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Literature
aftermath
this morning my heart woke
me up to tell me you're taking
your piece with you when you go,
tugging at the distance as your
plane left the runway and i wrenched into
the darkness you left me for and i swore
i could see the stars falling down around me
the minute i said your name and it echoed,
my god, the syllables sunk deep into the pit
of my stomach and rested there like seeds,
watered by the nights i spent telling what was left
of me to forget all of you while my insides
tried to figure out how to be less, necessarily
it never worked. it never does when you
treat hearts like candy bars, like pieces
you deserve to break off & take with you
like the chocolate centre of my soul i gave
you, instead of my blown glass shattering,
the battery that keeps me thinking about
my live wires at the edges where you picked
up & left; you had me making signal fires -
everything went up in smoke and
i found myself on the edge of arson
where i want to burn everything
down at the site, where i want to b
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 2
Literature
last season's mix tapes
in every story, there is a plot.  
this is called “what happens.”  
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.  
what happens is we lose touch.  
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 4
Literature
leaving the nest
i dreamed of
growing up a
willow but
didn't budge
from the oak
grove, stayed
unsubtle &
strong. where i
tried to feather
out my edges
i stayed firm
& full coarse.
where i tried
to love i lost
limbs & shed
another layer
of calloused
skin. where i
tried to weep
gracefully i
kept tripping
over my own
roots, kept on
sobbing some
thing awful.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 18 22
Literature
reclaiming boston
on the bus with my
legs sprawled over my bags, i
imagine the miles
falling away from
me like hydrangea petals
in a summer breeze
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 9
Literature
e street shuffle
daylight whitens the scars of the hasty
reenactment, the perfunctory funk
of traincar graffiti crews hunkered over
backalley dumpsters making the news
humdrum the creation never undone, the hard-
won that stays because it stays unseen,
becomes routine, becomes
the sheen of art school dreams
still visible beneath the filth of city streets,
a fantasy decaying in its frame
& heedless with age under the superficial
rage of the blindly worked & blindly paid,
systematic slaves to factories where they make
but don't create, where graffiti is the only
god left to praise, where capitalists' fingers weighed
down with rings snap, start to sway,
pay to have it washed away, begin
to annihilate the day.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 10
Literature
love the yarn, love the bestseller
falling for you in december was a cold fiction, myth
rich & beautiful like the frost weighing down the tip
of every blade of grass in the mornings, like heather's
house late at night, bushes swollen thick & obscuring
the street signs, with me scouring evergreen lane
for numbers, waiting for a flicker of the porchlight,
yelling her name to find out i had driven around
evergreen court in stupid sooty circles, down the street
from falling with you in december, when i was trailing
you by entire revolutions, when without your name i
thought i could hunt down your heart in the dark,
when without you i scratched the fable of our love
onto a brick in a house i'll admit i knew wasn't yours.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 10
lose your self by anyimacielgray lose your self :iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 17 10
Literature
to giovanna cenami
mother goddess,
your whole deep greens
astonish.
& your pale yellow slivers of sun
& then the blue sky sleeves
with your open fertile hands blossoming
out of them, small & serene.
your gaze a red innocence, heavy with curiousity
& need.
the white
white veil
won't dare
touch your
cheek bones.
it graces your glowing forehead, forgotten entirely
after the shock of love in your glance.
you know this man's  
profound black browns, his steady eye
the flickering immodest uncaring of calculation
hung over his lids, over the hazy grey
of city sky, this hard bent man stooped
with briefcase in hand, thickly
cloaked, thin lipped, top hatted.
you the warm unnamed bride & he
the sharp nosed Man
insisting.
you the pleasant & powerful, indulgent
of his every little
lovely evil,
the eternal forgiveness in the curve
of your lips, the unspoken
colour of power. you the patient
the unending source.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 72 29
Literature
cons
i've swallowed continents en masse, & all
their statues too, or their shot glasses (i
admit to a collection) or their calls,
their laughs & hiccups, ornaments in piles
on trees – the odd ingredient in pies
& tickets to museums & that night itch
of metaphysics' batty evil eye.
i listen for the strange ways we debrick
each other, say hello, craft whole triptychs
of queries after dogs & aunts, i wake
with elbows bruised from who knows which
event i tripped into (but i would bake
forever while you read me nietzsche or
the dialogues or charmed me to the floor)
