What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I had come across in the last day that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature will then be featured in an art news journal together.
* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had one suggestion from the lovely ErinM31 (thank you!). If you have a deviation that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.
And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:
January 2013 Lit. Daily Picks The Doctors In:thumb344916029:
The Page of Promise: A Winter Solstice TaleIn the depths of a night that's about to begin with the feeling of snow as it melts on your skin and it covers the land with a dream so intense that it returns us all to a child's innocence And then what you'd thought lost and could never retrieve is suddenly there to be found on Christmas Eve -Trans-Siberian OrchestraThe sound of her boots breaking the snow is delicate and light, like meditated, unhurried piano notes. She walks gracefully between the pine trunks, their needles making a cover for falling snow above her head. Her face, a frozen petal of porcelain, eyes of crystalline frost, is framed by the hood of her white, fur-lined mant...
A Victorian ThrillerAnne and Mary were adopted by Mr Wilder shortly after he had fallen under the horse of a beauteous lady and lost his eyesight. Mary did not suit his crumbling old mansion. Slim, white-skinned and fair-haired, she looked like a frightened ghost standing against the black stone walls. Anne, on the other hand, seemed to fit in with the bricks themselves, being so small and square and dark.'I shall go mad here!' said Mary, across the rickety oak table at which she and Anne ate their supper. 'I preferred the orphanage.''Mary,' said Anne, 'the orphanage was terrible. You can't want to go back to the gruel, and the cold, and that M...
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The PoetThe Poet: He smiles as he sees her sleeping & gently covers her with a blanket. He goes to the window and looks out watching snow fall, ever so slowly...He sees people in the streets, Chatting, walking. Some happy, Others sad. Hearts beating, Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed. A yawn from her, brings another smile to him: "How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head. He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.Yet, even if he is happy here, again - He is drawn to that window and finds himself Staring out at the street and watching; Marveling at the disparity and wondering - Isn't there ...
Mature Content
A Sea of Memories and DeathHis pale tender flesh Was salted by the ocean wavesThat thrashed and beat the whispering sandsAlong the shore of a memoryErasing the footprints in the moist groundThe evidence of a childhood Damned and broken the childhood wasLike his soul a stained-glass blueThe sky was wounded, pierced and scarredSimilar to a soldier that marched on and onFor decades, dedicated yet stubbornAnd the yellow sand seemed to darkenWhispers echoed into screamsHe pulled on his hair and screechedIn pain of the tears like acidScorching his eyes and maskWith that it cracked The facade he held up with his broken bonesAnd trembling limbsThe sign that screamed: "I ...
NativesDozens of pairs of eyes peered through the thick vegetation. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there. They were always there, one step ahead. No matter what the military did, no matter how secretive their plans, no matter how sophisticated their maneuvers, no matter how hard they fought, the natives were always there. Always there with their guerilla warfare in the form of machetes and arrows and bombs made with all-natural ingredients. Always watching, always ready. He glanced away from the bushes at the edge of the clearing and tried to focus on the plan his commanding officer was outlining to his squad. But just as in real...
To Paint the MoonAnd now the days all stand still, like trees after the wind of a violent storm falls and dies. A silent prayer hangs in the air waiting to be snatched up by some forgiving god.Under the dark of the night sky, no one is able to hear the strangled cry of the unwilling sacrifice. Her blood became the color of your ink.
FictionToxic droplets of poison fall Upon the torn and bloodstained pages Into his dreamworld he'll slowly crawl Where sickness fails and no one ages.A prince of his pride and fiction He longs to find her there A victim of his long addiction He sees in time that none are spared.Sweet Helena hear his song In reality or dream Wake him from the sleep so long And show him what love really means.
A HauntingSeveral years ago, I held you close, protected but you were so forbidden and my actions were expectedI told you many things, I should not have told, and now years later, you return and those feelings are not coldI know that it is foolish, and that we could never be but please, just hear me out you could have fun with me.Your insanity, your madness, your SCREAMING, your gladnessI share it all, and I am surprisedBut I know it could never work so I shall remember the night I held you tight and wished away your pain,on the highway, as the world screamed by.
Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils.A solitary path I claimed In seeking shelter from the crowd; And lo, when all deserted me, I wandered lonely as a cloudI sought the green and grassy knolls Between the rustic barns and mills, And spied the new winged, dappled lark That floats on high o'er vales and hills,The silent majesty of thoughts Was broken as I dreamed aloud. I was wrested from my reverie When all at once I saw a crowdThis treasure grows and rests upon the fertile soil where river spills I'll rest my weary bones within A host of golden da...
relearning:thumb333525751:
Fractured FairytaleOnce upon a time there was a girl that had it all With eyes like shining beacons and her body mystical She walked along a sacred path devoted to the light Her spoken words and actions served a purely humble plightBut hunger came and wrecked her soul, it disemboweled her A hunger so relentless that the path became a blur Her body craving power while her soul still struggled back Alas, it lost the fight and now her heart was turning blackDay by day and night by night the girl was further gone Malicious hands and viscious tongue, her morals long foregone She now had fame and power, so why would she want more? With record deals and perfect hai...
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort, tsunamis tucked within her eyes, anxieties pinned to pottery skin;she would mold herself into moonlight butterflies and glist'ning calla lilies,pure and white and beautiful.and when night cast itself upon her in heated, hard'ning flames,she’d smash herself upon the rocks and in morning start again.:thumb350260160:
Rest, NowI. The mist of the mountains Like the breath of a giant Soft, as if sleeping Cool this time of year Settles in around me Damp and grey The air is murky I begin to feel alone.II. Darkness comes quickly The sun is saying goodnight Over the tops of the peaks And leaving in a hurry He is my friend, the sun Stretching his arms out to warm me But betraying me at last Leaving me to the murky gloom.III. It is midnight when I hear it Quiet, at first Almost like a secret Then louder, forgetting stillness Beautiful, like a hundred harps And wretched, like a dying thing The sweet melody shatters my soul And I know it is for me.IV. Walking outside The ...
My Darkest Hour
My Darkest Hour I've become lost In my sundered reflectionI've finally crossed The line of desperationI sense something sinister Something that is beyond cruelMy tears seem to hinder Ready to break down soon - The darkness is always waiting To rule / To conquer To swallow / To devour To return / To overpower The shadows are always lurking As I cry / As I weep As I beg / As I plead As I fall / As I grieve The blinding fear is consuming - My anxiety-infected veins pour I'm beyond weakI don't want to be afraid anymore Let me bleedThis is the only way out A perfect exit for a cowardNo longer am I bound I couldn't survive my darkest hour
the rainfall kidshe always loved the sting of grapefruit and the way the winter air kissed her skin, leaving it pink and raw and sensitive to the touch like the heart she tried so hard to hide.but she never grew up, not really. she always belonged to the rain and never stayed in one place for too long. she was afraid her stupid heart might dig in, leave its roots in the people and then it would rip and tear when she up and left.and she never accepted the fact that she did indeed have a heart. she tried so hard to be hollow and let the winter rain chill her skin and soak into her bones so that she, too, might be just as cold.so she stopped believing in sun...
DreamwalkerDreamwalker-- lurking at the seams watching her eyes flicker, sleep making reality blur.He creeps along, weaving his song exposing subconscious secrets sewn in her hidden regrets.Dreamwalker-- his eyes meet with hers, only to slowly fade away. For she wakes to light of day.
Lovebirds' Sorrowshe was the girl with cat eyes: broad and judging and carnal; he was the doe with a broken collarbone, yet she found herself lost in the warmth of his sighs and asked simply for a set of sweeter lies[because it's only after you sell yourself to the earth that you learn love is not a chemical reaction anticipating every ignited glance and soured word; no, it is a thing of obligation that sleeps upon your doorstep, knowing you will always come back, knowing you could never forget its name]he called to her on hollow nights, and she found his voice when she had nowhere left to gohe was the cereal box savior; she only needed a place to bury her...:thumb351151450:
RainwaterHer hand pulled from mine – slipped, like rainwater, drifting through night; her voice, confessed soft sorrows as I dreamt."I no longer believe in storms like you."
Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!
