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Literature
Unseen Hands
The sleet of time crackles and
cackles at the ground around little, little
me.
The grass receives the blast serenely
as shards of ice nestle in my cap,
then begin to erode away my face
as the hourglass turns
and the beads try to fall upwards.
But there are no fresh starts here,
no unseen hands.
So we let ourselves get whisked away,
bit by bit,
and walk on with frosted tops.
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Literature
Sprawl
i think of many things when you say "sprawl"
myself,
sprawled on my bed
all acute angles of knees and hips and elbows and shoulders—
less of a sprawl than a ball, that is—
but sometimes i'm sprawled, limbs straight out as i try to make myself vulnerable to the world
and then curl back up again because i can't take it,
can't take the risk of maybe the light falling from the ceiling onto me
or something less tangible puncturing me;
in any case i can't take it.
why is it that everything takes one direction in my head
and when i leap off the bed
and start to crazy write with no capitals so it feels more like i'm writing from kerouac's SHEER MAD JOY
it all goes to shit?
or not to shit, but goes in a different direction,
diverges from what i thought was a one-lane one-way road
like the one i see
sprawled out below me
when i stand on my eleventh-floor balcony.
see, there's another one:  urban sprawl.
an idea i have lived with all my life but which seems to fade into a vagu
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Literature
Safe
On Thursday, an early end to the workday and a dinner that's just out of their price range unfailingly follows a poor excuse for inexplicable credit card charges.  An entire Sunday spent watching black and white movies only comes after an entire Saturday spent apart.  A meticulously-picked-out bouquet delivered to Joel's desk before he even gets to work on Tuesday morning is a subtle yet blatant answer to the pillow-muffled question of eight hours previous:  "Why were you out so late?"
William's honesty gives away his deceit, and that is why Joel will eat his overpriced foie gras and snuggle with William on the couch as Cary Grant's light flickers over them and get a vase and water for the flowers the second he sees them.
William is stupid, and as long as he knows that, Joel feels safe.
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Literature
us,
us,
sprawled under the midmorning sun,
breathing the dew-vapor of freshly mown grass,
books sprawled on our chests.
we fade in and fade out
with the sticky exhaustion of doing nothing.
:iconblobbikins:blobbikins
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Literature
Young
She is weary with fifteen years' worth of cares upon her shoulders, her back, her mind.  The whole world's pain settles over her every time she closes her eyes or muffles her ears or has even one moment to herself in the 3 a.m. quiet of her room.  Sometimes it takes the form of a lump in her throat so big she feels like she can't breathe, but still she refuses to let the pain come out of her eyes.  So she washes it away with the burning pain of her parents' liquor cabinet down her throat and, more often than not, the burning pain of it coming back up again.  She battles it away with fists to the walls and blades to the thighs and never considers that she is not the only one.
Because he feels it too.  He feels it because of her.  And he blows it all away like the smoke from every cigarette he has pressed his lips to, pretending it was her mouth, and every one he hasn't, every single last one from the first his stepdad gave him
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Literature
a calling
my salient veins say
they want to be split into
misaligned bloodlines
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Literature
me at fourteen, fifteen
me at fourteen, fifteen
can't help but want to be seen
in a new way.
okay, so we have everyone saying,
"are you really bi?"
and there's the hair cropped short,
and the alcohol to try,
and as a last resort -
let's feel like shit
because you think that
no-one's looking yet.
so there's sad poetry
and mad poetry,
and night after night alone,
because what else is there?
who else is there?
yeah, you have friends, but
you're still clawing at empty air
for somebody, anybody else to care.
are you rolling your eyes yet?
scrolling up behind your glasses to
the last story you heard about
the hard-knock life
for a kid whose life
really wasn't hard?
that's what
me at fifteen, sixteen
was doing.
me at fifteen, sixteen
finally saw that
me at fourteen, fifteen
just wanted to be seen,
new way or not.
just wanted to be seen,
and me at fifteen, sixteen
got over that.
but what about now?
can someone tell me how
to deal with those
"me at fourteen, fifteen" feelings
at eighteen?
at eighteen, when I don't fee
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Literature
It Is All Fine and Good
It is all fine and good to part the fog with
one
finger
at a time
while your other hand and your mouth are occupied
with a saltfatladen snack,
To let the sun shine down on those
poor huddles of bones and sweatshirts
so that they let out hoarse jubilations
and praise you for the precise length of
one
tick
of your weighty watch,
To smile down benevolently and obliviously
as they are scorched
and their cries of glee turn to cries of pain,
And they blame you once again.
It is all fine and good.
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Literature
Sluice
A tumble of water,
Sulfur-tinged, gulf-impinged;
An outflow of molecules
upon molecules upon molecules
gripping each other by the
tips of their fingers
and somersaulting into a
summery street.
The morning raises them to the sun.
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Literature
Single-Legged Soldiers
Grandma's knitting needle:  clack, clack.
Crossfade to the whirring machinations of
the marching needle,
Stepping in time with scurrying fingers.
Minty tooth-decay-preventing chewing gum chatter and
railings clanging against hangers
drown out the cyclic stamp of these single-legged soldiers.
Peeking through the hole left by a dropped stitch,
The world is not as clear.
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Literature
Monkey Mind
An inundation of vapid thoughts
flows down a path
insidiously eroded by what started as a trickle.
I am not enough against this inane flood.
I am not the others,
The undivine Moseses
who part their own waters
and live in between them,
Above them.
As a tiny token, a worthless gewgaw,
Perhaps my monkey mind can
send a few bubbles up to the surface
while the cotton candy edema suffocates me
and I frantically flail my arms:
A final effort to be more than just a glucose crystal
in this painfully sweet sea,
Swept away and then ignored by those who are
enough.
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Literature
Verre Vert
He lived with green glass.
The smashed green bottle bleeds as darkly
as his head next to it.
The occasional head turns to
the wall of green windows
across from his green window.
Finally one sees and opens its mouth
and squinches its nose
and twists its eyebrows
and widens its green, glassy eyes.
It looks like the blown green sculpture
gaping on a shelf high, high above
where his head had reached when he stood,
Its abstract twisting giving way
to images of horrified death-seers
like the shadows of a cloud's surface.
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Literature
Them
She sits, sunken,
All slackened jaw and bowing spine and withered thighs,
Skin spreading across the easy chair
almost like a cold teabag, one day old.
But even a seaful of hot water
would do her no good.
There once hung a canvas on the wall behind her,
Smeared in a shade that she called green
and they called blue.
They said the same about the beach,
How it smelled like rotting fish
when all she could smell was summer
and learning to stop ice cream dripping down the cone.
She eats ice cream perfectly now.
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Literature
Kisses
It was a humid night, the kind where the drizzle seemed to just swirl in the air around them rather than fall to the ground.  Strands of her hair stuck to her face.  He swept them from her cheek with his thumb and brought his lips to hers.
"You want to know something really sad?" she asked afterward.
"What?"
"That was my first kiss."
He looked surprised.  She started to explain, to make excuses, but instead he just kissed her again.  "That was your second kiss."  And again.  "That was your third kiss."  And again.  "Your fourth."  Again.  "Fifth."
It became a thing.  In the morning, before class:  "Twenty-seventh."  In the cinema, during a bad movie:  "Sixtieth."  Under the covers, breathlessly:  "Hundred and eighth."
It was a humid night, the kind where the leftover day-heat on the asphalt made the night rain turn into steam.
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Another Sunny Day by blobbikins Another Sunny Day :iconblobbikins:blobbikins 2 2
Literature
Tiny Shocks
My fingers are magic wands.
Tiny shocks
reverberate through them on impact
as they trampoline.
They flip a switch.
The electronic wiring sucks in a breath
and gives a mewl before it
hesitantly
turns itself off.
The crack of the bottlecap,
The rush of bubbles
through the liquid that traps them,
Make sounds like a game of
Pac-Man
against the dark quiet of the room.
Sip.
A shimmer of soda
crashes against my teeth like waves on rocks,
Pulses in my gums,
Glitters in my gullet.
And again.
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Random Favourites

