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Amy Fae
38 Watchers11.9K Page Views82 Deviations
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Hereford meets Springtime
Hereford meets Springtime Hereford meets Springtime, furtively at first,   passing snowdrop-notes in the hallways, winking green and brushing shoulders with         the yellow-white-purple crocus. Full infatuation erupts in public   displays of daffodils and forsythia,          the lunch-time dramas of rainfall amidst nods and smiles from the pansies. Love takes root dandelion-deep,   despite unpredictable temperature fluctuations, and explodes in a burst of cherry-pear-plum          fairy-petal blossoms. Hereford and Springtime hold hands,   their shoes covered in mud and grass, while the lilacs awaken          and e
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April
April Finally the lawn is dotted with violets
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Cotton Balls
Cotton Balls She hides treasures in the cotton ball jar:     buttons, shells, favorite crayons, and once, the skull of a bat she found outside the garage. Mother inevitably finds them,     reaching in the jar for a fluffy squeak of cotton     to remove her nail polish. She pulls out cerulean blue or red violet,     a piece of purple quartz, and once her own emerald ring. That was the worst time,   worse even than the bat skull. Mother yelled and threatened the removal of all crayons,     shells, rocks, and grocery store machine jewelry. She tried to stop that time,        kept her hands off the jar for two whole days, b
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Geometry
Geometry In high school geometry, we learned          the triangle is the strongest shape,  while Melanie played the turtle, crawling about the classroom          in a shell of desk. In college, we learned human relationships are not geometry. Not all triangles are isosceles.    Fewer are right, and even fewer beds comfortably fit        three moving bodies. Now I am suspicious of all maths.   You approach, calculating one and one and one make       I count my fingers. There are one too many threes in this equation.
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AAM 8 - Solstice
Solstice My baby likes a cold, chocolatety milkshake on the longest night of the year. “Mason-Dixon’s so close,” he says, incisors gleaming. My baby thinks all the pagan holidays are excuses for sex. He ignores his cell phone, leaves the lights on, and always craves fries afterwards. So my baby’s scarf-wrapped and smiling tonight, with January so far away. The fake leather booth chills his legs, but he’s dreaming about Equinox tonight.
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AAM 11 - making cookies
The cookie-making impulse always strikes at night, the colder and darker the better. The scent of chocolate-chip mish-mash is irresistible, licking off the beaters, filling the house with cookie-warmth. You might be sitting on the couch, (in fact, you probably are) reading, or watching television, when it hits you upside the tastebuds: semi-sweet chocolate waiting for you, in the cabinet, behind the pots and pans, hiding from Dad. (Dad’s not supposed to have sweets; if you make the cookies, you’ll have to hide them, too, and you really ought to have made them before he got home from work.) The thought of those tiny li
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AAM 7 - fairytales
She stirs the milk into her tea, dreaming of big noses and overalls, licking honey from a spoon. It’s raining again, the drops tapping out enchantments to keep the world quiet and gray. She remembers muddy feet, the warmth of hands on her back, the weight of two bodies in her bed. The fog huddles against the windows, dragon-like, and she settles herself in for another hundred years.
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AAM 6 - Catullus 2
Little bird, you’re a god to my girl. She’s all lap and fingertips to you, a veritable human playground; she incites you and excites you, and you, full of nips and quips, comfort her dark heavy days. Comfort me, little bird, like her, if it’s so easy… It’s as good as golden apples slipping from a belt to fast-running girls.
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AAM 5 - newspaper clippings
Newspaper Clippings We are reduced to this: a newspaper clipping, a photograph, an old recipe. What lies they whisper to coffee-dampened ears. Disguised as history, hiding their half-truths in yellowed pages and brittle bits of tape. These are our lives, outlined: birth announcements to obituaries, a collection of bloodless facts.
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AAM 4 - drought
drought We look to November rains to save us, but they only mock our fields while the banks of the reservoirs widen, earth’s own chapped lips. We are dry: dry hands, dry hair, dry eyes; we cannot afford tears this year. We cannot even sweat. Our lips like earth, we seek moments of moisture, tongue to tongue. Together we can pretend the drought has passed.
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Liberation of Nick
The Liberation of Nick Nick carves himself into my chair Pretending that I'm not there While heavy and still hangs the air Around my body, in my hair But Nick, Nick, he does not care Of me he is unaware And I as well am unaware Of every other wooden chair Angled with excruciating care Students scattered here and there Fidgeting with their dirty hair Breathing in polluted air But Nick, his solemnizing air Renders me solely unaware As I watch his long dark hair Cover his face, brushing the chair He concentrates on his carving there Himself he carves with such care And I, ignoring any care Reach forth my hand into the air An
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Last Words - attempted pantoum
Last words (attempted pantoum) And this is all I have to say: The words I speak don't mean to me The things they meant just yesterday For here I find discrepancy The words I speak don't mean to me The same as what they mean to you For here I find discrepancy In what is false and what is true The same as what they mean to you Is more or less a jaded jewel In what is false and what is true I see that I'm a simple tool Is more or less a jaded jewel But everything I've left behind? I see that I'm a simple tool Manipulated by your mind But everything I've left behind I still remember clutching near; Manipulated by your mind I d
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Corners
Corners She smears lotion on her legs and tries to relax, lies back and considers all the Latin words for death.  This gives her a headache and she washes her face with oatmeal soap cold water kiss  ssik  sick  ckis.  She almost vomits, her shoulders tense, her stomach knots her eyes water and it is over.  The mirror chases her out with cool wet hands on sweaty neck. You fevered beside me and I would have given common dollars and cents to see your delusions hidden behind closed lids.  deluge  shuns day  loose  sons  but you kept to yourself and turned a bright burning back to my back my  to  back  burning  bright  so I caught yo