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 19
Literature
with a single match tossed over the potomac
reckless clouds sky-streaked
slapdash - the whole mess spilled with
oil & lit on fire
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 5 11
Literature
hands
i call the basket weaver mother so
she'll curl into my future self but time
does not go lending me a favour, knows
whose accusations fray its essence (mine
might be the least inspired) but she will find
the centre of my soul outside of days,
each reed she plaits a branch of my lifeline
in disbelief of past or coming age.
she grows indefinite & kneeling, prays
with spokes & palms repeated into sky,
each revolution of the wicker maze
another texture for the looping i -
the cursive of this self she'll craft beyond
the memories of selves i'll have, i've lost.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 12 8
Literature
Towards Peace
the Means of Peace, betwixt the Government
almost ever worse than the Disease:
of Justice in the Hands and Mouths of the
Aggressors seldom getting what they seek.
fading enjoyments of this Lower World:
and Greatness of Dominion more than Right
     Men seek their Wills by War rather than Peace
     embrewed their Hands in one another's Blood:
     as they will violate it to obtain
     Possession of Princes and People too.
     Perhaps it may be in a good Degree
     not to destroy the Lives of Men: to give
     as War cannot in any sense be just
     the Maker and Preserver of our Peace
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 1 0
Literature
beware of
you my dumpy little cockroach
my forgotten bit of red glass
my not mine
the beautiful driftwood
see how i've made you heavy,
see how i've planted my fingers into the deepness of the deepness & fluttered my eyelids for effect but how i've read the braille of earth & found out your ten thousand names & misplaced just one or two into a decaying notebook once green by incident, by accident.
i'm sorry about calling you a giddy swellbellied politician & about forgetting most of your names. but the nice bit of it is, look, i can figure a language assembled of clicks & berries.
maybe if it's raspberry plickblack pop. pop.
maybe i shouldn't swaddle you in names maybe
i don't want to letter you into a cage
see how i've called you instead by my swelling eyes.
see how the unfolding of my hand
becomes you.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 7
Literature
faking halloween: a family pastime
vava drives her old camry smack yellow on the double line. this car's as old as i am i say lisping over plastic vampire teeth & she presses together her purple dry-flower lips humming oh yes – 92 – she counts her feelings in orange lollipops, she arranges the wrapped candy into an elegant JAMES on top of vavo's grave & the trees have gone greening themselves but it doesn't matter, otherwise she'll never sleep so we keep a costume handy all year & black face paint just in case she grows blue underneath her april umbrella.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 9 6
Literature
FUNERAL
here is a photograph of a car window during the late day.
it was taken on a cell phone.
the car is light champagne & its window reflects trees.
& it reflects a few words smoothed in with a thin finger
faintly on the inside of a foggy pane
too faintly so you tilt yourself inside the memory.
& it reflects a few words we love you will
you spill into it slowly, in reverse, all of you at once.
here is a man in a black suit & tie.
he is telling you where to park your car.
human beings standing up like ants
unfolding their creaking legs & waiting to be devoured.
human beings or ant beings standing up to talk about it.
we are being devoured they say.
nos están devorandos.
they put their ant hands to their faces.
oh they say
ay ay
oh.
we love you will. why
we love you. human beings crawling over each other's tears.
collapsing on top with sobs for the warmth of another body.
there are two faces, one his & one no longer his.
human beings examining his exoskeleton. this physical
stuff. you gr
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 6 0
Literature
for my mother, for whom i am never careful enough
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
dimensional enough i could tip myself over into space:
honest, bones, i could shrug at gravity & join with you
to fashion a rubber duck for the great & terrible zeus
a universe wide, tipping earth precisely in the right ways.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
orchids, carefully, the way my mother often tried to,
she wouldn't die thinking i refuse to carry her face,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
i walk fast without breaking her back – i can love, too:
oh, mother, your beloved & bitchy brace face, space case,
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
new toes, i wouldn't bother about the others being blue
with your poor circulation, or other bizarre malaise,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
but i won't go to space & i promise to wear rain boots.
don't worry if i get arrested at a protest by mistake.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
honest
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 159 37