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The Random Emo Title Generator Poetry Contest!
This is a mini-contest for the fun of it!
Rules:
:bulletred: You must write a poem based off of a title from the Random Emo Title Generator. To do this, go here and install the script, then go to "Submit Deviation" and click the "Random Emo Title" button.
:bulletred: Post your entry as a deviation or scrap and send a link to it in a note to GaioumonBatou. Please title the note "EMO CONTEST" so that he knows what the note is for.
:bulletred: The contest begins on Thursday, January 8, and ends on Thursday, January 15. All entries must be received by midnight GMT in order to be eligible.
:bulletred: All entries must be written on or after the starting date.
:bulletred: You can send in as many entries as you like. However, only one prize per person!
Keep in mind guys, this is meant to be a joke. The poems can be as terrible as you like. In fact, we kind of encourage that! :lol:
Judges:
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If you are unfamiliar with what we do at Wordspill, why not check out our About Us page or perhaps our F.A.Q. We're sure they'll answer any questions you might have and have you on your way to spilling in no time! Our past features can be found in the news articles of 'Welcome', 'Childhood Dreams', ' Parallels ', 'Staircases', <
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Literature
Colors
I open my eyes and look around. There is a white ceiling, blue curtains, a gray rug, and a brown dresser. All is normal with my room, the way it should be, except for the air, that is. The air is clear like glass, clear like crystal. Clear is such a dreadful color. It's the color of waiting, the color of nothingness, the color of this stagnant, repulsive air that circles around me like a shark and asphyxiates me like a large snake.
I push the bedsheets off of me, sit up, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. There's a pink shirt, gray shorts, white socks, brown hair, and tan skin. All is normal with me, the way it should be, except for the blood, that is. The blood is red like an apple, red like autumn leaves. Red is such a painful color. Red is the color of suffering, the color of malice, the color of this parasitic blood that snakes its way up my entirety like a snail leaving a painful trail. Red is the color of something wrong.
I stand up tentatively and walk down the hall to
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Journal
Haiku contest!
Ok, so either you like haikus, you’re lazy enough to try winning something by writing one, or you’re just a curious person.  We’ve established that. So enough with the small-chat; let’s get down to business.
What is a 'haiku'?
A haiku is a poem consisting of three lines, in the format of 5, 7 then 5 syllables. Here’s an example I’m sure most of you know:
“Haikus are easy,
But sometimes they don’t make sense.
Refrigerator.”

