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His lap was reserved for science...i still see his hands
coated in soil
coaxing seeds to life
bringing his creations to us
maybe that was his love
the calluses from wooden shovels
from making wooden fences
from the circle-purple grapes
the furry peaches
maybe he loved us
the same way the cat did
secretly perched atop my toddler bed
until dawn danced on my fluttering lids,
leaving before the morning sun
would make stark her black in the light
maybe he loved us
through the water and earth and wind
that fed his garden plants
maybe he loved us
with the force of sunlight
but we just never knew
Blue KentuckyKentucky: the Eden of infinite, rolling blue -
blue mountains smudged by God’s own thumb
into a coal blue sky, everything,
the bark of trees, the dew on grass,
kissed by blue.
That place that fills you with perfume
of honeysuckle vines and sulfur from the
mines, fills you with fear when the Screech Owl
sings her Banshee song.
The land where birds get drunk off the poke-greens’
berries, crawdads pinch fingers in the creek,
saw-briars slash bare legs and stain the hem of
your dress with blood, where moonshine freely
flows from remote and rocky hills.
Kentucky: easily lost and forgotten,
revives old women in various states of decay,
who recount their lives so that they
may grant me inheritance of the world
as it was before me.
NamesakeThey called him Striking Jonathan, which was funny, in retrospect, when they had to pull him away from a street-brawl, and tragic when they discovered that he learned to fight from his father; but at least they knew he was like them. When pressed for details from the younger kids - the ones that hadn't learned about 'couth' yet, or keeping their mouths shut - he'd just say:
"Childhood is nothing but a story to tell when you're older," which didn't disregard the fact that you are who you know; birds of a feather flock together - and they were all latchkey kids, left to their own neglect until their parents made an appearance and took over for them.
They figured, in the end, that that was why he left; took to standing on street corners instead of door-steps, until the day he got in a car and didn't return.
"D'you reckon he lost his virginity before or after he got in a car?" Beatnik - Beat Nick (their names were a part of their lives, and their lives a part of their name) - is the one to
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter side shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
Outside, rain whispers thr
Schattentaenzer Shadowdancers A Poem in German and English
Das Licht des Tages schwindet
Und die Welt liegt im Zwielicht
Ich öffne die Augen
Das ist der Augenblick in dem das Leben mich bindet
Das Zwielicht ist die Jagdzeit der Kreaturen
Die weder zu Licht noch zu Dunkelheit gehören
Wir sind die Wächter zwischen Licht und Dunkelheit
Halten die Wage zwischen Licht und Schatten
Greifen ein, wenn eine Seite überwiegt
Wir sind die Verlorenen die niemand beachtet
Die, die immer da sind, doch von niemandem wahrgenommen
Doch wer es will sieht und verschwommen
Wir sind wie die Schatten in denen wir wandeln
Immer da doch nie gesehen
Regeln alles ohne dass ihr es versteht
Wir schützen euch ohne das ihr es merkt
Tun im Verborgenen unser Werk
Leben und sterben ungesehen
The light of the day is fading
And the world lays in twilight
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*3500 Point Giveaway [CLOSED] #3 xD
This is the first time I make a giveaway with great prizes, so I can help many more people with good rewards, so any help is always very welcome!
Just for anyone interested and/or that is really needed points, simply follow info.
*and if you want help, please contribute a small or big donation, would be a great value! ♥
Enter in my profile page: ~~Help-donate-points~~
---------- [Bullet; Blue] [Bullet; Green] ----------
My other giveaway already closed:
My 2nd Point Giveaway Winners:
Another giveaway that you can enter:
My 3rd Point Giveaway Winners! :PFinally my 3rd giveaway ended!
and the winners are:
1st Winner - 1000
nº 1398 - :iconAthenaMags:
2nd Winners - 500
nº 622 - :iconLittle-drawing-Girl: and nº 135 - :iconFluffy-Bearr:
3rd Winners - 250
nº 997 - :iconiYuya:; nº 2030 - :iconxXLizardmask21Xx: and nº 1143 - :iconCaityFanFerrer:
4th Winners - 125
RevelationThe couch beneath me is old
The cappuccino machine across the room?