Random Favourites

Literature
Love poem homicides
i stutter when i'm nervous which is almost all the time. she used to say that it was cute and that i was cute, count my smattering of freckles and call each one an angel toothed nibble and whatever that meant it sounded un-hideous so i didn't ever disagree.
i think it was that time in the sun drowned jungle where the children shoot each other with invisible guns that i realized she wasn't exactly normal. she kissed me under the gnarled roof where gold dusted fairy motes hang like clouds waiting anxiously for rain and i stuttered because her lips were my side of the pillowcase and pink corner store bubble gum.
she smiled like white linoleum and laughed.
what's the matter, she asked, are you frightened?
yes, i thought. but i said no, reached into the warm forever between us and took hold of her hands. their nails were painted up like tiny little apricots and i remember that to to this day.
that's good, she said. she kissed me again.
she tried to put her tongue into my mouth and i wasn't
:iconBeanstalk-Warrior:Beanstalk-Warrior
:iconbeanstalk-warrior:Beanstalk-Warrior 27 34
Journal
Daily Literature Deviations - August 15, 2009
Daily Lit Deviations for August 15th, 2009
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
Please show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article
Don't hesitate to comment or :+fav: the artists for their hard work!
Poetry
Featured by: EmoSunshineMuffin

"an orphic hymn." by anyimacielgray
Human nature. Broken and beautiful.
Somewhat daunting if taken the wrong way.
Thought provoking. Long live Orpheus, and his lyre.
Featured by: kersee9

"High wind from the north" by SourPopsi
SourPopsi uses language that is almost mystical
in her description of the human predicament. There is powerful
imagery here taking the reader into himself, giving him fresh eyes
to look out at the sea of humanity and himself within it. In the end
a circle always new.
Prose
Featured by: teenyxtinyxtina

"Love poem homicides" by Beanstalk-Warrior
Betwe
:iconDailyLitDeviations:DailyLitDeviations
:icondailylitdeviations:DailyLitDeviations 61 9
Missed me by vampire-zombie Missed me :iconvampire-zombie:vampire-zombie 805 44
Journal
devInterviews - sine-out (Photography)
:community: Welcome back to another edition of devInterviews! :community:
This particular devInterview was done by 3wyl.
For devInterviews's next photography interview, we present sine-out. He has been a member of deviantart for five years.
Q. How did you find deviantART and what made you stay?
A. I first found dA in 2003, linked through an old poetry site I used to frequent (allpoetry.com), from a friend’s page. I didn't really have much of a use for dA at the time, what with my writing angsty poetry and not realising that dA supported a Lit community at that time, so I looked at my friend’s page and promptly left. About a year later (June 2004), I discovered dA again, which was a good thing because I was getting into photography and fractal art at the time, so, I posted my work and left for two months to return in August where I found a home in the Forums. In short, I found dA through a friend, and I stayed for the community, and for the occasional pla
:icondevInterviews:devInterviews
:icondevinterviews:devInterviews 7 0
Literature
Let There Be Roses
O God, let there be a rose:
A rose for one I love
Who loves me in ways
That I can not understand,
And can not bear the weight of.
O God, let there be a rose:
A rose for one I love
Who does not understand
What I mean when I say love,
And fears she is not loved.
O God, let there be a rose:
A rose for one I love
Who will outstrip me
If there is any love in you,
Or justice.
O God, let there be a rose:
A rose for one I love
Who loves words
And who I cherish,
Beyond reasons I can speak.
O God, let there be roses:
Roses for ones I love
That I will strip the thorns from
And spill blood like roses,
To pay the prices you require.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 4
Literature
Bridging The Chasm
I listen to my elders.
More than once, I have heard the middle-age, middle-class man talk about soldiers. He is patriotic; whether or not he has served, he is very grateful to his country. He is many men, every one the same.
The conversation begins with a comment about war. Along with others present, he prepares for the discussion. An odd turn of the head and a reluctant “Well...” precede his jumbled statement, which rambles onward uncertainly. In the middle of it he hits a particularly bad snag, where he shakes his head rapidly and casts away the train of thought with relief.
He admits that he doesn’t know about war or philosophy or things like that. He explains that when he thinks of war, he thinks of the troops: the amazing American men and women who go out and fight for our safety. “For you and me,” he says. They deserve our greatest respect, and in his mind there is no room for discussion. He says that whenever he sees a soldier, no matter where he is or w
:iconJenealia:Jenealia
:iconjenealia:Jenealia 4 13
rabbit without ears by bigcitydreams rabbit without ears :iconbigcitydreams:bigcitydreams 227 19
Journal
devInterviews - guillaume-dauphin (Photography)
:community: Welcome back to another edition of devInterviews! :community:
This particular devInterview was done by Gabirules54.
For my second interview I have picked guillaume-dauphin. I was attracted to his stunning animal photography, though his gallery is a mix of all themes.
He recently was awarded another DD (Daily Deviation) for his oddly angled Spring 5.
He is a deviant that I am happy to have found as his pictures are always beautiful and spectacular.