Note how the first line was 5 syllables long, the next one 7 and the last was 5.
Also, they don’t have to rhyme. 8D
When?
The contest is open from now until December 15th, 12.00am Pacific Standard Time, though it may change depending on how many entries I get in. Still though, that’s a huge load of time.
Contest Guidelines
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July Mini Contest - Hotter Than July
:spotlight-left:July Mini Contest - Hotter Than July:spotlight-right:
First place wins a 3 month subscription.First three places receive a month-long journal feature.This is a photography contest, the theme is Hotter Than July.Submission from July, 1st to July, 22nd.Voting from July, 24th to July, 30th.Winners will be announced on August 1st.
 Following an '80th Stevie Wonder Album, the theme for this photo contest is Hotter Than July. Show me the heat of summer captured in a photo. Or show me what summer means to you. Have fun, be creative!
To enter the contest, just drop me a note with a thumb or link to your photo and „Contest“ as the subject line. Only one photo per account please.
I will only accept photographs taken with a film or a digital camera featuring a minimal amount of color and exposure adjustment. Photomanipulations, which are images that have been composed
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Six Word Story Contest
"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
-Ernest Hemingway
About the ContestErnest Hemingway was bet by his friends that he could not write a six word story.  This is what he came up with.  He was paid by his friends $10, we are offering SO MUCH MORE!
We judges are challenging you all to come up with a six word story as well, but since you wil be getting a lot more than Hemingway did, we also ask that you illustrate the story as well some how.
Now, these illustrations can be anything.  They can be photographs, vectors, paintings, sculptures, you name it.  There cannot be any extra words of any sort in the illustration itself unless they are the words of the story.  There must only be on illustration.
This is the perfect chance for you guys to show off your skills across different mediums.
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June Mini Contest - Time
:spotlight-left:June Mini Contest - Time:spotlight-right:
First place wins a 3 month subscription.First three places receive a month-long journal feature.This is a photography contest, the theme is Time.Submission from June, 1st to June, 21st.Voting from June, 23rd to June, 29th.Winners will be announced on July 1st. How can the concept of time be captured in a photo? Maybe as the passage of time represented by a wilted flower. Or by freezing the time using the metaphor of frozen motion. Or simply by shooting a pic of your wrist watch. How you actually go about it is entirely up to you. A short explanation of your concept in the photo's description would be great, but is not a must. I'll once more allow diptychs into the contest, though they are composed of two photos.
To enter the contest, just drop me - signmeupscotty - a note with a thumb or link to your photo and „Contest“ as the
:iconsignmeupscotty:signmeupscotty
:iconsignmeupscotty:signmeupscotty 59 23
Journal
[RULES UP] Tarot cards or Gemstone
THE CONTEST IS NOW OPEN TO PHOTOGRAPHY
You have to choose between two themes:
:bulletgreen:Gemstone
:bulletpurple:Tarot card
Gemstone: Do whatever you want. It can be something with a gemstone or the representation of a gemstone or ANYTHING about a gemstone (one or more, as it please you)
Tarot card: There are the 22 trumphs (from 0 - the fool to 21 - The world ) and the court cards. For more information about tarot cards, you can have a look here: http://www.tarotpedia.com/wiki/Tarot_Cards . For that one, you can do ONE CARD like you want. In card design or illustration (photo) only.
RULES
:bulletgreen:No fanart. Be original o/
:bulletpurple:Participants can submit only ONE entry
:bulletgreen:Soft mature content only
:bulletred:I won't accept rushed entries
:bulletpurple:All medium allowed (traditional -pencil, watercolor, ink, collage, etc...- digital)
:bulletgreen:Deviation must be NEW
HOW TO SUBMIT
Send me a note to your deviation. And do not for
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:iconaquafeles:Aquafeles 66 52

