nova smilenova smile10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
6am: Rising to crackled reception,
this, the mimicked serenade to sunrise,
performed the whole world over.
8am: In the kitchen,
and a coffee cup
invite me to breakfast.
I count morning on both hands,
four espresso ribbons,
draped over the pages,
filling where ink cannot.
12pm: I lie on the small square of grass
looking up into the apex of cerulean.
Up on the gutter,
sits a bird, still,
below thick down,
ticks suck out birdsong.
one of quiet tragedy.
3pm: In the supermarket
I watch people stocking up,
I'm SorryI'm Sorry8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
today I accidentally
killed your ladybug
tangled in my mess of hair
onto my shoulder
not thinking I grabbed
for the tickle and
with a fingetip
on her round
and I watched her fade
i want toi want you love mei want to12 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
i want to love you to
i want us to be together in everything we do
i want to fall asleep next to you
i want to wake to your sweet face
i want you to share with me your beauty and your grace
i want to be there when you smile and hold you when you cry
i want to give you all the anwsers when you ask me why
i want to be able to promise you that i will forever stay
But how can i promise you this when each minute i continue to push you further away?
DA Bill of RightsDeviantART…DA Bill of Rights10 years ago in Editorial More Like This
will not prohibit freedom of speech. All deviations will be allowed as long as no individual's or animal's freedom was infringed in the artistic process.
will allow deviants to criticize staff and policies and will provide a specific forum for doing so.
will not ban deviants for actions not specifically listed in the Excessively Deviant Behavior Reference Chart. All accused deviants will be given the option for a public hearing.
will in no circumstances move deviations to scraps. If DA considers the deviation to be incorrectly categorized they will move the deviation to the correct category. If DA feels the deviations violated some individual's or some animal's freedom in the artistic process then DA may remove the deviations as long as specific reasons are given. Public polls will be held in contested cas
How to write an exciting blog1How to write an exciting blog110 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
How to write an exciting blog in 10 easy steps!
1: Live an exciting life and write about that. If you don't have a great life, make up stuff you COULD have done during the day.
2: Update atleast once per day. You don't get those all important pageviews if people don't come back every day.
3: Provoke your readers. Politics is a great way to do that. If you live in the US; write about why you support Bin Laden. If you live anywhere else; write about why you support Bush. If that fails you can pretend to have homophobia, hate _all_ animals, be a racist or become a nazi.
4: Tell about your sexlife. If you don't have one, make one up. The more sexpartners, the better.
5: Write horrible things about your friends, family and coworkers. Don't leave anything out!
6: Take and post a lot of pictures, often. Clothes are no good, try to aviod those. If you don't own a camera you should steal other peoples pictures. You should atleast get a webcam to show off yourself, and your cat/dog/whatev
FragileI'm okay with beingFragile8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gripping the folds of too-big sweater,
like an extra skin
to compensate for her own,
pulled tight over a collection
I'm okay with being
while yet imagining her hip bones,
to be hips
knowing that she would never
achieve the hourglass femininity
I'm okay with being
Jak - Look At MeJak - Look At Me9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Look At Me
Sometimes, when I listen to her talk, it's like water. Her voice is calming and soothing and a promise that there are some things that are still clean, some things that he, or I, or they haven't completely screwed up. Just like before, when I would lay out on the beach and listen to the ocean roll in and down and let it carry me to sleep. Sometimes that's her voice, to me.
Other times, though—all the time these days—there's a cold sting to her voice that I don't think she wants me to hear. A chill that I recognize from the days when she was just a voice behind curtain, a faceless employer that couldn't care less who I was or how willing I was to help, a sting that hurts more than a bullet wound or scalpel scraping on bone or needles driven deep into my chest and screaming through my body.
Sometimes, when I listen to her talk, it's like ice.
"And you're a good judge of character?! HA! Look at you!"
Yeah, look at
Jak - StaringJak - Staring9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It never really seemed to stop. He thought it would stop after Kor's defeat, after the Underground stopped being a bunch of criminals and the city fell to better hands. It didn't.
There were still too many women who remembered that their husbands had been killed by this monster in teenager's skin, their scarlet armor had been shattered by those calloused hands, their skin ripped by ebony claws and fangs as white as snow. Too many children remembered their fathers and mothers screaming to get inside, get inside now, when he came careening past on a stolen Zoomer, guards and guns and death hot on his trail. Too many men that still remembered the terror when he looked at them and blue eyes went black, when the gruffness of a human voice was overshadowed by a gravelly, monstrous laugh that was the last thing many men ever heard.
