Html codes and Visual Poetry A lot of great writers on dA don't know how to use html codes, which is a real shame, because these codes can really be used to bring out a writer's words. This tutorial will go through several basic codes, good places to use them in your writing, along with spacing and other aspects of visual poetry & writing.Html codes and Visual Poetry4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
If you haven't noticed, when you open an "Add text" devation, there's a list of HTML codes at the bottom. Most of them look like this . A lot of these match up with the names used for them in Microsoft Word documents, so they should be easy to use. So, let's start off with the basics!
1. Italics <i>
</i>is simply, italics. Got it? Put the i inside the s. See, it's easy! To end any Html code, one puts a slash before the letter i, </i>. Now, for the Visual impact of italics.
Emphasis and Motion
Which means that a good place to use i
CaligulaHe laughed and he smiledCaligula3 years ago in Settings More Like This
And right there I swore
We'd break him together
For peace to restore
What happened to us?
We all moved along
We trekked our own journeys
Lived lives of anon
Plebeians we were
For that we were proud
We never revolted
Or shouted out loud
What happened to us?
You all just forgot
But I never did
Our child-like rage
You all boxed up and hid
What happened to us?
And call me Pandora
But I just can't contain
My hatred for order
Of a king far too vain
I'll be on the balcony
If ever you call
Just clear the drunkards
And watch our lord fall
Murder or justice?
T'was both, I confess
But on with our future
For I must digress...
I'm making some changes
From this bloody throne
Stained with a man
Who yours truly overthrown
Let's start with some rights
And we'll rocket from there
The money is the peoples'
I must at least share
What happened to you?
You told me I couldn't
I shouldn't - I did
I broke him myself
So surely you kid
When you say that I'm worthle
Getting Published the Hard WayGETTING PUBLISHED: THE TRADITIONAL WAYGetting Published the Hard Way5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A tutorial by M. Alice Chown
If, like me, you have stories lying around gathering virtual dust on your hard drive, why not send them out to a publisher? You have nothing to lose. A couple of years ago, I attended the launch of an annual Canadian short story anthology, called Tesseracts 10. I knew one of the authors whose speculative fiction piece had been included in the book. Matthew Johnson and I had taken the same creative writing course. Our former prof, author, Robert Sawyer, was there at the launch too, as well as the editors of the anthology. Those who had contributed a story to Tesseracts 10 took turns saying a few words about their piece. Matt talked about his joy at learning that after so many rejections his humble tale about soup of all things had made it into print. Most surprising to me, however, were the words of the pretty, brunette author. She was just 19, a University of Toronto student, and her short story had been her very first
Buford"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door.Buford3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit.
My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily.
His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo
holding.you are lovely. even when you're notholding.5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
which is most of the time.
you don't speak often.
and yet, i hold on like a
suicide jumper hanging on for a saviour
for a sign that maybe things don't have to end like this.
give me a reason not to jump.
you speak softly, rarely
and i swear, i still wear yellow to catch your attention,
i still put a traffic cone on my head
in hopes that you'll divert, stop, take notice of the road.
please don't swerve me aside.
if you could open me up like you open their legs
if you could open your eyes to me
i promise, i could be more.
i could be more than this girl who is standing in front of you
pretending that she wants nothing more than to be your friend
pretending that she wants nothing more than to laugh with you
when really, all she wants is to make you smile.
all i want is to make you smile
and when we are listening to the beatles and smoking ourselves into other worlds, i am holding my tongue, holding my breath,
...Makes the Heart Grow FonderThere's a girl out there that I seldom see,...Makes the Heart Grow Fonder5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Erring somewhat, but caring for me;
I glimpse into her eyes and from time to time
Our impish spirits rise, and she is mine.
She believes in many, excepting herself
Being blessed aplenty, and neglecting help-
Her tender embraces
move my heart in different ways
And render our faces
so close, yet so far away.
There are lips on her that I've ne'er touched-
Th'air that whips past her tongue is much
More blessed than I in this respect-
For its kiss is unrestrained- and yet
Not an inch may it reach above that's not
Gott'n by my soul when her presence is sought;
For as omnipotent the atmosphere may be
More potent is the attraction between her and me.
