and cry a little inside. Die a little more and smile
"Of course not."
He stares at me and it's like one of those dreams where you're
Naked and I want to shove my guts in my mouth and burn in Heaven,
rip my scalpel through my thigh, throw my skull at a window and let the
Pain in my body overwhelm the pain in my heart.
"I'm joking," he says and I think I should feel bad for him, instead I
Hate him a little. He's grinning and I think about how I'd love to
Carve his face into the Joker.
"I know," I say and I hate myself a little, t
Suicide or Tea?Should I kill myself or have a cup of tea?
I decide on the latter and I'm not sure why. Probably because I can. Life is a never-ending scroll of be-goods, be-happies, be-in-controls, be-okays, be-strongs and be-appreciatives. So what's another day?
Just another day closer to death.
Still, life seems incredibly long, don't you think? So long, it's hard to see the end and nearly impossible to touch – even with a knife in my hand that could easily skewer my heart, make it squirm and still like a dying nightingale – sealing its death with a pathetic squeal of almost-song.
Life is pain and people in pain are a pain in the ass. Perhap
"I breathe and the steam sinks to the bottom – wherever that is – and I laugh because I think that is all I am. A never-ending abyss of steam. Not air, not fire, not water, not earth. Just steam.
With chamomile tea for a soul. "
*veddabredda
"And for your sword you take a pen
You dip it in blue ink and then
Take every thought that's worth a damn
Onto the battlefield again."
ButterflyAll of your hues are shades of blue
They colour everything you do
Your insides and your outsides too
Have battle scars both old and new.
And for your sword you take a pen
You dip it in blue ink and then
Take every thought that's worth a damn
Onto the battlefield again.
Protect your bones from sticks and stones
Defend your ears from howls and moans
And though this world be full of woes
Your blades of blue the sadness hones.
Together we shall never yield
You have the sword, I'll be your shield
And maybe on this battlefield
Your open wounds may yet be healed.
Haiku collectioncaressed by no one
the miracle of life is
wasted on a sock
***
my new best friends are
Chekov and Aristotle
hello, sleepless night
***
i am embarrassed
(always the grammar nazi)
the phrase is 'to whom'
***
i am a tumbleweed
my bitter and wry presence
highlights solitude
UntitledThe world is such a whirlwind of emotions
I often feel like I get left behind
Or maybe like I'm going through the motions
While never truly being intertwined.
I've been in love, it's true, but not much longer
Than it would take for me to be replaced
And though what doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Your weakness also needs to be embraced.
I want to crave, to wish and to desire
And have my wish fulfilled by someone great
But I am not in Cupid's line of fire
So here I am, just trying not to hate.
The greatest thing as far as I'm concerned
Is just to love and be loved in return.
"i am a tumbleweed
my bitter and wry presence
highlights solitude"
*leyghan
"a bottle
rum dark
throttled by
daddy's hands"
ThirstyThe evening sweats
a bottle
rum dark
throttled by
daddy's hands
small feet drags
thirsty heart
outside
to swig the moon
Finders Keepers 5They stood frozen for a few moments, transfixed by the tableau. A swarm of tiny, green plasmabugs had already descended and were feasting on the sticky, dripping blood. The satyr’s eyes continued to roll crazily then he spoke. “Aendh gwy tok. Aendh … uss…hydrk. Tala, ettles. Uss, deen gwy tok.” Thick, garbled words that none of them understood.
“We have to help him,” Moira cried. There was a boa constrictor in her chest making it difficult to breathe. This was worse than a dead body. Far worse. She couldn’t stand to look at him and yet she couldn’t look away.
“It’s too late
"The inn they approached was a large, two story cottage with flowering vines festooning its walls and eaves. "
`cybergranny
"you made me cry,
you made me crack,"
ShiversShivers of love - shivers of pleasure
you made me smile,
you made me laugh, baby.
