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Literature
For His Pride, Wildeve Must Pay
For his pride, Wildeve must pay.
Before the dice, I calmly sat.
Tamsin's love be mine, I pray -
With scoff and smirk and boorish bray,
he thought his luck to be down-pat.
For his pride, Wildeve must pay.
My start, a lucky throw. I say,
"Won back his coat, won back his hat."
Tamsin's love be mine, I pray.
My en'my's eyes grew wild as play
went on; his temper hot, he nearly spat -
for his rage, Wildeve must pay.
At last, the final guinea lay
upon the table round and fat -
Tamsin's love be mine, I pray!
With fortune hers, I went away,
with Wildeve mumbling, "Dirty rat."
For his rage, Wildeve did pay
Tamsin's love be mine, I pray...
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Literature
Printemps
“Un goût du printemps.”
Last night the world was thrown into the clothes dryer
after a wash cycle of freeze-and-thaw,
and today the air is warm,
a little dizzied, but fresh.
And at once we are the same –
Warm, dizzied,
fresh.
Eager for every stop and start,
the tires slip and skid on grit and silt
left over from a season of snow.
Some day every day will be like this –
every day.
You will sit in the passenger seat
with the windows rolled down.
The wary and hesitant quiet will be pushed away
by the sound of spring passing by.
You will pick the music,
and the wind will spring through your hair.
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Literature
Hiatus
He thinks it would be wise if
we stopped talking to each other so often –
so very late into the night.
And so that evening is uneventful, uninspiring –
I type a paper, do some laundry, sit idle for a while.
At ten o'clock, with no reason to stay awake,
I lie in bed. The cars outside throw shadows
onto the bedroom wall when they pass. Moving across the room –
just an illusion. I twiddle my thumbs.
The next morning, the news travels fast.
It was him, thrown through the windshield
in the middle of town.
Friends keep glancing at me too long.
Now my thumbs are still and bitten.
He thinks it would be wise if we stopped talking –
Well, there you go.
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Literature
The Thing About Wading
is that it is always a blind action.
It is never certain what you are
     wading into.
We wade into shallow pools,
stomping grounds to youths under three,
where there is no doubt piss
mingling with once-pure water.
It is revolting, and we are disgusted,
but we curl out toes anyways because it is warm.
     It is so warm.
People wade into rivers,
fast-flowing and destructive.
River have eroded families like bank-side soil,
carrying matriarchs out to sea
while loved ones left behind watch from land,
     crumbling.
So please understand my reaction
to your saying that we are wading.
I cannot keep my balance
unless I have a hand to hold.
And so I will trip.
My goodness, will I trip.
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Literature
You Were the Spoke
She came back into the picture
after a three-year long absence
of minding her own business
and I minding mine.
She was tighter and tanner than ever
[curse my fair complexion]
and she was looking for a good time.
Time had been good to her.
As soon as I heard the unmistakable sound
of hearts breaking like strained tightrope
[the lifeline of risk-takers]
I braced myself
chest out
against the rains of change.
But what came was a hurricane.
I never thought you to be a testosterone boy
[you never went through a door before me]
Your mind was whisked away
with stiletto sexy.
All I could offer was
plain white T-shirt comfy.
I kept squinting and seeing everything
wrong
imagining the best of her tricks,
the worst of you.
I lay alone with an empty space
where you should have been.
And when you finally returned,
I saw the hazy glaze over your eyes
[and I hope she was worth it]
I said let me guess
when you saw her
the room was painted in a brand new wash of color
one you had never seen before.
Let m
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Literature
A Poet Who
A poet who has nothing in the world to criticize,
who can't shake themself out of contentment
to get up and do something,
who grips the ground with their toes
instead of getting the nerve to leave it,
a poet who has never smelled death following them,
who never saw the dead rabbit at the base of an oak tree,
poised midstride and eyes staring wide,
who never watched their friends wordlessly
slump onto the concrete
palms facing up, waiting for someone to
take them away
"Okay, I'm ready now",
a poet who doesn't know that eyes have voices –
eyes whisper, eyes shout, eyes sing –
or that a voice can feel like coat wrapped around
the shoulders of a boy whose parents have died
or that a touch can sound like wind blowing over
a cliff facing the ocean on a cloudy day,
a poet who doesn't explore,
denies that something or someone turns them on,
who never had that dream that they would rather forget,
can't admit that bodies are beautiful and
to hell with couth
that their body is be
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Literature
I Saw J. Alfred
We do not all fit through the double doors at once
and we thread out in fragments
into the pouring and bloodletting rain
Across the street in plain, a man in black
with black on his back and within his shoulders
It seems the air above us has grown hard into an ice block
as the bloc of us walk down the block
But I stop
Frozen by the air and the chill in his stare
Falter for a few moments as I see,
in him,
reflected me
In his sallow cheeks are the fluorescent lights of the corner supermarket
Mothers buying bread and milk and eggs
Daughters tugging on skirts, holding on legs –
