Genesis, To FlyGenesis, To Fly10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Genesis, To Fly
Main Entry: 1vol•a•tile
Pronunciation: 'vä-l&-t&l, esp British -"tIl
Etymology: French, from Latin volatilis, from volare to fly
1 : readily vaporizable at a relatively low temperature</i>
An era of Edenistic emotion
curls around my finger tips and toes,
slowly working its way to my heart—
felt cold, inside,
in the summertime; and winter fills itself
with warm motion pic
Annie Comes Home to RufusAnnie Comes Home to Rufus10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Annie tumbles from the car
and onto the driveway.
I watch from behind the curtains
as Mother and Father trudge behind,
dragging duffles full of god-knows-what
(sweatshirts, I figure, and a toothbrush, and gallons and jars
of bitter white pills and injections).
"Daddy – keys!" she cries,
and his mouth stretches, baring teeth
(he smiles, he thinks)
as he tosses a jingling cluster.
The latch clacks, and Annie comes home.
I hover in the kitchen –
I never know what to say.
She spots me before even hanging up her jacket and kneels.
"C'mere, mutt," like she expects me to pretend
I'm happy to see her
eight pounds lighter than last Sunday.
Annie is tired.
Only I am allowed in her room,
where the angled light shafts and the dust motes
turn the plastic hairs of her wig
into faceted filaments.
She slides it from her skull
and drapes it on the sleeping styrofoam
Humiliation by rapidographHumiliation by rapidograph12 years ago in Humor More Like This
I stumbled half-asleep into the main office like I'd done hundreds of Mondays before, but was suddenly struck speechless by the adorable new receptionist behind the desk.
I choked on a mouthful of donut. She was a petite brunette with huge turquoise eyes and a natural peach blush to her round face. When she smiled, I swore a cloud of pixie dust swirled around the lobby. Glassy-eyed, I managed a "G-g-g-goo' morngh," or something that resembled a greeting and swallowed hard as I headed to my desk.
My buddy Tim came up to me and whispered hoarsely, "Dude! What do you think?"
"The new girl? Geeze, she's a knockout!"
"You gonna ask her out?" he asked.
"I would be a fool not to, but..."
"But what? She was checking your butt out. I saw it! She wants you man!"
I wiped donut crumbs off my chest and took a slurp of some cold coffee. "She does NOT want me you dork." I found my
reality in the mistwaitiing in the darkroom, please open up your eyesreality in the mist10 years ago in Open More Like This
please look past the crying, please look past the lies
i cant take this anymore, ive hurt so many times
and layed awaking just staring, writing down endless lines
a song to end my suffering, a note for freedoms sake
but everything is pointless, everythings so fake
i cant go on like this again, seeing you cry alone
i look at what ive done to you, cant belive how much ive done
im only a child, but where has my playtime gone?
i stripped your soul til you were naked, then danced upon your wrongs
and id take back all those words, but i cant remember how
the only memories i have, is seeing you numb right now
suffering in innocence, i cradled all your secrets
promised that id be there forever, promised that id keep them
i cant take this, i cant hurt you anymore
your just another toy, that ill disown and throw on the floor
please show me how to care, please someone out there save me
i cant cry anymore, theres to many tears that i ha
Child of WarChild of War9 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
This is not a tale of tragedy or a lamentation, nor is it a glorification of war or peace, or an accusation of criminal nations who encouraged this war. It is simply a diary -- my life as a child of war, both frightening and exciting, where life was suspended but life went on anyway. A life neither happier nor sadder than that of any other child on the planet, but more unusual perhaps, and sometimes astonishing in how normal it all was to me. Which is why I like to share this piece of writing: I feel it is a unique perspective on this kind of event, as I have strived to keep it void of post-rationalisation and political context to keep it, as purely as possible, an insight into how this was experienced by a kid's mind, and for that I put myself back into my mindset of the time to write it. This shows in the "voice".
I was born in Beirut on September 11th, 1979, in the basement/shelter of the clinic where my mother had gone to give birth. We immediately left for Mu
The Littlest PresidentThe Littlest President10 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
The Littlest President
At the age of eleven I was elected the 50th president of the United States of America. My analysts put my win down to youth (I was the youngest ever to run) and to the unfortunate late-October acne breakout of my incumbent rival, an eighth grader from Massachusetts. I have a stronger faith in the New Rules than do my analysts, who are always looking at polls and running them through sacred formula. I ascribe my presidency to the good sense of America, my hard work at Security School, and the stunning leadership of my handlers.