Shivers of fear - shivers of tears
you made me cry,
you made me crack,
Baby?
Shivers of hate - shivers of despair
you made me mad,
you made me kill you/ baby!
A walk in my life translatedPart 1: flashbacks
I. Fly
a dead bird saved me
because a dead bird
can not eat
chocolate
Est-ce que vous le saviez? (Did you know it?)
II. white walls
no shouts no hair pulling
my mother worries
mon frère et moi (my brother and I)
diapers removed
on the walls we draw,
masterpieces deleted.
III. Heat
no
no says the voice
I put my hand nonchalantly
on the plate of the stove
c’est chaud (it’s hot)
IV. Snow
I dance to the sound of snowflakes
they melt under my tongue
as the carpet
under a heated tin
je mets le feu à ce poème (I light this poem to fire)
Part 2: wanderings in my mind
V. The mountain
I really wanted
but I tell you
it slips, it slips, it slips
Il fait si froid (it's so cold)
scalped by an Indian
locked with pigs
kidnapped by an orang-utan
j’aimerais mieux (I would like better )
VI. Jungle
iguanas and bats
have fun
over my head
Bagheera
"diapers removed
on the walls we draw,
masterpieces deleted."
`zebrazebrazebra
"these cups could be
flowerpots for a healthy crop of petunias"
clark kentSilver eyeshadow and a blush; smack lips
and sway hips. The nail file's on overtime
and the glitter's out sick. Snap bra strap,
winking at the mirror; stars could get lost
in this cleavage, and these cups could be
flowerpots for a healthy crop of petunias
or baskets for hot air balloons, if I chose.
Tonight I'm juxtaposing crepe with Lycra;
all those stubborn parts sedated, yielding
like cats before the leap. Skirt the colour
and size of a blackbird's wing and knickers
tight enough to make me sing. Peep show
smile; big hairstyle. Just the faintest smell
of wine. And I close the phone booth door
without a single sound:
tonight I don't fear K
dear teen meDear Sarah,
Remember that time you tried to top yourself by hiding under the covers? That was hilarious. I remember you tugging at the edges of the blanket and praying, without a shred of scientific evidence, that the lack of oxygen would be enough to kill you. You sat under there for something like fifteen minutes before you gave up and went to make a sandwich. But while you were under there, choking a little on your pillow because you never washed your sheets, I remember you thought someone was watching. Someone who understood your suffering. Someone who understood you.
Kid, that was me. And I've got two words for you: man up. Life can get a whole lot harder than this. Before too much longer, it's going to. And by the time you get to my age, you're going to be glad.
Why were you
the hanged manThis little red book you call the human body:
take it up and shake it. Shake the flaking pages
out of it, shake it from endpaper to endpaper
until the last of the phrases are gone; shake it
until it's aching and empty, the soul of a bird.
I will give you new words.
"You're still under the blankets, clinging to a scientifically preposterous method of suicide."
~Laeneris
"just another human passing through the darkness, waiting to arrive somewhere"
"the whole page was filled with deep-red circles and ellipses. They were spread across the page in a chaotic matter, some of them intertwining or surrounding others. The longer I stared at them, the more I was able to convince myself that they were actually moving, turning, over and over again. The center of the page was marked by a black dot that seemed to drip as if it was drawn with wet paint. It was a perfect representation of what I imagined my head to look like from the inside, and that knowledge scared me enough for me to forget to breathe for a few seconds."
`GrimFace242
"Just a breath of space between them."
Behind Blue EyesShe lay on her bed, unable to even get out of it and walk around her own home. Having had visitors most of the day, she was grateful for the peace and quiet her empty room gave her.
Looking across the room to the long mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she saw her brilliant blue eyes sparkling back. Not a day went by that she didn't look in that mirror and see those soft eyes returning her gaze. Not since she bought that mirror all those years ago.
