Abandoning PreciousnessThe most important thing about creating art is to create. If you want to be at ease with creativity, you have to immerse yourself in it, and do a little bit every day. Even if that little bit is only to take five minutes while waiting for the bus to come and do a gesture drawing of a man reading his book across the street from you. Or to take the moment to scribble down a thumbnail rough sketch of a concept that occurs to you. Do a little bit each day. Train your brain to think visually.Abandoning Preciousness2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
It can be difficult at first, accustoming yourself to make this small bit of time, because you’ll think:
“I don’t have enough time for it.”
“Art is hard!”
“I’m not good enough yet for that piece I’ve always wanted to do.”
“I’m stuck. Artist’ block.”
These are all excuses. Yes art IS hard. Yes, you might not be good enough yet to do that masterwork that you’ve been dreaming of, but let me le
Amigas o hermanas ...esa es la cuestion.De amistades a hermandades hay mucha diferencia.Amigas o hermanas ...esa es la cuestion.2 years ago in Sketches More Like This
Dedicado a mis dos mejores amigas y a mis nuevas hermanas.
(este es un punto de vista que me gusta compartir con ustedes a pesar de se tan personal)
No a cualquiera puedes llamar amigo , no a cualquiera puedes expresarle como te sientes sin miedo a que te juzgue , no a cualquiera puedes pedirle su opinión y que para ti valga tanto que en verdad se vuelva parte de tu corazón , siempre tenerlo en mente , pensar en su bien y estar consiente de que tal vez el día de mañana puede que tengan algún problema , pero sin duda alguna les estiraras la mano y abrirás los brazos para recibir y dar todo lo que necesite.
Muchas personas pueden decirle a alguien que la aman, pero la pregunta es ¿en verdad harías tanto por ella? o simplemente es por cariños de un rato.Yo pienso que esta mal decirlo sin sentirlo , pero cada persona debe entender que "El querer a alguien" puede resultar de
the day the sun never rosewhat do you dothe day the sun never rose3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when your eyes are already
imprinted on your eyelids
are scenes and thoughts
and typographical imagery
that are thick
to drive you to madness?
i keep your secrets
and even though
my heart still breaks,
my ongoing refusal
to think of you poorly
at this hour,
you still have me
kept in the dark,
with a longing in the cellar of my stomach;
it never does leave,
i wait with
and rose flavoured tea
clutched like a crux
in my hand
for the intimation
you can love me
i miss the complete envelopment
of my body in yours,
the cross of your arms
belted over my ribs.
you made me feel fragile
but so safe that i
could not break.
the dawn shattered overhead
and i uttered soft cries
in my sleep
the morning you felt wings
emerge from your angel bones
and take you
away from me.
the sun never rose
that day, but the beauty
of the inked night's sky
was missing (you) as well.
i had never hated
Ella esta muerta , yo no existo.Ella esta muerta , yo no existo.2 years ago in Drama More Like This
Ella esta muerta , yo no existo.
-Mi nombre era Scarlett Argov, solía tener 24 años ,Tuve un "accidente" en el cual perdí mi vida, es posible que después de esto nadie recuerde mi nombre , ni como era , ni como solía vestirme. Fue hace mas de tres semanas que morí , solo unos pocos asistieron a mi funeral , de mis dos hermanos solo se resigno a venir el mayor y solo lo hizo por que en su trabajo corrían malos rumores sobre el.-
Susurro una chica que llevaba puesta una capucha en la cabeza sin dejar ver sus cabellos , los cuales solo apenas salían tres de allí , las gafas eran obscuras y las ropas largas y viejas, mientras se acercaba poco a poco a una lapida con el nombre gravado de la chica pelirroja, entrego unas flores casi marchitas en la lapida, sus ojos no tardaron en humedecer al contacto con la piedra fría y solitaria.
-Solo llora una lagrima, pero una lagrima bien derramada- Se paro enseguida de su lugar s
The Starting PointYou and IThe Starting Point3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Keep running in circles,
Fighting to not say
Those words first.
We don't just dodge
We dodge asking them.
It's not like
The two of us
Don't have enough
To talk about,
But rather, too much.
When you're crazy
Where do you start?
Underneath the Rowan TreeBeneath the boughs of the rowan treeUnderneath the Rowan Tree5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sits a long forgotten she.
The girl that once longed to be free.
The girl that once belonged to me.
Wicked licks of time's cruel tongue
takes away that once was young.