Once my presidency was officially announced, my face was given another coat of foundation and I was ushered up to a podium in front of a large crowd of my supporters. There was a crashing sea of applause. Most of my supporters were dumpy women in their thirties – just barely old enough to remember a time before we had the New Rules – these were my core demographic, although my handlers dutifully i
AirbagAirbag11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
His eyes flinched, twitching
Like bats ears.
"Pick up your mother at 7, meet us at the restaurant."
The world seemed an unhappy place,
His placid tears set to fill the Nile in a few short hours,
A half charged cell-phone
On the seat like his blonde haired blue eyed thin framed
Darkness and obsession a prelude to a needle,
Exasperation, struggling respiration
And an elongated, low pitched sigh.
The slick roads washing like soap suds,
Dry as desert
But in the incapable hands of our main character,
They were as slippery as a bathroom floor
When he d r i f t e d
Into a lamppost,
Percussion cracked his skull like a sledge hammer,
Each bones fermata captured perfectly with a bass and snare,
Befitted perfectly with the occasional cymbal crash.
An airbag can only cushion your face for so long,
DeviantART's Ten CommandmentsDeviantART's Ten Commandments10 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The Ten Commandments of DeviantART
1. Thou shalt not put thyself before the art, or any idols of selfishness.
2. Thou shalt not take the name of deviantART in vain, nor claim it as thy own, or face penalty of banishment.
3. Thou shalt keep holy the forums and shoutbox, and only speak of adequate material in appropriate forum.
4. Thou shalt honor thy administrators and staff members, for they are the keepers of the peace and of the maintenance.
5. Thou shalt not kill a horse, only to continue to pummel its carcass on the wall of text that is the Forum.
6. Thou shalt not commit adultery of the Favourites system, such abuse is not tolerated and will result in the ceremonial urine-saturated March of the
He Thinks By FireCastlesHe Thinks By Fire10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Set the scene in Vienna, Rome
Tripoli - countries in cities.
Restaurants in the shade.
Men in chairs
With white straw hats, the sun curve
Of the day, and buzzing of motors on
Family visits an old man.
A hearty dinner, the sun a shine on the glass.
She says tell
Like you used to.
The boys poke the ground,
Fiddle with the earth,
Before he sighs.
I sign in blood.
A column splits, spoken
Ramparts, assailed corridors.
Degraded anarchs in the veins.
I hear Fire.
Random chaos in
The voi- voi- Void.
And my entry read:
'Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate!'
Abandon all hope, ye who enter!
The stun is complete. Boys caught moving
Sag down and shake.
She asks why? How?
And he repeats, numbly:
Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
"Poeticks: On Angst" 1 of 2"Poeticks: On Angst" 1 of 210 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Angst. People admire and despise, protest and support, immerse in and shun, indifferently yawn, while holding very firm opinions as their respective buttons are pressed when they hear the word "angst." As a starting point of Poeticks, we have decided to take up the differing opinions from inside DeviantArt, to lay out those arguments for all of you to read. Please keep in mind that these are "your" thoughts, as they are, and you are completely free to agree or disagree. Our objective is not to push forth an ultimate commandment, but rather to present to you the many (and often times conflicting) opinions we have received from fellow DeviantArt writers, in hopes of perhaps enlightening, sublimating or organizing your perspectives on the matter; or even to entertain you. We would be extremely pleased if it would serve as a personal reference point, or if it would incite writers to question and re-debate in
DICTIONARY: Community ProjectDICTIONARY: Community Project10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
DEVIANTART DICTIONARY '04
abandonedpyro ( a-ban-oned-py-ro) deviant. 1. A raft without a paddle. 2. A Pessimist at heart. 3. One that is too loud, over opinionated and emotional. 4. Warning Contents are highly flammable.
Agonhotep (ah-gun-hoe-tepp) idol 1. A deviant surfacing in the late 2003 best known for his witty poetry and emoticons. 2. Wielder of the Almighty Pink Tie. 3. A total babe magnet, although the shyest thing you'll ever encounter. v. 1. To hug or glomp something relentlessly. n. 1. A sound, usually a high pitched screech resembling "Eee!"
akanah (uk-ann-hah) something improper, possibly a noun
1. One who freely mingles wisdom with absurdity. 2. Rarely serious; pertaining to sarcasm. 3. Of the colour blue. 4. Having a poor sense of self preservation. 5. A grown-up lady who cusses and has done it with boys.