As she looked at her reflection, she wondered if her eyes had always been that shade of blue. The night she was born, when she opened her eyes for the first time and looked at her mother
Not Ready To Let Go
Jane knew exactly why she'd ran away from the ball toss and toward the Ferris wheel that all her friends were riding. It wasn't the accidental touch of her hand on his. It wasn't the surprise of seeing whose hand she touched. No, it was the look on his face when she turned and saw him looking down at their hands. It had been at least fifteen years since they'd seen each other, and here they were running into each other for the third time in less than a week.
The first had been while she was helping her brother move into his new house. Not too much of a surprise as he was her brother's best friend since they were all little kids.
The se
"The clink of the pen hitting the hardwood floor was the last thing she heard as she stared into the mirror across the room on the back of her door at the brilliant blue eyes that no longer sparkled."
`MagicalJoey
"No longer did pride puff up its points
Or ego edify its actions."
Dear MeDear Me
8-2-13
My English teacher taught me to start a letter
With my address in the top right;
But you don’t need to know where you live.
I must admit, I haven’t been kind to you over the last couple of years,
But then again was I ever kind to you?
I ate too much and made you an overweight child – friendless – though
The Depression was not my doing;
For that we blame God.
For so many years I have hated you for who you are;
Overweight, depressed, Bipolar, awkward in social settings,
Shy, introverted, emotional, rarely trusting or risking anything
With anyone.....
.....but now comes the time to confess how I truly
Thank You Friends
Thank You Friends
23-01-11
She's tired of being alone;
Of not having that someone
Who loves her despite the scars,
Loves her despite her past,
Loves her beyond the outside, the cover.
She's tired of not getting flowers
From someone who loves her enough
To buy them, even if there is no 'occasion' to celebrate.
She's tired of having no money;
Of always having to beg
Despite her parents' embarrassment.
She wants to be able to buy her dog a bed,
Buy herself groceries,
But her family cannot afford it
And neither can she – unless
She sells cushions
Or someone needs proofreading.
She's tired of having to beg
Her online frien
For GoodFor Good
12-09-11
100 Themes #3 - Making History
Two stars, both burning brightly,
Were two stars that shouldn't have met...
Yet they did,
And burned all the brighter for being together.
A large and shiny gold star,
Like a beacon of good luck
Or the ones teachers give for good work,
Was the one everyone wanted to be like.
The tiny green star,
Almost too small to shine,
Was the bogey in Heaven's nose.
Nobody wanted to be like that little star;
It was green for Oz's Sake.
But together they shone better and brighter.
The green star became slightly larger,
Shone more brightly,
And became Heaven's gloopy teardrop
Mourning the s
"in the tiredness and racoon eyes"
`tiganusi
"the smile
on your ink-stained lips when you're found will say: I beat the mirror"
Maybe Anne Sexton Was On To Somethingconsider your car's steering wheel in your grip
as you turn the key in the ignition and the smoke
starts to sputter—you can't smell it, yet, only ink
under your fingernails and that half-full glass
of vodka whose twin burned a half-lit smile
on the face in your fogged rearview mirror.
consider the first time you'll look in a mirror
and see old eyes—the world's babyfingered grip
around them pinching crows'-feet when you smile
your forced smile—through your exhaled smoke.
like a death-echo of youth you'll grab a glass
of mediocre vodka and stain your lips with ink
from a thirty-cent black pen—the same cheap ink
you used for your wedding invitations. the mirror
will be your muse—that villainous square pane of glass
that confronts you with your reality: you've lost your grip
on your metabolism and all those cigarettes you smoked
made your mouth look like rotting corn when you smile.
you'll close your mouth, and at least then the sadist smile
will abandon you.
The Libra HusbandI.
they can get you
in East Hampton for wearing red shoes
on a Thursday
I don't know whether you knew
that--I mean--do you know
that?
II.
it's very hot in New York City
I like the terrible noise
you hear at night and all these terrible
drilling sounds--I never go to sleep
unless the whole pavement is jumping
outside and it's a hundred degrees
III.
when I go to New York City I see myself
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
this is the revolutionary costume:
I never wear this
in East Hampton.