Q. How did you get into photography?
A. I've been interested in photography since a long time, probably because my dad is an amateur photographer doing photojournalism or artsy things. I was very interested in the process of capturing light, but because of other activities (mainly sport) I only got my first compact camera when I was 20 then 2 years later I decided to make a step forward and be able to more things
:icondevInterviews:devInterviews
:icondevinterviews:devInterviews 3 0
Literature
Lost on a long road trip
my retina is slowly stretching,
iris toughening, blindness
tracks me like a television.
the cars, too, gleam
of angels who span the paths
apart, summary.
this secret garden of glass.
there is a dome, a roman arch,
and the sunlight naked as sculpture.
an image appears.
a word appears.
this is poetry.
the word disappears,
nothing in place of it.
and then
halfway across Illinois in my car
I see Chicago
spread out like cheap insulation.
the world strays
later, at night, behind a wet field
hide ladders of air. The atmosphere
makes a noise like a shutter.
morning comes as I drive
by flat towns where the road
knifes from a false
horizon, and this moment is a couple
exchanging blurred teeth
in the alcove of a Subway.
what is he saying? what is he saying?
well it turns out
the two are demonstrating love--
he is saying: look, baby,
(Here the sun is obliterated in a cloud)
I'm real, I must be, there is
this failing light in my mouth.
:iconburymybones:burymybones
:iconburymybones:burymybones 116 25
Journal
devInterviews - Amertie (Literature).
:community: Welcome back to another edition of devInterviews! :community:
This particular devInterview was done by GwenavhyeurAnastasia.
For devInterviews first member of the literature community, I would like to present Amertie.
Amertie has been a member on deviantART for almost thirteen months now. She is one of the most popular writers on dA; her work is featured on the front page on a constant basis.
Q: To start, I’d like if you could give some general background information on yourself, including why you joined dA.
A: i'm 15, and my birthday is december 17. i live in texas. i like catfish and the color cerulean. i have a fascination with stars and yes, i sing in the shower. and i’m also a llama fish, whatever that is. i joined because i wanted people to read and comment on my writing. i wanted critique and suggestions. oh, and my name’s alyssa.
Q: So, as one of the most popular writers on dA, have you found the critique you’re look
:icondevInterviews:devInterviews
:icondevinterviews:devInterviews 41 46
Azkaban Will Eat You. by cupcake-rufflebutt Azkaban Will Eat You. :iconcupcake-rufflebutt:cupcake-rufflebutt 855 268
Literature
ring around
she had hoped for something more
dramatic.
he treads softly back to her door,
slams
it. and she calls,
thank you
and wonders if her lungs
are still puffy with tar
as she examines her eyes
still laden with last night
in the spout
of the tea kettle, emblazoned
with his fingerprints
and she wonders how long they will
stay.
and she wonders if it matters
if he and she
could just as easily
mean anyone.
:iconolivelina:olivelina
:iconolivelina:olivelina 3 8
Literature
puzzling
the world is missing four continents
and half an ocean.
comforting blue of the sea
is stacked somewhere near the moon
until god comes home
from her granddaughter’s house
on the bus with the vinyl seats
and metal springs that pierce holes
in her shopping bags.
south africa, the color of a creamsicle
and the size of a matchbook,
is under the table somewhere
but god can’t reach it
and she can’t find half of japan
but she remembers living there
in her white nurse’s dress, starched hat
hair years from grey.
:iconolivelina:olivelina
:iconolivelina:olivelina 7 12
Literature
summer in the city
you taste of smoke and desire
(or maybe denial)
as we lie here.
our hands sweat together
and the model on the third floor
slithers from skin
rising like heat
and the city becomes assonance –
we are sighing, screaming
and the man in 12B
who plays the saxophone when he’s drunk
(melodies that scrape bottom)
leaves for good
his young wife and newborn baby
wail after him indistinguishably
and the door slams and the rooftop rattles
(but maybe we’re imagining it)
the sky splays emotion like a jackson pollock
our limbs crumble like old books
dancing across the roof in the hint of a breeze
:iconolivelina:olivelina
:iconolivelina:olivelina 3 10
Literature
raindance
once i was azure
like the ocean ocean ocean
and i repeated every word
because it felt so good
rolling around in my mouth.
because the sky shone with sapphires
sparkling like indian names
and my eyes shone too
when i lay on my back, with grass
slipping through my fingers
imprinting my palms
like mommy's rings
when we crossed the street.
and
her nails were crimson
once i was golden
like the sun sun sun
and the world poured its light
as if it were all just for me
because the world was as small
as i was
and as big as i needed it to be
and
big enough for mommy too
and
her hair was chestnut
and
her hair was gone
and
her coffin was white
and
the jewels i saw when i watched
the sun sun sun
dance
rained down for the last time
          &
            shattered.
:iconolivelina:olivelina
:iconolivelina:olivelina 7 23