"honey don't stare because it's rude" –
while I just peruse the aisles, keeping my head down.
And here, on the etherized table,
wanting to move and speak, but unable,
I see the fascination with staring.
He walks along the street, bearing the weight
of a lost generation and a disillusioned mind –
Michelangelo's David walking beside makes use of his slingshot
and shoots my line of vision
and when I look
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Literature
Stage Curtains
The rope,
painted light blue,
holds the curtain in place
until it is time
to let the players come out,
for them to shout their sorrows.
Its coarse hairs are rough,
but can reveal a bigger picture,
if gently peeled away.
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Literature
The Artist
In my old and yellowed age, I've seen many atrocities committed at the site of the paper shredder. Day after day, too many pieces of paper have gone into the shredder, and have never returned, the slow hum signaling the end.
Sitting on this shelf, I think back to the times when I used to lay on the desk, next to the Artist. I used to tremble with excitement and fear: excitement that I might be used to canvas something beautiful, and fear that his overwhelming frustration would cause him to destroy me. The Artist never used to use the shredder back in those times. Those times where the window would be open, and I could feel a cool breeze life the edge of me coyly. Those times when outside sounds of birds and laughter would drift in and paint the room in its natural color. Those times where the Artist's mouth would curl up. When he sang.
His voice filled the room with such a raw passion that it often chilled me. He would bring that passion down upon me, using his pencil to create masterp
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Literature
Abortion: A Comparison
They said it was like a game of Mouse Trap.
The pieces never fit into the board right.
We always had to jam them in,
make sure that everything was perfect.
Even then, we watched the trap pieces tremble
in uncertainty, waiting to snap
from the pressure.
They said that sometimes
the boot doesn't swing far enough
to kick the bucket
and knock the metal ball down the ramp.
In that case, the pieces on the board were taken apart,
and the game was put away for some time.
Now I'm questioning whether or not
the boot did kick the plastic bucket.
If the ball really did keep rolling,
but into the gutter
where everyone forgot,
or pretended to forget.
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Fight Off Your Demons by chocopie5 Fight Off Your Demons :iconchocopie5:chocopie5 2 0
Literature
Hanover
They say that you are boring, and in reply is,
      "Yes, our mall is mostly vacant and caged."
They say that you are unrefined and I admit,
      "Yes, it smells like cow for half the year and potato grease the other."
They say that you are small-minded, and I say,
      "To you, thirty miles is a two-day journey that requires rations."
And I try to think of arguments
to defend my small city
but the truth remains:
it's only after I moved here that I came to realize
that cynicism can be found
      in a life-long smoker's face
      and in a fast-food addict's folds.
And so, Yellow Teeth of the New England Face;
Snack Capital of the United States;
and Friday Night Lights, Concrete;
I'll leave you to you.
As for me, there's a Great Perhaps somehwere else.
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Literature
One Afternoon
Just what I needed
after a winter fury:
a blooming flower.
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Literature
A Casual Afterthought
"Jesus,
he was a handsome man."
A breathless impression
letting out rivulets of thought
and pondering.
And then he bends his hands
down the path of my arms,
and suddenly, I'm a ballerina,
neck craned, wings out -
first position.
Looking back,
our smiles intertwine.
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Literature
I Was Notorious at Hide and Seek
The first place I lived,
where this picture was taken,
was Circle Hill Road,
and I was notorious at hide and seek.
Beneath the stairs was a closet cloaked in coats,
and between them I would stand
and breathe very quietly - something I had learned
from being aggressive in appearance.
Make my body and voice small
so no one would find me.
In my bedroom closet, I could hide -
I must have had a bajillion books -
or at least twenty.
At four years old, endings made me sad,
so I read one book, over and over.
The characters were just stuck, an infinite loop,
because I didn't want to see them leave me.
And once I hid under my bed,
because I didn't want to go to the doctor.
At the kindergarten when we played hide and seek,
I was so good.
The other kids stopped looking for me.
If I closed my eyes,
and breathed quiet like I had learned,
I could pretend for a few moments I didn't exist.
In a cone where life and noise just slid past me.
But eventually I'd reveal myself -
like it had been a game -
and
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Literature
Kids These Days
Love! War! Miscasting-
Sensitivity doesn't mean crying at movies.
That's why man invented fire.
Drenched in light,
both are seen as pillars of trust,
serving to express.
When we were kings
trying to remember secret passwords -
"She is a perfect lady."
Inquire, before you retire,
a self-indulgent question:
"What can a flawed test tell us, anyway?"
Insanity, abuse, magical powers:
just usual girl talk.
Kids these days.
Sex, sonnets, substances,
MP3;s from Heaven.
Five million units shipped, and still fighting on.
The patterns of love rise up singing.
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Random Favourites

