Premonition BluesPremonition Blues5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The snow was heavy
under midnight's guise.
The white ground reflected
city lights into the clouds:
it was as bright as the half light
that bled over the mountains
and flowed into the valleys
just hours before (the sun
The air was silent:
a powder keg soundtrack
sitting on a camel's back.
There were dead flags
on poles or lying in ashes.
Smoke seeped through the earth
on every horizon
like the breath
of a dragon slumbering
after a fierce campaign.
No one was left
to inhale the dust and ash.
Their bodies were dormant
and they dreamed their faith.
And a Dandelion stood stout
in a field of grey and soot.
Come Home: A PantoumYou'll always come back to meCome Home: A Pantoum3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
when the lights in the far hills
are done searching. For, new beds
entice adventurers. Too,
when the lights in the far hills
come home, the homespun dream they
entice adventurers too,
but they can't. (Dream we're neither.
Come home.) The homespun dream they
turn pioneers to homebodies,
but they can't dream we're neither,
our wanderlust fit to turn
pioneers to homebodies.
We've always made love free, so
our wanderlust fit. To
turn ourselves towards our home
we've always made love. Free. So
when the last adventurers
turn themselves toward their homes
in faraway lands, I know,
when the last adventurers
are done searching for new beds
in faraway lands, I know
you'll always come back to me.
Five Broken CamerasHe is born as his grandfather's olive trees are torn from the earth. Expelled from his mother with a wail, as if he felt the roots ripping from the soil, and breathed and lived as the olives fell like bullets. His father's hands and spade and hope plant new trees in the soil. These will grow.Five Broken Cameras3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He knows the word for "shell" before his third birthday, though he has never seen the ocean.
"Cartridge," he calls, "Daddy, I found another one!"
The skins of these metal beetles crunch under his feet. "Army," he chirps. "Soldier."
His mother does not let him and his brothers play outside much anymore. She hangs the laundry out to dry and listens to the shells echoing in the village streets.
He goes to the construction site, where already the fence slicing through their land is a thicket of barbed wire and big men with sunglasses and guns aimed toward him. He is not afraid. He gives the olive branch his father had saved from one of the olive trees to a soldier.
"It means peace," his father had tol
aeolistwe're taught to drown our sorrows inaeolist3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
guilt and despair
to make ourselves feel like no one out there really cares
till we resurface, gasping, struggling for air
we're taught that depression's a sign of being weak
and when people self harm, it's just attention that they seek
and that when she's dead and gone and
buried in the ground
that oh, they should've saw it coming
and they tell you, blame yourself for everything that you've done
you messed up, so get up, your life's only begun
and when we keep blaming ourselves and the tears just still run
they look on like they're bored, like we're just old reruns
playing on the tv's for their entertainment
it's not like being happy's a hard to reach attainment
when we're stuck in this hollowed shell, this containment
of faces that we've known but never really seen,
when words flow out our mouths but without any real meaning
and when the days fly by and the second hand goes
around the clock, around the clock, right out the window
so when wi
Under DreadThe winter, the whole winterUnder Dread4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is sitting on my head, nesting its fingers
in the little hairs over my ears.
Its friend, the great and unnamed doubt,
is leaning against my collarbone
in a most familiar fashion,
and I fall in and out of balance
I have a beauty waiting, warm, willing
on speed dial, but the phone--
where did I leave the phone again?
Beauty is as elusive as
the car keys, which, I swear,
were just in that pocket. I
had my hand on them. The whole winter
keeps coursing its little nails
up and down my neck and taking
all my breath away.
There was a dream I had that
I almost remember, almost remember better
than living yesterday, a dream
of gooey loss, a taffy sorrow that loomed,
loomed, loomed, you see? It was so real,
I just had it.
kyrieempty cathedralskyrie3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with hints of a time long gone as
quiet prayers di
swallowed up by
a borrowed past
free me from myself
lend me your
so i can
your heart beats
skin and bone
i love you
don't tell anyone
it's our secret.
AdieuStrangling myself with this silence,Adieu4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am one rung closer
with every little death descending deeper
into Gehenna's bowels,
brandishing a soul through drawn eyes
and watching it all burn.
A plea for deliverance
stretches thin over this thrust
my masochist thirst insists.
If asphyxia is Heaven,
my throat is the horizon.
You can't sever midnight sky from sea,
the black from the blue.
Rolling back on my spine serpentine grande,
I at last experience revelation.
To dream in grayscale and melancholy
is to never suffer disappointment
at the hands of Life's disastrous folly.
I feast upon the fruit of despair
its seed binding me like Persephone
to Hades' throne.
If I die before I wake,
I need not pray no more.
There was a time when songs rang out on high
in glorious appraisal
for lettings of blood, conflagration
of flesh and bone.
Every man was equal under the Gods' gaze,
gaining favor through slaughter.
I see priests eviscerate the sheep,
I see flames 'round the martyr creep.
Dear Eleanor.Dear Eleanor,Dear Eleanor.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wrote you a letter
but I don't know where to send it.