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anyimacielgray
iohes de eyck me fecit.
United States

love that's all







favourite genre of music: everything, operating system: borrowed spleen, shell of choice: turtle, favourite cartoon character: calvin and hobbes, personal quote: I'VE HELD MANY A BABY WHILE THE HOMEGIRL GOT HER SCRAP ON
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:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 1, 2018
Happy Early Birthday wishes to you and may it be a most wonderful one!
Reply
:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2017
Happy Early Birthday next week my dear and may it be a most beautiful and blessed one!
Reply
:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 6, 2016
Early birthday wishes goes out to you and may it be totally fabulous!
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:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 7, 2015
Happy Birthday to you and may it be as sweet and lovely as your great poetry and writing!
Reply
:iconmel-dickinstein:
mel-dickinstein Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
ive always been a fan of your work. keep up the awesome work. you are definitely an inspiration! :heart:
Reply
:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014
 great writing and poetry that you got here and its awesome with a capital A!
I have a few of your masterpieces in my faves and look forward seeing more from you in the future. keep up the great work and God bless!
Reply
:iconspartan-locke:
spartan-locke Featured By Owner May 7, 2014   Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:icontheemptychest:
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013

Tag a quality deviant, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have. Send this to 10 deviants who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them! ♥

(Just thought you deserved this.)

Reply
:iconanyimacielgray:
anyimacielgray Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
thank you so so much! i will definitely pass this on <3
Reply
:icontheemptychest:
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
:huggle: Good!
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