IV.
I'm not gonna spend another winter
in East Hampton--
in the first place I can't
I just can't
I can't spend another winter
out here in the country
I can't do it
I'm telling you--I can't
I can't get my figure back
unless I hit New York City
V.
any little rat's nest
in New York City
any little mouse hole
any little rat hole
even on Tenth Avenue
I would like better
it's all a question
of who you want to
"you've lost your grip
on your metabolism and all those cigarettes you smoked
made your mouth look like rotting corn when you smile."
*Vigilo
"And the sunrise, the nightfall, come so skittishly!
Clutched by young hands,
Awake … lively …"
On Ariadnethe loom of lust:
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.
the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.
the death, or descent:
Spin,
6 Lies To Tell Yourself If ShipwreckedFish are not unlovely,
not pimples on the face of the sea,
but ornaments;
the hook that reels them
in is the hook of an earring
as it passes an earlobe.
Women aren't stranded on the sea,
denies a deep-rooted loneliness clutching
two women framed by the horizon
together but never really ever at all.
The most overwhelming thing is
too overwhelming to –
Bodily pleasures are not either,
bodily, if they happen
while out of your mind,
or pleasurable,
if they happen
in the open space out of sight.
This is one for science:
Stockholm syndrome will
not happen while utterly alone,
because the sea cannot be
– is not –
yo
The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.
Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.
On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechle
"her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet"
~craazhy
"The notes that managed to escape Richard's guitar were low and bitter. Not to the degree of a bass-guitar, but low. "
The Whistle I began to notice a subtle and insignificant pattern in the way people spoke before there was color television. It's never been my intention to be vague or deliberately enigmatic. Sometimes it was the way the world was.
It was my honest observation that people from the early 1900's to the middle of the century had this peculiar tendency to whistle their letters. I thought that maybe it was the recording equipment they used, but the sound was too distinct. This led me to realize the human capacity for social homogeneity facilitated by very subconscious actions. By the end of the day, however, I'd chalked the sound up to old age.
I thought
Cigarettes and StrawberriesI am the secret that was never told.
I am the triumph that will never unfold.
Through this gate comes the smell of chaos and copper coins.
Through this pen the vibrant grays and first brood of saints.
The spider scurried across the wood without a sound.
The passion drawn from lips.
You start to wish you had never known the light approach without noticing the sulfur on his breath.
You're truly here.
The last of the light.
The last of the warmth.
It slips out until hell is no longer a dream
and then the pain.
To the UniverseTo Lightning:
You were my enemy and my friend for the exact same reasons.
To Sound:
The only time I didn't listen to your brother is when I fell in love with you.
And don't get mad at him. He said "Don't" for both of us, even if only I, ironically, heard it.
Back then, I wasn't the kind that liked to share. You couldn't get enough of it.
Though, despite the painful ending, you were one of my favorite chapters.
To Nature:
My darling, while not your only dimension, you are the mistress of colors.
You've owned my heart forever, and only I know what forever means. But I settled with your friendship instead.
You were a dream in many a sense
"I suppose you might have called the music dark if you had spent too much time in the sun. To me, it felt like an appropriate commentary on general reality. They were just sounds, though."
#WritersInk
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Check out their chatroom here!
=jesterry
That's All Folks!
If you enjoyed this article please fave it :fave: and help these wonderful deviants get more attention. To suggest a daily deviation please check out the Community Volunteers' profile pages where they explain the terms they take suggestions on.
Please note that for most people I have featured their newest literature deviation, their most popular literature deviation and one other that I enjoyed, so there may be some that are the same as last month.
The Literature Community Volunteer Team:
`KathrynODriscoll 
And what a grand idea!
Thank you so much for the feature
And, I must say I absolutely love this "Communal Karma" concept!