You've been trying for years
to make someone your home but
you can't build a life in
someone else's skin and I
wish you'd stop trying.
You were/are/will always be
a skeletal vision of loneliness,
burying your bones in another
person's chest in the hopes that
they might grow you into
something loveable enough
And I wish I could have
kept you, but you are terrifying
You left your
shoes in the wardrobe by the
guilt you saddled me with
and I stopped trying to
give them back.
aphelioni.aphelion3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
i can see the stars in your eyes,
the polymerization of nebulae within;
and though the sun has yet to rise
and the wishes yet to fall
the planets in your eyes never cease
do you suppose the planets above
are in love with the stars?
that love is something the heavens are barren of
seems improbable to me thus far
i can't break out of my orbit around you
you are truly the center of my world;
((if they could,
then would the planets feel this too?))
i wonder if galileo had ever felt this
did his heart beat fast as he gazed at the skies?
because this feeling seems like too much to miss-
and there is no more room for logic,
for "how's" or "why's."
you put on your cassiopeia crown
and don orion's belt-
i pale in comparison to you,
but to you i am bound.
i love you,
though you're so far from me now
do my broken thoughts get through
or is it just a vacuum i'm talking to?
Mimicrymildewed [ghosts]Mimicry3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
haunt the c.r.a.c.k.s in the w do not
l their voices
BRING HOME THE BACON-Sherlock fanfic told in textsBRING HOME THE BACON-Sherlock fanfic told in texts4 years ago in Humor More Like This
How much bacon did you say you wanted me to buy?
Enough to fill the microwave.
It's an experiment!
Not in Mrs. Hudson's new microwave, it isn't!
You already used it to warm up that sandwich you nagged me about.
Heating things up does not make them any less stale.
Your sandwich was stale because you left it for about 5 hours before even noticing I'd put it on the table!
So you warmed it up in the new microwave, yes And make sure you buy Un-smoked bacon.
I am not buying you twelve packets of bacon just so you can break ANOTHER kitchen appliance.
Better make that fifteen.
No, not since you put fireworks in the fridge last month. Twelve packets of bacon, maximum.
Fine. It's not my fault I was bored. And I'm still bored. Buy bacon.
So you can blow up this microwave, too?
It didn't explode, it burst into flames. There IS a difference.
hope is a poisonous thingand i wishhope is a poisonous thing3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from the bottom of my
that i'll find
that i hate
more than myself.
crown me with bonescrown me with bonescrown me with bones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and draw the unspoken words out of my throat -
rip the promises to shreds
sew my lips shut
and keep my voice
in a box made of your saccharine lies
open my ribs and tear out my heart;
drown it in formaldehyde-laced ash
and scatter it under the moon's blessing
carve out my shoulders
and slough off my flesh
trace the maroon rivers of my blood with iron and steel
draw out my soul and crush it to dust
and may it rot
before dawn comes.
Not quite a love poem, but close enough.I still think of you sometimes;Not quite a love poem, but close enough.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ever-gone at the same time.
I see you in colours without names,
with just their codes to keep track of the mottled
blues-greys-greens of the artist's palette and
you're in the cloudless sky on
days when the girl with the freckled
shoulders is too lost in life to dream
(and if you read this you'd sigh,
because you never could convince
me that clouds aren't daydreams aren't
daytears aren't dayfears)
The world is quiet here with you gone,
but you promised you'd be back soon and I'm still waiting.
FrostbiteDisdain in the cold, breathy icicles areFrostbite3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Catching like liquid gold in the morning light
Winter hush as you shiver merely
Just quivering in the warming blight
Toss a cloak over shoulders
Thin like the branches
Stricken with the cold as black seems to all but
Consume your soul
Mister…mister... They whisper in breathy laughs
Coiling like snakes in silent wrath
Turn in confusion with malevolent rhymes
Tick, tick, ticking of a clock that feeds you such lies
Winter seems forever in this cold and
A stranger that you are in an unforgiving world
Screaming insanities as
You turn with wings torn
Like from a felled bird as he lay
Unmoving in the snow
Keeper of the snow you dare you dare to go
Where the stars not dare to venture
Dance on the lights of a never-ending light
As cold takes your body
Like a thief in the night
Tremor lion heart in your cold and grasping grave as
In the night your soul is now caged while
Words now fall to murmurs as in w
The IntentionWho am I to draw up from this weary mindThe Intention4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and proclaim its labors to be clever or novel?
I am a stranger in a world of ash and dust.
Every song has been sung and faded;
Every poet's pen runs dry.
Every lover, every enemy, every heart begging repose
Has fulfilled its time in this space
And poured out its entirety for generations to come
(or at least this was the intention;
we are often lost in translation).
So, who am I to produce a creation borne of experiences worn and cliché?
Who are we--
each and every one, so anomalous to have this time to live--
Who are we to entwine our sorrows with sorrows long forgotten?