He should have been a hero, a savior to this world now just as he had been hundreds of years in the past, b
Jak - Better WeeksJak - Better Weeks9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"So we're up against the world's nastiest crime boss, with the best mercenary racers money can buy." He turned his back to the young woman that had, technically, gotten them all into this mess, and hesitated, the familiar seizing sensation in his chest reminding him of the half-truth of his next words. "And we've been poisoned."
Or at least his friends had been poisoned.
How could Jak possibly tell his friends, his family, that the Light Eco in his system had completely purged the toxin from his body the moment it contacted his tongue? How could he explain that even if they didn't win, even if they failed in this life or death gamble Krew had forced them into, he would survive?
He couldn't stand the thought of having to watch his friends die, of watching as they fell prey to his former employer's potion one after the other. Ashelin and Keira and Torn…and Daxter. Daxter might not last the season, he was so much smaller
as a flower of the fieldi learn his name after the funeral has passed, and the family retreats, packing their grief with them in paper wrapped boxes -- tucked away, but always within arms reach, all too easy to open again. i imagine they cried, and my mind refuses to stop picturing a coffin lowered into cold, december earth, covered with a blanket of snow and dirt and might-have-beens.as a flower of the field1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
every time i close my eyes i picture him lying against icy pavement and sparkling glass and i wonder what it's like to die alone.
later, when all is over, i light a candle and watch as the orange glow curls itself in the hollows of my collarbones and try to compose words to turn tragedy into closure. i trace my fingertips over my wrists and choke on my own selfishness -- the words refuse to come.
i don't know those he loved or who will carry his memory -- if he was a sinner or a saint -- but i remember his smile and his laugh.
The Loneliness of The HopeThe Loneliness of The Hope11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Stains of dense night
which is expanded as branches
it shades the sky
colours which grow dark
shading the sight in the tears
in the branches of the pain
covering the stars
covering the moon
darkening every light
darkening every smile
tears as leaves
they come off the branches
they fall in the night
they mark the shade as falling stars
and they dance as feathers
in a winter of pain
where the moon cries the own sun
where the tears are blood
and where the river begins
pain drops transported by the current
the time dies
been drowned in the despair
fingers drenched with blood
which for the answers still look
they follow the river
to understand that the end is only the beginning
to understand that every tear
will cut for always the soul
wounds on a bark
interrupted the rings of the life
bleeding the despair
shouting again the snow
winter which dances in the darkness
clouds of shade which melt themselves in the air
shivers of intense cold
dress made of stone
I fall in the river
Science Fiction Try"Prisoner A46928EV, how do you plead?" said the hollow voice of the High Council woman. The prisoner, who was sporting a cut on his upper lip, forced his weak head to look up at the five members of the Council who were all lined stoically upon a hovering table. It was shaped like a very odd doughnut. He sized them up with his eerily cold hazel eyes, almost like killing them off one by one with them.Science Fiction Try9 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
"I have a name," he growled, smiling insolently up at the curvy High Council woman. Her dark brown eyes narrowed and her head of tight brown curls seemed to quiver with anger. It was this behavior that earned him another swipe from the guard on his right. The hard titanium collided with his brow, but Prisoner A46928EV had withstood worse pain than that. It was that pain that had earned him multiple scars on his body and the hollow, saddened look in his once laughing eyes. The prisoner stumbled but couldn't fall as any normal man could as he was bound by energy beams at his wr
.she wants to taste the moon.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
between forefinger and thumb she
plucks it from the sky, and like
some great pearly gobstopper
rolls it over her tongue,
licks the dust from her
shuts her eyes
SolitudeSolitude11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Drink The Tears From My Eyes..
Taste The Blood From My Pains..
Only Than You Might Know..
What Runs Deep Through My veins..
Feel The Depts Of My Soul..
Smell The Scent Of My Fears..
For To Know Me By Heart..
Will Take More Than Just years
Bevi le lacrime dai miei occhi..
assapora il sangue dal mio dolore..
solo quello che tu puoi conoscere..
Che corre in profondità attraverso le mie vene..
Senti le profondità della mia anima..
