Ilvapie

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Stars/scars by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

Stars/scars

I am waiting for the stars to lead me Away from this late night double-feature But I just can't get these scars to leave meOur time was too short For me to realise That a five-star last resort Was all I was to youI should have been the wiser I should have seen the womaniser In time to stop myself from Building you inside meI fell in love with the beauty in the bridges And the richness of the ridges Connecting you to meCan't you see How this poetry Is defined by everything I've ever laid my heart on Every race I've ever had a head start on Every game I've ever played a part in And every end of a new beginning of mine starting?How can I wake...

I wrote a poem for you by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

I wrote a poem for you

I wrote a poem for you The day before I met youWhen I didn't yet know a soul can be shipwrecked Or that the sun can have secrets When I hadn't yet learned to look for symptoms Or dreamed you could become my weaknessYou entered me like a sickness From your first 'hello' You whispered my world red And smiled it yellowYou came to me; a sonnet A decorated soldier Dressed in sentences and statements With which to catch a schoolgirl In succulent surpriseYour eyes kissed me Long before your lips did And under the spectrum of your splendor My heart bloomed a blushing orchidI was a slave to my sweet-tooth You, a dulcit daydream That knew just how t...

Ek dra jou soos 'n sonsak om my skouers by Ilvapie, literature

A lucid doodle by Ilvapie, literature

Bourbon Street by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

Bourbon Street

You and me We should be poetry We should be prose The way our breathing slows And our hearts beat Like wings on Bourbon Street.You and I We should be together Birds of a feather Flying on wings of time.We always had rhythm, you know We just never had rhyme. We committed a crime together We should've served time Or been brought to justice But it was just us Perfect in our alibi.We may not've had rhyme But at least we had reason We committed treason together And should've been tried We should've been been true Me and you On the corner of Bourbon Street And Fifth Avenue.

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Stars/scars by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

Stars/scars

I wrote a poem for you by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

I wrote a poem for you

Ek dra jou soos 'n sonsak om my skouers by Ilvapie, literature

A lucid doodle by Ilvapie, literature

Bourbon Street by Ilvapie, literature

Literature

Bourbon Street

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Here We Are by ruinedbyproxy, literature

Literature

Here We Are

The cosmos is not only within us -- it is us. The self-awareness we possess is like two mirrors facing each other, one the force and the other its reflection, begetting an infinite tunnel of self-reference of which the very head that is trying to see down it gets in the way. Baffling and absurd, we find ourselves, to quote Saul Williams, "participants in a ritual older than our collective memory," a seamless stream of energy attempting, in an eddying moment of self-realization, to find out what the flying hell is going on. "Why?" , however, is a question that grasps for intent, for a fundamental reason. It's impossible to answer because in...

Songs for my father by poshlost, literature

Literature

Songs for my father

"Don't close that car door," she says, but he is islands away and cannot see the shore, does not know that walking means running meansThe world is never the same when you return.He forgets porch lights sometimes burn out, and whether they are hot or cold depends on when the world decides to turn on your side of the sun, on summer heat, onWhen you come back fighting, or if at all.

yskas gedig nommer 1 by PrometheanPenguin, literature

Goodbye, Butterfly by ruinedbyproxy, literature

Literature

Goodbye, Butterfly

Goodbye, Butterfly. I'll see you again where ground meets sky and peace meets din.Where black meets white and void meets form and laughter meets cry and fear meets scorn. Where sheath meets sword and being meets time and peasant meets lord and body meets mind. Where bones creak stress and muscles knot and flowers wilt and things are forgotten. Where child is born and elder turned and names are made and body burned. Where names are lost and labels bent and translation fails to convey what's meant. Where I meet you and you meet they and they meet amorphous bodies of gray.Where lightning lasts forever to a pixelated eye and time winds down to...

Remember to Breathe by ruinedbyproxy, literature

Literature

Remember to Breathe

Remember to breathe. Your poor, dismembered breath. Remember the rhythms of troughs and their crests. You're in the eye of a storm, bereaved at the prospect of eventually having to leave.These elements exist despite us. Their chaos is meant to be braved. Sunbeams can deliver a sliver of hope when feelings are shades of depraved.Remember to breathe. Allow yourself what time you need to see a reason spark from inner reeling. A season's change from ruthless seething. A shattering smattery of desperate graspery becoming contentment with self-actuality. An eruption of mirth, at being alive and on Earth from a stomach-sinking wave of grave gravi...

Harvest Moon by poshlost, literature

About Ilvapie

Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Aug 22, 1980
South Africa
Deviant for 13 years
www.consciencefiction.com
She / Her

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My Bio

I'm a professional writer with 9 years experience, specialising in feature writing with technical focus. I'm also a creative writer with infinite experience, specialising in endless possibilities.

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Tori Amos, Ani Difranco, Ray Lamontagne, Paolo Nutini

Favourite Gaming Platform

Tools of the Trade

Pen, paper, guitar, computer

Posts

Ilvapie

Jan 2, 2012

Devious Journal Entry

0 min read

The electricity is gone. Bathed in candlelight and listening to crickets and frogs, mom and I sip coffee heated on the gas stove. On this warm summer eve, we drink in the new year.

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Ilvapie

Dec 16, 2011

Rusted art

0 min read

We went to farmer's art market today where, amid home-baked goods and handmade crafts my mom put rusted barbed-wire crucifixes on display. They are wonderful works of art one of her school-kids handcrafts for extra money to support his family. Sadly, they were not as well received as the pink toilet-roll covers with lace trimmings or the floral embroidered side tablecloths... but who am I judge what is considered art?It could be the people are looking for more 'practical' art or maybe they're too god-fearing and the crosses offended them - perhaps they failed to see the symbolism or to care enough about the plight of a young boy with nothi...

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Ilvapie

Nov 16, 2011

Today I give thanks

0 min read

Today I give thanks to the tiles in my home office. Because of you, I can take a dip in the pool and drip, drip, drip all the way back to my workstation, letting the heat dry the water off my body in its own time... and then do it all over again.