Sweetest flesh from bones is wrung.
Long lost sighs and songs unsung.
Forever there shall beauty be.
Faded lace upon her knee.
Beneath the boughs of the rowan tree
she sits. She sits and waits for me.
Dangerous WatersYou wriggle your toesDangerous Waters3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Deep into the sand.
The ebbing tide
Tickles your feet,
Begging you to join it.
You relent, and let it
Pull you in
Up to your ankles.
As little broken crests
Swell in your wake,
You start to skip
With the sea-foam,
And it begins to curl
Around your knees.
Each step you take
Draws you deeper
Into the water, until
The swirling suspension
Obscures the sandy floor.
You can hardly see the sea-weed
Begin to touch your legs.
The waves begin
To knock you off your balance
As you wade in up to your waist.
You begin to realize that
You are far away from
The familiar beach
Because you've drifted sideways.
As the water climbs to your neck,
Suddenly, there is a drop-off.
You are plunged beneath the surface,
And the salt-water crashes
Over your head.
Under-water plants start
Wrapping their hands around you,
Dragging you deeper,
Away from the halo of sunlight.
Breath escapes you in bubbles,
And the darkness closes in.
You wake up
On the shore,
It seems that
Someone rescued you.
Home is Where the Heart IsThe last moments before Christmas vacation are always the worst. In Axel's opinion, even worse than waiting summer vacation; at least he knew then that he had a few months of break ahead of him and no homework (well, except for a book report that he would most definitely put off till the last minute, SparkNotes being his best friend). This year it was even more terrible for Axel seeing as he was a freshman at college, living on campus and inevitably homesick. Every day, the clock in his classes seemed to tick slower and slower. And his moments with the one that he loved seemed to fly by faster and fasterHome is Where the Heart Is5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Axel, you saved me a seat! You're too kind."
Axel was brought back to reality by a sudden voice, tearing his eyes away from the clock and fixing them upon the speaker. And the speaker happened to be very close to him; Axel was met with a whole face-full of red and blue, quite literally. He drew away quickly, making a face.
"Hi," Reno said cheerfully, his grin just about as big a
The Courts at WarI have watched the old Crone dance,The Courts at War4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Have watched the Maiden kiss the Moon,
Have heard the wolf howl in lonely stillness,
Have heard the Fiddler's archlike tune.
Can you see the Hag of the Hills?
Or see the Maiden Fair?
Or see the countless denizens,
Of the Country of Air?
I have seen the Faerie Courts,
Have watched them dance and war.
Have seen their eyes shine like fires
Of the most heavenly star.
But I have heard the drums roll by,
Warbands come to call,
And I have felt the Manfear hold me,
Deep within its thrall.
When the Fay dare go to battle,
See their banners stretch on high!
They bring about their every rabble,
And the whole of the Earth sighs.
Immortal gazes clear the field,
Silver swords catch the light,
Prancing horses rear and trill,
Hawks scream in the dawn light.
All the songs both sweet and cruel,
All the faces cold and fair,
Echo pain from out the hills,
Mother Earth is frail and sere.
She watches her children in their play,
Their power scores her side,
And all she can d
Words"Can you whisper...?" murmured the Other.Words4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Why would you want me to whisper?" asked Speaker with words of concrete loudness.
"Because it calms me down when you whisper."
"Calms you down?"
"Yes," came the sighed reply, "It reminds me of trees whistling in the breeze, of serenity, of waves trapped in shells on the beach and "
The Speaker smiled, "Did you prepare that?"
"All of that you just said."
A puzzled expression flashed over the Other's face, "No, but.... why....?"
"Because," explained the Speaker in the requested whisper, "my voice may sound like trees and waves, but," there was a pause, "Yours sound like living poetry."
"Is that good?"
"No." Smiled Speaker.
Maedhros: Son of FireHe was the fireMaedhros: Son of Fire4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Wine until bottom
And pain of fame
He was my father
His anger like flood
We sealed our Oath
In fire and blood
The flame extinguished
By Oath we're still bound
Through tears and pain
No rest to be found
The blood on my hands
And my hand in chains
What was it for
When nothing remains?
The Light we sought, burns
So close, yet so far
We are not worthy
To touch a star
Burning flame, take me
And clean the stain
Take the cursed Jewel
And end my pain!