Annusa l'odore delle mie paure..
Per conoscermi con il cuore.
Prenderà maggiormente...che solo anni
per la traduzione in italiano non sono sicuro...
...l'ultima frase la potrei tradurre con un "Durerà di più che solo anni"...
RememberHey.Remember4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It's been a while since I've thought about you at all.
But that's not the truth at all.
Truth is, I still miss you.
And like yesterday and the day before that,
I love you.
Do you remember those times?
Do you remember when you called me your and I called you mine?
Do you remember when we fought for what we thought was right?
Do you remember when we used to stay up and talk until we saw daylight?
Do you remember those times?
When I called you baby boi and had you call me baby girl ?
When I told you I loved you from the bottom of my heart?
When I promised you I'd love you even after we were no more?
I wonder if you're doing okay.
I wonder if you'll be angry if I text.
I wonder if you're keeping your promise.
I wonder if your thinking of me like I'm thinking of you.
Or have you moved on with your life?
Forgotten about me, as I had always feared, so that it hurts less
Do you miss me the slightest amount of how I miss you?
Do you love me still
your poetry is horribleyour poetry is horrible13 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
i am irrepressible teenage angst.
here is my bitchy poem.
woe is me.
(insert typo here)
i can use
drastic S P A C I N G
to make my point
(insert computer shorthand here)
my girlfriend just dumped me.
perhaps i can
write at length about
s u i c i d e
(insert trite phrase about loneliness)
because i am ohsotouchy
so, to all you
adolescents out there
your poetry is horrible.
pain does not always equal great art.
now, go write something worth while.
In Glass HousesI want to twist myself to suit the dayIn Glass Houses7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Tomorrow's flavor tastes of change
I'd make myself this pretty thing
If it suited what I was currently loving
I want hair that's made of straw and grass
I want blacker eyes and skin of glass
I want punched-in holes that come for free
I want to claw and bite at hypocrisy
Black's the new black and black's the new white
Cinnamon words make wrong the new right
I want to be the one who you want but the one you can't have
Out of mind, out of body, I want to be out of sight
I want to butter up this callous mind
I want to be ten-of-a-kind
And I'd gladly join this house of yours
If I could leave my stones behind
The MuseOn ivory keys hands like lovers layThe Muse6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A gentle kiss before arching to play
Enticingly, the music strains so clear
That visions of lost days appear:
Sweet lilting notes drift up the stairs
And though he's young he's well aware
Such beauty in a song is rare.
And rarer still is she who plays
With passion far beyond her days
His heart is lost within her song
He aches to hold her in his arms.
Sweet melody that brought him near
To his true beloved dear
Now love and music fill his ears.
Across the keys now wrinkled hands run
A lonely dirge for now he has gone
At least in old age she still has this-
A song and memories of his kiss.
Jak - In ReviewJak - In Review9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The door creaked open, and his head lifted from the papers on the table, green eyebrows arching at the sapphire-haired young woman on the threshold.
"Can…can I come in?" Her voice was quiet, weak. He loved it and hated it in equal measure. It had been a while, but he still remembered all too well the sting lurking under that voice, what it had done to his heart and his head in a few short words. Her voice hurt more than any of the experiments ever had.
He nodded anyway, gesturing to the empty chair across the table, and then went back to the papers he had been given to review before they were passed off to the Council. It was strange, reading about what they had done to him. Jarring, disturbing, and eerily distant. This young man in the photos and described in the reports was so different from who he was now, so much more alive, that is wasn't difficult to look at it as though it were an entirely different person he was
Jak - UndamagedJak - Undamaged8 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
He was not a man to be controlled.
Really, it should have been obvious from the day they met, from the way he spoke and the things he said, that he was not going to be anything close to submissive, regardless of what his partner did or said or how he tried to force him. It had been on Razer's terms that they drank together, on his suggestion that they retired back to his apartment, and what followed left Erol—though exceedingly drunk, he was on vacation, after all—in a situation he had decided long ago was meant for someone far weaker than himself.
This was a problem.
For a short while, and the relationship went on for quite a while, the sheer difference in size between them—Razer was a good seven or so inches taller than the Commander, not to mention broader-shouldered—assured the Northerner kept the place of control.
Erol fought back rather quickly, of course. Height and weight were one thing, but while Razer was apparently fairly flighty in his be