Synonyms: honest, obstinate, impertinent, crass, delusional, childish, but above all- entertaining
what it is to tame a lionwhat it is to tame a lion10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
12am rapid eye movement
cars speed down an instinct interstate
a little slower than they once did;
in the distance, city glow.
here only bad talk radio bathes
coffee stained seats
decorated with cigarette burn mosaics.
9am zombie walk
cattle chatter clatters to the floor,
where yellow light burns tired eyes.
chipper idiots dance to the sound
of a corporate drummer
in eternal accelerando.
6pm microwave dinner dementia
in an aquarium
where vibrant colors did abound,
green algae lurks.
a dull fish paddles belly up.
10pm metropolitan lullaby
staring at the cracked ceilings
of train noise tuesdays,
the city stench fades.
In dependant womanIn dependant woman11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In dependant women i find the brink of lost hope
A tilted ice skating rink
With a layer of soft soap.
A broken vase. Poker face. No joker, ace.
The hand shes dealt is knuckles
and a battery of bible belt buckles
She wears the make up so he wont lose face.
Fat slouch, soiled briefs, mouthful of tooth paste.
He's a relic from a past era.
She will never run faster than her mascara.
Scared...waiting for the second R to come
Scarred...no healing, beckon martyrdom.
Far from numb...but palsy ingrained
A flesh of mesh...and everything taken in vein.
Maiden turned maid
Laden with Jade
A once bright son, faded to shade.
Lost first, past second, now life is third nature.
Memory's mummery and mammary's milk
Now nothing but a trifle herd of stray blurs...
Eyes of overdue cataracts
Still life lies in matters of fact.
Her excuses are frail.
Each night she reads her bruises like Braille.
CENSOR THIS 08880CENSOR THIS 0888011 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I remember when I know why the cage bird sings
was challenged for the "encouragement to take action
in premarital sex, homosexuality, and the use of
I remember when the Bible was banned and/or
challenged for being "pornography and obscene"
in Alaska and Pennsylvania in 1993.
I remember when the The Autobiography of
Malcolm-X was challenged in Flordia in 1994--
because it was "racist against white people"
I remember when Jambo Means Hello: The Swahili
Alphabet was charged with "degrading white
children" although it was a book for white children to
understand the African-American culture much better.
I remember when Daddy's Roomate was removed
by most libraries by most of the United States---for
107183GOODKNIGHT107183GOODKNIGHT11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
nothing ever goes your way.
your workingtitle fails
and you stopshort of the edge
the drive that's given you so much
your own last hopes,
in the last of the starlight
and the last of the day's end
a paper hand, a vacant lot,
summer breeze. twelve
o'clock - time will tell
time / will
create our rifts, and
I'll be here waiting, this
nothing lasts for-ever this time (so
as the spaceship
noses up - one last attempt
I'll be here waiting, this
an effortless screaming deity
not much to go by
your undecide,your self
leave me to
my own de
time I see that face I'll
(if you were only)
if I screamed so loud I
hear the "one last"
I tried so hard
I tried so hard
I lied so the world would only I could
hollow my ancient
and I take that as it's meant
I never looked back tha
Daddy's bellyDaddy's large belly protruded past the rest of us,Daddy's belly9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes it gurgled
if it sensed the presence of an
In N' Out Burger close by.
It would shake a little
when he laughed.
It would rise and fall
when he slept.
It would demand much room,
when he drove mother's car.
It came to be that I was convinced
his heart was in that belly,
that it was big simply because
he needed more space.
His Death Certificate reads
H e a r t A t t a c k -
and a small part of me still wonders
why didn't his belly collapse?
Why couldn't his stomach
have attacked him instead?
Not his loving heart -
not his love that everyone envied, admired,
that beat so loudly
as though it were a Chinese gong.
I look in the mirror now
and wonder if my heart too,
is lower than it should be.