Literature
The Knight's Last Words
"Why is it always a dragon?!"
:iconFlamingWarsGirl:FlamingWarsGirl
:iconflamingwarsgirl:FlamingWarsGirl 48 32
Literature
A Hurried Note
Wolf,
Grandma squealed. Huntsman armed.
Red
:iconthorns:thorns
:iconthorns:thorns 53 39
Literature
Driveby
Written on the overpass, "Love You"
:iconBloodRed-Orchid:BloodRed-Orchid
:iconbloodred-orchid:BloodRed-Orchid 7 5
Literature
Candy Cottage Cafe
Today's special? Roasted Hansel and Gretel.
:iconEchostar08:Echostar08
:iconechostar08:Echostar08 18 58
Literature
even fairies have to learn
Get up! Time for flying lessons.
:iconsoundless-melody:soundless-melody
:iconsoundless-melody:soundless-melody 5 8
Literature
+Don't ask, don't tell+
You. Me. Nobody has to know.
:icondeadlynightshadow:deadlynightshadow
:icondeadlynightshadow:deadlynightshadow 11 10
Literature
War
April showers bring May flowers
but I've been in the rain for hours
shots and screams will break the silence
while children cower from the violence
take advantage of the slant of law
pierce the eyes of those that saw
the sights that ache inside my head
would mortify the recent dead
in the ashes that are left
limbs remind me of my theft
and though the wounds I gained have healed
I remember those who's fates I sealed
:iconMeMyselfAnd-DIE:MeMyselfAnd-DIE
:iconmemyselfand-die:MeMyselfAnd-DIE 1 0
Literature
Pull
darkened mirror
darkened mind
reaching through
what will I find?
a broken heart
a shattered soul
no longer can I
fight the pull
fingers crossed
behind my back
jump into
the void of black
voices screaming
in my head
silenced only
once I'm dead
:iconMeMyselfAnd-DIE:MeMyselfAnd-DIE
:iconmemyselfand-die:MeMyselfAnd-DIE 3 0
Mature content
A True Spanish Note. :iconsavellla:Savellla 1 14
Literature
Me, abridged.
Hey. It's me.
So I had a bad day, and...
oh wait.
I'm not allowed to have those,
right?
Right.
So that's not what you're saying?
Oh, I get it now...
I can have bad days,
but you just don't want to hear about them.
That's it.
So, it's like my own restriction
on freedom of speech.
I feel like I have to abridge myself
to keep you happy.
Do you know how wrong this is?
I do.
But instead of the tangent
on the first amendment
(which is hanging in your room, by the way)
that so frequently flows
off of my tongue,
I offer this:
Does self-expression count
as a legitimate reason
to send me to guidance?
Where I was picked and prodded at,
trying to name a problem I don't have?
I could tell he didn't believe me.
He told me that he cared;
that you cared.
Well, isn't that fantastic?
How nice of you.
If you did, you'd let me go.
If you knew me at all
you'd leave me alone.
But you won't know me.
The only thing you will see
is me, abrid
:iconlivelovepeacemusic:livelovepeacemusic
:iconlivelovepeacemusic:livelovepeacemusic 2 4
Literature
Cancer Survivor
I am a F*ckin' Cancer Survivor!
:iconjeyminems:jeyminems
:iconjeyminems:jeyminems 26 61
Literature
Guiding Hand
You managed to draw me out
of my deep dark place,
at least for a while.
I crossed back to the world I know
at the laughter in your voice,
the heart in your smile.
Your hand to guide me
back to reality
where the light shines on.
Thank you.
:iconlivelovepeacemusic:livelovepeacemusic
:iconlivelovepeacemusic:livelovepeacemusic 2 2
Literature
To you, deep friend.
50 Letters- Day 47. Someone you think is awesome.
Dear_______,
You are one of the many multi-dimentional people I know. You are upfront sort of quiet and awkward, but deep down you are very profound and, well, beautiful.
I can't remember the very first time I saw you, because I'm thinking of at least three different possible 1st times. One back in grade school, one freshman year, and one this year, when you first came to forensics.
I swear, and I haven't confirmed this with you, but I really think we went to the same grade school for a couple of years. But you left. If I remember right, it didn't go to well for you. You were marked weird then you transfered out. I didn't talk to you, I didn't try to know you. I should have, knowing what I know now, but grade-school me, in a different grade than you, didn't care. I regret that.
The second possible 1st-siteing was sometime in freshman year. My homeroom is on the floor where the 8th grade algebra 1 class is. I passed by the room and saw y
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:iconlivelovepeacemusic:livelovepeacemusic 1 17
The Insanitree by WafflesMcCoy The Insanitree :iconwafflesmccoy:WafflesMcCoy 16 5
Literature
Music Is Life-Play On XD
Music is Life
It is emotion
It is the expression of one's soul
It can control you
No matter what type
You might question why
And I'll be happy to explain
The beat of my heart is one with the drum
Its rhythm either fast or slow
Play on drummer!
Tell me how fast life is passing me by…
How hard the heart beats is influenced by the bass
Soft and unnoticeable
or pounding and loud
Strum on bassist!
The intensity of my heartbeat depends on you…
The guitar determines how I feel
Sentimental, sad, loving, happy, mad,
Acoustic, wailing electric
Play on guitarist!
Let me feel…
The singer tells me why I feel the way I do
A break-up, someone ticked me off, the death of a loved one,
the best day of my life…
Go on singer!
Tell me why I feel…
Let the music go on
And may life continue
:iconforeverXoXme:foreverXoXme
:iconforeverxoxme:foreverXoXme 2 0
...Really? You are really asking me for a description of my favorites? Well, that's just it. They're my FAVORITES. I think you all who needed that description also need some help.