Words placed here
Will go and she,
Eyes open and true
Will hold them dear
And know that we
Can live without "I love you".
becauseeleven;because5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
remember that night, we were out far too late for our age, and the police drove up. we thought we were so tough until then. our bones shook and rattled beneath our skin and we were fragile little twelve year olds again when they shone their light on us. go home, they told us.
sometimes, i wish i never met you.
sometimes, i wish i still fell asleep in your lounge room
you have golden hair, and you remind me of something that should be hidden away, inside a childrens story book. you remind me of those television shows about princesses. you remind me of poems about girls with skinny fingers and straight teeth.
your eyes are yellow, and in the sun they glow like nothing i've ever seen before.
sometimes i tell myself that you're beautiful for a reason. as if you deserve it, or something.
but sometimes i think i'm just jealous.
seven years ago we were caaloused palms and splintered knees; falling from the monkey bars was our bigges
wooden hearts.he told me that i was the most beautifulwooden hearts.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of all the mannequins in the department store;
he said that he wouldn't mind being stuck
in this hellhole forever, as long as he stood next to me.
and i loved him because
he warmed my immobile heart,
and i loved him for how
he'd never leave my side
if i told him not to.
each day, we'd stand together
under the heated display lights
i didn't care that there were others
more beautiful than me
i didn't care when closing time was arriving,
all that mattered was that he only had eyes for me
and only me
we were seperated
by leagues and leagues of aisles
but upon closing,
he would depart from formal attire
and drag himself all the way to casual wear,
the place i called home.
and i'd hold onto his cold hands
splintered from years of wear-and-tear,
and be glad i could at least
lay claim to one thing in this store.
he'd embrace me in his stiff arms
and whisper to me sweet nothings,
tell me how beautiful i was,
talk about how we'd be together
Life IsI wanna jump headfirstLife Is6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
into the ocean
and let the water rush over me,
cleansing me of my
But you stop me,
your hand on my arm,
I can't breathe without
I feel the sand
between my toes
and my heart drops
because I'm torn between you
I wish I could say goodbye
but all I can think about is
how beautiful your eyes
were when you said
the persistence of your memoryi.the persistence of your memory6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your hands are stone cold
and it is hard to tell
if you've been playing dead
or playing me
for a fool.
the glitter in your eyes is gone.
all i see now is regret.
and i try and fight
for something that's
we are struggling
for a cause
best left untouched,
and though i can't bring you back to life
[and believe me, i have tried]
it doesn't stop me from
like a cornered animal.
and i know it's gone and i know it's over,
but i can't find the heart to give this up.
i'm holding on with all my breath.
[if i let go i'll be over too.]
and i know it's gone and i know it's over,
but i can still pretend, can't i?
white-knuckled from clinging
to your visage,
back from when your eyes were alive
and your skin had colour.
it's such a distant memory,
a waking dream, reminiscence.
and i know that if i looked into a mirror,
i would look
just like you.
i don't need help, i'm just fine.
[but you voice in my ears in the
dead of night is giving me the creeps.]
i don't think i
House of Good SenseI want crawl insideHouse of Good Sense5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a cleft in your
& live among people
who don't know
under typewritten words
the print mistakes
the white page,
my passion diffused.
In a world of
like the static on
the Hollywood sign,
I could be small
I wouldn't shake
from the lapse
I could be
the future inside
like film screens.
Overyou wake to a translucent morningOver6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with a secret on your kiss
lingering like poison.
when yesterday is over
let my heart
Theme Fifty-Seven: SacrificialBecause I Love YouTheme Fifty-Seven: Sacrificial6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The tiny piece of metal
rips through me,
slicing through anything
that gets in its way.
Sticky red blossoms
on the front of my shirt
and I fall to the ground
as the pain
You kneel beside me
yelling and cursing,
tears streaming down your face.
"Why did you do that?
Why did you step
in front of me?"
"Because I love you."
miragei.mirage6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am writing into my skin everything that i happen
to like about you because i am afraid to forget
it; the ink is sinking into my fingerprints so that
i cannot find the line where you begin and i end
i think i would like to take you out to the baseball field and
spread out beneath a hurricane so we can let our heartbeats
match the thunder; i created the perfect image of you in my
mind and i am scared it might wash away in the downpour
see, i have this habit of taking needles and shoving them
through my skin to forgive my past sins; i pierced my
tongue for you to see the true hues of my words and every
night i wonder if you will suddenly tell me you are colorblind
maybe one night i can forget that i am afraid of closing
my eyes and we can fall asleep with fingers intertwined;
i have become accustomed to dreading nightmares but waking
up to find you missing would turn my dreams into havens
yet the ink in my pen has run dry and i am finding it hard to
form my words; the
easteri'm in the back of the car, sucking my chlorine hair and watching with sleepy eyes out the window. brown dirt is soon ochre and we are nowhere in particular yet. we are going to the atheton tablelands for easter. i fall into a broken sleep on my sister's warm shoulder and when i wake up we are there.easter5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
it is nighttime and my cousin is only still a baby and she cries from inside the house (which is really only a very large shed). out of the car the air is like freezer air but fresh and crisp like cold water. my eyes become wide at the rolling of the hills around us, the living green they are, the horse paddocks, the shapely trees. there is a loud, insistent buzzing of myriad thumbnail sized insects slamming themselves against us, and walls, towards the light. they scare me and i go inside, under blankets. i am still tired and softly i ease back into sleep on a mattress on the floor.