In fire it started
In fire it ends
Just like my father
The fire in my veins
See your Inward EyeIn an ever-changing world,See your Inward Eye2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
faster and faster every day,
you may have lost your way,
overwhelmed by the events;
We are busy the whole day,
thinkin about the bills we have to pay,
thinkin about the things we'll never see,
or what others want us to be;
In our minds wandering,
no time to play,
no time to create,
we just keep frantically running;
But there's something inside you,
something that can make a grey sky turn blue,
something that can make a dull city breathe,
that can make you stop clenching your teeth;
And I here begin to wonder:
"Have you ever stopped to drink some tea,
Have you ever stopped to simply close your eyes and see?"
Winter KingThe Winter King was born of ice,Winter King5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
His cloak woven of frost.
Those who look into his eyes,
Will be forever lost...
So claims the legend, bold in the telling.
Perhaps it may be true.
For the tale I spin for you now,
Is of one who has beheld their eerie hue.
Each year as the Autumn died,
She'd dance on Barrow Hill,
To the beating of the Heartblood,
As the tired world grew still.
Her steps would turn and twist
Along paths long lost to Man.
Hair unbound to flow around her,
Like the wild grace of Pan.
She mourned the passing of the world,
Into the coming breath of Night.
Tears would slide down her cheeks,
As winter gained its might.
For around her the world was dying,
Flowers failing, their time now passed.
she saw their bowing stems, now dry,
Husks now, their glory in the past.
Winter's cruel breath stole across her,
Freezing in her bones.
Beneath her the grass crumbled,
Deeper still the earth moaned.
The passing of another year,
The death without the sun,
The fading of the day to nig
The Book-TravelerI have seen through the eyes of kings,The Book-Traveler2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Through the eyes of beggars,
Through the eyes of saints,
Through the eyes of rogues and knaves,
Through the eyes of milkmaids and warrior queens.
I have knelt before kings and emperors in palaces of wealth untold but folly ruled
And crawled into hovels and huts of the sorest penury but where wisdom abounds.
To the ends of the earth my feet have tread upon
And to the far reaches of both heaven and hell did I traverse,
And all ‘round the universe.
There were wars, but peacetimes, plagues but prosperity,
Oppression but freedom, ignorance but enlightenment.
I saw man kill man, but then I saw lovers united.
I saw more than word can tell or eye can see in a life-long glance.
All because we have books.
AkuRoku: Paopu-AkuRoku: Paopu5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I pulled on my ebony tux, so extremely uncomfortable. Today was the day I would humiliate myself in front of a crowd of easily over one-thousand. If I had the choice I would be at home, lounging in loose pajamas and drinking hot cocoa, but no. I had to come to this stupid place, to do this stupid recital, because of my stupid dad.
I sighed irritably and straightened up as I heard my name called from the center stage. I felt a hard pat on the back from my father and nodded, strutting from behind the classic red curtain and to the black piano in the sight of everyone. A bright light hit my face immediately as I entered, and as I sat down on the bench it intensified.
I swallowed the spit that had gathered in my mouth and cracked my knuckles practically, letting out a soft breath. They announced my name once more and what I would be playing, "The Other Promise", originally composed by Yoko Shimomura.
As my fingers began the sad tune I let my eyes close shut, my memor
Blood From a Far Off PlaceQuiver full of bullet tipped arrows.Blood From a Far Off Place1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The bow of aluminum my dad made in high school.
I step into the sunlight on the south side of the house.
I don't know why I pull the bowstring
back to my eye, aim upward, and loose.
Straight above my head.
And the voice said,
"You are a most common creature,
though of a peculiar people."
The Sun glints off the arrow's shaft.
I shade my eyes and wonder how long
before the arrow hits me. How long before
I step aside. How long to decipher a riddle
from a lipless voice.
Now I'm 16.
These days, I fire two arrows above my head.
Bring back that voice.
One arrow. Two seconds later, another.
But the voice is silent.
Those stone breasted marble men
who plunge deep the trident and
lightning bolts heave, those armless maidens
with hoary teeth and frog's feet,
the top-heavy eagle with a monkey's face,
the knowers of vast things,
the grayness of the vicious mountain crossing,
the jury-blanketed understanding of
the staff o
Show No Mercy"Show no mercy," she purred. "I'll do it again."Show No Mercy4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He held the blade closer to her throat, it's edge glistening.
Snickering he said, "Not if you're head."
She smirked and brought her neck closer to his knife until it was pressed firmly to her porcelain skin. He searched her eyes for the tiniest hint of fear and found none. It was frustrating, after all she deserved this.