Who are we to dip our pen in the pain
poured from a late lover's heart,
Or fold ourselves intimately into the arms
of those who knew our lives
Before we came into this world?
cause it's not the same5. and then sherlock is gone, and john falls just as hard as he had, except when he landed he broke something else entirely. there's a different girl every week and still he can't - they aren't-cause it's not the same3 years ago in Drama More Like This
there's a nagging voice in the back of his mind that talks like him, and it's an unending stream of "dull," or "boring," or "john, stop,"
the girls still change every week and the voice keeps talking, but john doesn't stop because he doesn't want to let his voice go.
if he closes his eyes sometimes, he can still hear him.
reality's a bitch.
4. then he's walking into the alley down the street and it's too easy, but he gets a fix and goes back home.
he never did tell him it would be that easy, and the rush through his veins is almost enough to stifle the empty feeling that the apartment emanated.
he sees him in the haze-
sees him fall again
and again and
john's not sure who's fallen- a
PsychedelicOncePsychedelic5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The world broke open like an egg.
I am still falling and I do not know
How long ago it happened,
The split, the fall, the way the world ended.
There was a crack and a seam
(swollen with barbs, with teeth)
Split the sunshine in two.
The sky yawned and gasped
Its mouth was the colour of rainbows
Lightning scars on the black nothingness.
I fell up into it,
Up, like a dream that you can no longer hold,
Up, until the world became a vanished thing
I could no longer remember.
Mechanical:BeastLaughing engines like mechanical beastsMechanical:Beast3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ring through ears so keen on a body of lean
Fur bristled with glass amber eyes
Set in the skull with a soul so despised
Chain down the beast and muzzle wolfs bane
Claws that once flew swift are now held in disdain
Teeth are still sharp but will never taste freedom
A head once held proudly is now only down beaten
The wolf is held close in the captor's cage
Drive him to swivel and snap, driven by rage
Fur once so proud is shrouded by stripes
Of bars so cold that holds the wolfs strife
Till eyes meet the sky with could cautious steps
Like a soul ripping clean from a barricade of bayonets
Life finds the feet of an old and ancient soul
As body finds rest in the warming soil below.
Zhuns personal art tips 9Zhuns personal art tips 94 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
I troll DA often and I come across alot of people who really crave some good art direction for themselves. Alot of people just don't know what to do or how to discipline themselves to improve their artwork/art journey. I remember when I was new to DA and at the same time new to taking artwork seriously (art school and such) that I was at a total loss at what I was doing. I had no direction, nobody would offer any advice and worse yet I was way too inexperienced to figure out that I had to ask for help. I didn't know about getting help lol. So, I was wondering around aimlessly for years.....yes, YEARS! I know at least one of you can vouch for that, as you followed me along my art journey.
So, with that said, I also don't notice any of these floating around DA. This isn't a guide to getting popular. If you're here to be popular, chances are it wont happen (because thats how karma rolls), or you'll achieve it but it will come with great sadness (drama)
1. How to draw wolves, or
Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever youngSoak My Feet In Wine6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
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, 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 evil crow
My mouth has the roundness of a precious ring
Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again
Under my feet grow trees, and remain ever green
You need my palms, you seek my blood and fear
Before you crave for more, grant me what I wish for
Kiss the ground before me, show me your loyalty
Borrow the devil's wings, bring me bouquets of stars
I want that purple flo
I Took To Howling With YouI was shy at first, timid in my dealings,I Took To Howling With You4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I laced the trap against my throat,
sang sparing, tip-toed
around your poems.
The tone, the slow vibrating
from the shoots of my shoulders
to the gleam of polished talons,
it purred around inside me.
Oh the song, Coyote,
the same resigned call, it
paled before you, swallowed down its insides,
I took your little hand in my big hand,
flew out towards Crow, and for a while
My Love, there were poems
and the world was enough.
I took to howling with you,
down from the branches, safe
womb of the tree, I spread
dirt between my toes, sang happy,
sang the song of free,
your wild howl, your musk,
I lost the language for
the pain of bird calling.
Do you remember when we realized
Crow would no longer sing
her crooning songs beside us, trill
through a night among us?
She had gone, no longer writing
poems for coyotes or exlovers,
no longer touching out for a girl
beyond the mountain,
and we were suddenly alone, Love,
you and I, alone to sing, to warble,
What Soft DreamsWhat soft dreams we lay -What Soft Dreams3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
What soft dreams, like infants put to rest -
Frightfully bare, and compromised,
Our kisses on their breasts.
We close our eyes and trust them safe,
Kept 'til break of dawn -
Forgetting that the night is fickle,
And dutifully, as long -
It safeguards some,
Moved by neither coin nor threat
Nor anguished mother's cry.
Streams of consciousnessskinny jeans skinny jeans skinny jeans forStreams of consciousness4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
k but i am TALL and w i d e and heavy
i and big big bigger than the rest
n in my clothes n0T FiTtINg hiding hiding [hide yourself]
y people s
trustis gone can't talk to katie cat scratches katie scratches
e double agent lies lies lies to me stole my secret mine mine MINE but not anymore
n j mad k mad mom and dad mad i am mad and all alone
d [no one looking in the shadows: see that i am all alone]