when i wake up i am the only one awake, even the sun is still sleeping. when i'm the only one awake i like
night butterflyi.night butterfly5 years ago in Other More Like This
there are these girls in her nightmares;
they have cotton candy lips and electric eyes,
and she's falling from their fragile fingers
with nails painted in shades of spilt blood and
she watches the setting sun from her bedroom window
she has nowhere to go now; the night has come
it is raining when her father slaps her; tells her
'you're a fucking disgrace'
her cheeks are red and her bare feet bleeding,
but its dark and you can't see them;
colours have faded
she knocks on her door in the morning,
and her brother answers; lets her in
they don't exchange words
she curls up in her bed with her head under the blanket
and tries to fall back into her dreams;
where the boys have silk skin and glass eyes
but their skin always rips and their eyes always
standing on the corner at midday; her brown hair
frames her face and her blue eyes glow
her cheeks are red not with abuse but with beauty
her legs are long and reflect the midday sunlight
she is a butte
Starry-Eyed Girl: prologueThe fire around us wasStarry-Eyed Girl: prologue5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but I didn't mind getting burned,
as long as I was with you.
You taught me what it was like to
open myself up completely,
giving over my body, mind, and soul to someone
who could crush it between their fingers,
but trusting them enough not to
(in the end,
that's where I went wrong)
You called me your starry-eyed girl because
I had my eyes to the midnight sky,
wishing and wishing for everything I could never have.
Let's start at the beginning,
when I first fell in love
with a badbadrebelboy
who had fire in his eyes and lies on his lips.
Let's start at the beginning
of you and me.
Theme Eighty-Eight: PainOn The Corner Of Fifth AvenueTheme Eighty-Eight: Pain6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
here's where you
here's where you
clipped my angel-white wings
and threw me off the roof,
waiting to see my
insides splattered about
(are you happy now?)
What Have We Done?Wind blowsWhat Have We Done?6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at a dandelion,
releasing the wisps
of white into the
I skim my fingers over
the edge of a
in the cool
(my tears mixing
with the soil)
So many years
and with it the
land has changed.
The plains of
my fathers has
been swept away for
buildings of concrete
Trees removed to
make room for more
animals forced out of
their blood shed
on the sidewalks and roads.
pains me greatly
and my heart aches for
the tiny creatures with
wide eyes and forgiving souls.
The way of my people
has been abandoned,
nature is no longer reverenced but
What have we done?
Why can we not hear the
cry of the wolves and the
pleas of the flowers?
Why do we continue
to strip away our
When will we stop?
michaeli.michael5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
big hopes, big dreams
and big wishes
all wrapped into
one tiny box,
inside this box are
the contents of
what used to be
a boy named michael.
he was a writer.
he wrote about
became harder and harder
to put onto paper
there were days
when he couldn't even
pick up the pen
he still misses her
but only when he's alone.)
with an addiction
bigger than even his
best intentions and
deep in the gutter
that is now his mind,
he no longer remembers
the nights when
his thighs would press
tightly to hers.
he no longer
morning when he woke up
and she was gone.
he repeats to himself.
"maybe i'll be okay,
maybe i'll be okay"
and as the poisons
are pushed beneath
his skin he breathes
a final sigh of relief.
coughing coloursi used to think alexis was beautiful in every way, back when we went to school. now though, i tell myself that he's beautiful in an artistic sort of way. the sort of artistic that makes you picture everything as a black-and-white photo and the kind of artistic that sparks words somewhere inside you. he calls himself a movie-maker now, but his friends call him alex. i like to call him a story.coughing colours5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
when we were maybe fifteen, alexis told me he wanted to go to the beach. it was cold, dark and raining outside, but i agreed anyway. i walked through the late night light and met him at his front gate. we held hands, shaking and biting our lips. we weren't talking but i don't think we had to. we sat on the beach and i counted the seconds in between the flashes of light from across the bay. he had his arm around my waist and i can't remember what we said, but i remember that we were happy. cold, wet and shaking but in love and happy.
when we went to school he used to tell me about how he had ev