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Eros Madness
Eros' Madness This is my analysis:     I am hurt.          I am confused. And if I could blame this pain this madness and disease upon a mere petty-god ~ Oh, if only I suffered from Eros' cruel arrows. I am hiding, me and mine, in myths of the past, where I     assume superiority.  I giggle at you, poor afflicted Habrocomes   and Anthia (she too, in a bad way). If Eros only bestowed his jealousies upon me. I know something of love,   something of lust,          and little of life. I can fill a page with trite euphemisms   imagine myself intellectual, philosophical     end up (soph)moronical. I solve nothing, needs
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Catullus V - translation
Latin: Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus, rumoresque senum severiorum omnes unius aestimemus assis! Soles occidere et redire possunt: nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda. Da mi basia mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum, deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum. Dein, cum milia multa fecerimus, conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus, aut ne quis malus invidere possit, cum tantum sciat esse basiorum. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Modern Translation: Let us live, Lesbia, let us love Let\'s ignore the vicious old men  with their vicious rumors! The sun sets and rises again bu
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Catullus LI - translation
Latin: Ille mi par esse deo videtur, ille, si fas est, superare divos, qui sedens adversus identidem te pectat et audit dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis eripit sensus mihi; nam simul te, Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super mi ……… lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus flamma demanat, sonitu suopte tintinant aures, gemina teguntur lumina nocte. [Otium, Catulle, tibi molestum est; otio exsultas nimiumque gestis; otium et reges prius et beatas perdidit urbes.] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Modern Translation: He, that dream-shadow of me sits across from you again and like a god he sees and hears all     that you are Swee
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Realizations
Realizations: there becomes a time, late, a weekend at the end of February when a girl knows that she is  has broken. she has been breaking since the turn of the year but she now feels the fissure when a boy's hand rests on her stomach. the texture of red velvet cake or black velvet shoes cannot enhance a romantic relationship and even the sweetest icing leaves sugar trails on sweatshirts and in hair. an understanding of poetry is not required in a poet, or often desired. what is desired to lock one's words uptight in small wooden boxes with diary keys found centuries later, centiens that contemporary translators might piec
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Couch
Couch He had a couch like no-other-man   wide-like  (that couch)  long-like  (that couch)        facing  front-and-center     200 - channels - television (with weather starring Jeanetta Jones, the infallible Jeanetta Jones, all-weather girl)  after girl     on that couch crouching   beneath Mom and Dad's nevermind (the perfect  cheerleader-meets-football-player   marriage)  that couch met  his match every     time  every  month  every arched-back   bare-legged   soft-lipped  girl  (and some) over  (again)  and through  (again)     right in back-yard glass-door view so that younger  (not so much)  brother too  (not  
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For Lesbia
For Lesbia Pulchra puella, who are you really?     When you were Clodia, could others see you separate from a pining poet, a slave of inspiration     what words did he ever whisper to you He stands tongue-tied and blushing, too nervous to speak     and you counting your gems     your lines of suitors, unaware of the frantic scratchings of a fevered pen. His was a touch amongst many and she gave him no less     no more   than any other She learned to be her own sun   and drowned her thoughts in rippling laughter rippling she shone for herself   never   she never intended to outshine anyone. He raises her on clouds of wor
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Ovid Amores I-3 translation
Version 1 Let's be fair about this – if she's got my   heart, I should get hers. Or at least at least     give me a real reason to love her. None of this love-at-first-site   first-bite   new-light   nonsense.  There's gotta be   a better reason than that. I know, I know:     I'm asking too much again – just let her let me love her – how about that, Venus? even that   even that would be so much Take me – I'll be your slave.     Take me – I know how to love. you.  Faith – full – ly   you'll love it. You're worried about my family?   Alright, so I'm not top-of-the-line, but – but: I've got the gods behind me,  Phoebus
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Narcissus, or Please Follow Me
And this? This is asking:— . Oh great thought! Great mirror! Mine is no more a body than— ? I thought, and thought I was asking between two unmarked worlds, like roads.— I could take you, too. I could carry you through two lives: one which builds, and so bursts godly open and ruins at last. One which was ruined (all along), I suppose.
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Dandelion Perch
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Portals
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reflect study
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Valentines Ballerina
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8.7K

Spotlight

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Thinner
Thinner Every time they see her looking thinner:  there is less to hug until she's transparent to herself:  until she's thick as paper and better blanker for writing upon
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Artist // Literature
  • Deviant 16 years
  • She / Her
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Comments216

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vespera's avatar
vesperaProfessional Writer
I wonder when you'll be back.
epimetheus's avatar
epimetheusProfessional Interface Designer
Boo!
catching's avatar
Thanks so much for the recent (kinda) comment and fav! :aww:
pupasoul's avatar
pupasoulHobbyist General Artist
Thanks Amy! :sun:
JoannaBromley's avatar
JoannaBromleyProfessional Traditional Artist
Thanks for hte fav! :blowkiss:
cpersampieri's avatar
hey you!
Thanks for the add! =)
:glomp:
echo-si's avatar
echo-si Writer
Baby write something, anything. Write about shadows on dirty snow, or due dates, or rain that doesn't stop for weeks on end and ruins the best part of summer....

:heart:
Love you.