Younger than I am
For a moment I forget why I’m here
Coffee? Conversation? Company?
Feedback from the mic grates against my eardrums
While patrons chatter with excitement
One performer, two performer, three
Each one weaving words with artistic grace
The first lights a spark
Second sets down the tinder
Third fans the flames
I am pulled aside for a moment
My attention drawn to my heart
I lace my fingers through his
As he asks if I want to leave
I tell him no, It’ll be over soon
But really I want to hear what they have to tell me
About myself, themselves
Heat and emotion mingles with smooth laughter
An amused look from my other half
Is met by a smile
Sweet words warm those who hear them
While leaving my bitter drink growing cold
The personal glances of an impersonal audience
Draws me inward
Old dreams reignited with the hope of a future
I thought was lost
It’s only when the fourth artist speaks
With a da
seasonedeveryone tells her that she has a wicked left hook.
with a loose fist, she swings -
the room reeks of perspiring masculinity and fusty equipment.
blinding lights and a roaring crowd -
leather pummeled against flesh, struck the temple:
the coveted skull gave way and her opponent, hollowed and limp
collapsed to the wood in a heap of sweat and blood,
stained the mat with crimson; alas -
she swings again, clenching her heavy fist on impact.
the bag curls around the glove, absorbing - feeling.
nothing but here and now,
no one other than herself.
I Belong HereI went down to the rainy river one night, hoping to lose myself in the cold, clear waters.
Foggy, warm, the smell of wood smoke drifting down the banks; I stood in the middle of the current, knowing if I was sucked under no one would find me for quite some time. I could hear the pealing of the church bells in the village, miles away, carried softly to me on the faint breeze. They reminded me of the distance I had put between myself and those walls, the distance between the people sitting in those pews and the world I had escaped to.
I blocked out the bells. I blocked out the birds coming down to the water for a drink before putting down for the night; I blocked out the howling of hunting dogs picking up my scent several miles down the trail; I blocked out even the sound of the water bugs, floating and flitting across the top of the rushing water. I blocked out all but the beat of my heart and the sound of the stars far above -- I could feel them calling to me, and even as I stood chest
Old FriendsThe visit happened suddenly, and to her complete nonsurprise.
She had been typing up a report on various South Asian butterflies when he had simply appeared in her room, as casually as if they had agreed beforehand to meet there. “Hello,” he said calmly from the doorway. “Don’t mind me.”
“Hello there,” she replied, just as casually. “You’re always welcome here.” She didn’t bother turning around, knowing that, at her age, she would no longer be able to see him. She was aware that she was far beyond the age where visitations by imaginary friends, however beloved when younger, were considered acceptable. But she was about as bothered as she was surprised.
“It’s been a while since I last visited,” she heard him say mildly as he walked around the room, just out of her sight.
“It has,” she agreed. “Sorry, I don’t think there’s another chair here.”
“It’s all righ
Reisefieber...Endlich es ist soweit. Der erste Urlaubstag.
Ich sitze am Bahnhof. Drei Stunden bevor mein Zug eintrifft, um mich dorthin zu tragen, wo ich mein Herz verlor. Noch drei Stunden warten. Aber ich liebe es auf dem Bahnsteig zu sitzen und die Atmosphäre zu genießen. Die ein- und abfahrenden Züge, die ein leises Singsang von sich geben. Nicht mehr wie früher, dass es einem beim Bremsen fast das Trommelfell zerriss. Sondern ganz modern. Es klingt fast wie eine Tonleiter, mit leisen Tönen, die mich friedlich einlullen.
Gespannt sitze ich auf der Bank und beobachte die Gesichter der Menschen, die von einem Gleis zum anderen eilen. Es macht mir Spaß sie zu beobachten. Die Hektik in ihren Augen. Das Heimweh oder auch die Sehnsucht in die Ferne. Ich fühle es direkt in mir.
Teile ihre Anspannung und Entspannung. Menschentrauben sammeln sich um mich. Studieren ihre Fahrpläne und auch ich schaue nun zum Xten- mal auf meine Fahrkarte.