"Fear me!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the empty warehouse. Laughter followed, she was laughing at him.
"I fear nothing. Especially you, Trace."
His grip faltered and the knife hit the cement floor loudly.
"You're evil Natari," Trace whispered.
Natari shook her head.
"You kill people," Trace growled. "You are fucking evil."
"I do recall you threatening my life not two minutes ago," she said.
Trace got off his knees and headed toward the doorway.
"Yeah somehow that's different. You warrant this punishment. Those girls did nothing," he said.
Natari pulled herself to her feet, wiping the dirt off of h
Call of the FairiesCome hither, o sweet child of manCall of the Fairies4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Listen to our enchanting song
Come into the land of Pan
Succumb to us and dance along
Sing with us, o human child
Fall deep into our circle dance
Receive from us a kiss so mild
Cast to your world no single glance
Into the land of fairies glide
Leave all you used to know behind
To the Otherland now ride
Leave your world o so unkind
Come hither o sweet child of man
Listen to our enchanting song
Come into the land of Pan
Forget where you did once belong
Daghda's harpA wizened man sat down to playDaghda's harp5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
He played the night, he played the day
His fingers moved with practiced grace
With tapping toe he kept the pace
And as the sun first daylight brings,
His hands glide up the old harp strings
As people sleep and babies cry
He plays a gentle lullaby
Rain falls to his staccato beat
With angry strums he brings in sleet
As winter comes with ice and snow
He causes chill north winds to blow
Quickly then his tune is changed
For spring he has at last arranged
With rapid down arpeggio
He coaxes icy waters' flow
Spring has come and brought more rain
He plays staccato once again
For summer's flowers and the sun
A merrier tune he has begun
And as the glisses start to sound
You know the leaves have hit the ground
Seasons go and seasons come
Led by his eternal strum
He plays the bass and dark clouds form
His dissonance creates a storm
An accidental here and there
And earthquake or monsoon somewhere
To keep some order on this earth
He plays each moment's death and birth
ForesightDebra Mae was an astonishingly good programmer.Foresight2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her code always worked correctly the first time, and she never missed a deadline. Her workspace was immaculate, but curiously devoid of personal effects. No framed pictures, no toys, just her small collection of pens lined up according to color and an inbox for the occasional old-school paper input.
Her computer was equally immaculate. Nothing extra on her desktop, no stray icons. If one peeked at her browser history there’d be nothing there but work-related google searches and company stuff.
She dressed neatly but very plainly. I suspected she had four dresses in her wardrobe and rotated them daily. On casual Fridays she wore jeans and a plain white top, unlike her shaggy coworkers who went in for clever t-shirts or flannel.
Her space was so depersonalized that visiting salespeople often mistook her desk as vacant, setting up shop for the day. The first time that happened Debra Mae simply drifted to an absent co-worker
Untitledwe are in Rome telling the dirt how it murdered its brother.Untitled1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
we are shouting at every historical monument from the books with affection and insult and nobody cares about yesterday.
"he wants to kill himself but he just writes a lot of stories with sad endings. don't talk to him."
i believe in love now. i don't know if i've grown up at all or learned from my mistakes or just lost and lost and lost. i'll write something. i'll write you stories. i'll mean it. i'll run away and never come back. some things never change.
"well the boy was found to have consumed the full body of a small mouse, a penny, broken glass, dirt, whisky... then hanged himself."
i am an abandoned house, i am here, i am still here.
Sometimes It's LoveThe soft sound of the rain falling to the ground was soothing to my ears, as was the cool warm breeze that seemed to wrap around me in a cool emerace as I sat on the back porch holding my steaming cup of tea. I was wearing my favorite outfit when ever my man was away on nights like this, his warm large t-shirt holding my body loosely to me, wearing a lose pare of boxers of mine complete my ensemele. I sat in the porch rocking chair with my feet tucked up on the set, making my body rest comfertly to the left side of the chair.Sometimes It's Love5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Taking a soft sip of my tea I hear the crack of the back screen door opening. I look over and see my son Beau standing facing my direction in his white t-shirt and shorts pjs. He rubs his eyes groggily as if he just got up which was the case since it was ten pm and he's only three years old and I laid him down two hours ago. "Daddy?" he says softly more a tone as if making sure I was out here.
"Yes sweetie? Come here." I said slipping my feet to the soft wood floo