HIT ME RUNNINGDon't sell me funeral plotsHIT ME RUNNING10 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
on late night television
if the end is already in sight
am I supposed to pull the sheets up to my neck,
count to zero,
smile, and cease?
keep your pills, in all their pretty colors:
celebrex, propecia, allegra, lipitor, zanex, viagra
keep them for scrabble
keep your rogaine, your facelifts
keep your death insurance
keep your graveyard reservations
hit me running.
let me go down swinging
make it a sport:
give me a ten-minute head start
and an obstacle course.
place a beautiful girl on the far side of a mine field
and whisper, "she wants to kiss you"
target me on my feet
dodging doomsday's in slow-mo bullet time
let me duel the grim reaper in a poetry slam
but let me lay where i fall
let the buzzards and coyotes
pick apart my bones
don't stuff me and sew me up
waste my estate on alcohol for my wake
instead of wood for a coffin,
build me a funeral pyre
and set me ablaze like a pagan-warrior-king
CokeCoke10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Still noon in the paddy fields
in Kerala, we sank a well
to stem the flow of desert,
but came up smelling of dust.
Watched rice plants wither as the slow sun
silenced resolve in angry glare,
and warm dry gusts scattered
hope to the four corners.
In Palakkad, an empty street, sold
to ten million-dollar-a-day death,
men nurse wounds and children.
The women have gone to find water-
when the supply runs altogether dry,
we may find out how to swallow
the dust. Or our pride. Lesson taught,
we shall learn to drink coke.
Still noon in the baking heat
within the walled compound, we
stand around on wounded feet
spreading slurry on the ground.
So here, at least, is water
(to dampen a capital purse)
So here we earn our living -
a litre a day (could be worse).
Outside, the world is barren,
the earth is cracked and bare.
As boreholes tap our reservoirs
at last we've learnt to share.
So desert soil is progress,
and bitter stench is joy.
Infected feet dance to the beat
of the jin
The CordContentsThe Cord9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I. "Tomato Stew"
II. "conversation with the neighbour"
III. "Man in No.3"
V. "On the Road (part one)"
VI. "On the Road (part two)"
VII. "On the Road (part three)"
VIII. "untitled document"
IX. "Motel Room"
X. "Hospital again (insecticide)"
XI. "The Separation"
XII. "Before the Law (timber wolf)"
XIII. "conversation with the mother"
XIV. "another document"
I. Tomato Stew
she's crying away in that little room of hers, what does she want now? leave the
wooden spoon resting on the pot bubbling away limping down the corridor the
screaming grows from a muffle into hi-fi eardrum perforation. she looks helpless
in her confines but I know the stew is going to overflow. tomato stew ambles beyond
lipped edges, rush to the stove turn down the heat, bubbles exhumed with a hiss
leaving chaos on the floor ceiling table drawers cutlery statue chairs and the sink.
but she won't stop the antichrist screaming, i'm late for work and the flo
102407ENCHANTED102407ENCHANTED12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm silent, love
I'm in the sunbeams
c,lose your eyes, I'm the sky
sleep like the new fallensnow
it's in my hands this, fragile
it's the very thing you
[ loveme ]
certain songs she weaves around me
I'm snowfallen in summer,
her heart like the
sky wind rain
there's this field...
and it's the glow of late summer enchanted
and the world stands still for her, and I'm
pressed to the ground / waiting
she calls out from far across the lands
she calls from the tower stair
she's radiant like the new fallensnow
so softly, she's alive. please whisper
for a while, the petals dont move
before long she has enveloped me.
one last light in the window.
ending two. west wind.
it's the glow of late summer enchanted
and the world stands still for her.
://©2002 Jesse Michael Renaud
Going UpGoing Up11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Going Up (Draft 3)
An original story by Ben Rausch
This is the script to an eleven minute long animated film.
Int. small flat
Fade in to choker close up of a man (MAX) with his eyes closed. After a few moments the camera slowly dollies out to a long shot, while tilting up 90 degrees to reveal Max is sleeping. An alarm clock wakes him. Max gets up, puts on a black suit, grabs a black briefcase and leaves the flat.
Int. Bus Day
Time lapse shot of Max looking bored, standing on a bus.
Ext. Street day
Max gets off the bus and enters a large building
Max enters and then goes into a lift.
Max pushes the button to go to the second floor. Stands waiting for the lift to reach it's destination.
Int. Second Floor offices
The doors of the lift slide open with a little ring. Max exits them and enters a very long corridor, with doors all alo