Activity


"Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown."

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chocopie5's Profile Picture
chocopie5
Jace
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Canada
So I like writing, and drawing comics.
Interests

Comments


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:iconvioletense:
violetense Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2013  Student
Gracias para el favorito :)
Reply
:iconwolvenvisions:
WolvenVisions Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2013  Student General Artist
Thank you for the fav!
Reply
:icondancing-deadlips:
Dancing-Deadlips Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2013
Thanks for the fave! :blowkiss:
Reply
:iconjohnvichlenski:
JohnVichlenski Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2013  Professional General Artist
Thank you for the :+fav:s
I appreciate it :)
Reply
:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for :+fav:ing my recent work, I always appreciate the support!

:heart:
Reply
:iconforeverxoxme:
foreverXoXme Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2012  Hobbyist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
Reply
:iconforeverxoxme:
foreverXoXme Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2012  Hobbyist
Perhaps this tidbit shall be useful- I retrieved it from nfl.org and it's by-laws file:
Section C-Events: Definitions and Procedures
1. Speech Events Definitions
d.Oral Interpretation of Literature
“If the script does not have an ISBN, ISSN, IFFN, or eBook Number andLibrary Name, the coach or the supervising adult must be able to show that the script was purchased or obtained commercially; ie. From a literary agent or publisher or bill of sale or is publically available by internet URL and retrieval date.”
I paid for the paper that the piece was printed on...

Also, it turns out that the singing limit is only 30 seconds :D
Reply
:iconchocopie5:
chocopie5 Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
interesting. i always thought it was 1 minute. greece the ancient musical shall be PUMMELED.
also, something that could be kind of interesting as a poetry piece. "end poem". it's from minecraft.
[link]
(you just have to expand the spoiler box)
Reply
:iconforeverxoxme:
foreverXoXme Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2012  Hobbyist
:0
...whoa
that was intense
Who do you think could handle it?
Reply
:iconforeverxoxme:
foreverXoXme Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2012  Hobbyist
... By the way, you might have to do a bit of digging. I've been trying to hold off on reblogs, nut sometimes it's really hard. (Tom Hiddleston is going to be guest starring on Family Guy)
Two posts address you directly, under your username of course. The poetry posts end right before the Ghost in the Stalls gif. (You'll never guess what I found! XD)
Reply
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