Wishlist

Richard by AmazingA Richard :iconamazinga:AmazingA 8 6 Approaching Infinity by AbsolutHam Approaching Infinity :iconabsolutham:AbsolutHam 1 0 Moodscapes Calendar 2012 by mnoo Moodscapes Calendar 2012 :iconmnoo:mnoo 60 15

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Activity


  • Listening to: Power and Control Marina and the Diamonds
  • Reading: Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman Haruki Murakami
The way my room is configured means that when it's really windy and the window is open and I'm lying on my bed, it sounds like the wind is howling through my walls.

deviantID

blobbikins

Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
My ideas look a lot better in my head than in the real world, but I try.

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner May 2, 2012   Writer
Clicked on "random deviant" and it sent me to you!
I write non-melodramatic free verse poetry, something that (I hope) people can find enjoyable even if you aren't a lit fanatic (just in case you're interested):P
Reply
:iconblobbikins:
blobbikins Featured By Owner May 2, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
We seem kind of similar, actually (in age and writing preferences though maybe not so much in style)! Thanks for stopping by—I hope you had time to check out some of my stuff too =)
Reply
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner May 2, 2012   Writer
Sure thing ;)
Reply
:iconisc-veritas:
ISC-Veritas Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2010
HIIII JOOYYYCE
this is issie's, chloe's and steph's account :DDD
(but this is steph speaking)
Reply
:iconblobbikins:
blobbikins Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
FOUND ITTTTT.
:iconimhappyplz::iconimhappyplz::iconimhappyplz:
Reply
:iconisc-veritas:
ISC-Veritas Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2010
YOU LOOK LIKE THAT TOO D:
Reply
:iconblobbikins:
blobbikins Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
yur mean
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconblobbikins:
blobbikins Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
HI STEPH. YOU'RE SO AWESOMEEE :D
And you look like that emoticon I CAN'T REMEMBER.
:x
Reply
:iconalecbell:
AlecBell Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2010
I'm pleased you liked Sight Discovered. Thanks for adding my poem to your faves :heart:
Reply
:iconblobbikins:
blobbikins Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
It's no problem - you deserve every fave you get (and some more)!
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