30 Writers You Should Discover: Volume XII

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LadyLincoln
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Below you will find a new assortment of various writers on DeviantART who are worth getting to know. All of their respective galleries are packed full of tremendous works that I enjoy and hope that you will too. And, if there is a writer that may not be listed in this edition, you may wish to read the first eleven articles in this series.


Let’s Meet A Few More of Them:



birdsonqs
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Barnaby
BirdcageNothing ever happens the way you read in the history books. In war there are never two armies, there is only a field of men. Never a number of dead; but individual lives snuffed out. That is what the subject of history is, years shelved and decimalized. Birth and death, graphed to the simplicity of lines. Great wars a footnote to the next great war. The achievements of men and women plotted out against the bookmark of day, month and year.And somewhere amongst this, my mother breathed. Somewhere danced in now long-closed nightclubs, laughed at jokes told by a younger version of my Father. And then the unpin-able moment she fell in love with...

Mature Content

 nova smile



cwedmart
Silent Was The Mightiest SoundShe drove at the morning in   veil-like fogs, hair whipped likeslick, black snakes in a stream from windows cracked, leatherskin of days and days and yet more days, and a cigarette lit so the red embers glow in her dimness. A puff from the nostrils, anotherfrom the lips, her trembling hands subside on the wheel, save for twofingers with a smoke-stick stuck between them.  Not the humof the engine; not the rasp in her breath.  No, it was her silencethat taught me, in the end. Mine and hers alike. When days and days andmore days had passed, silent was her sound, and it was the mightiestsound of them all. The Opus Of The Everythingthe ocean floor, the twisted sea and all the flying jacket bees, and allthe flying birds and he, the one who caught the glint of spring, who laidit on the downy dew, the crispy green of May fescue, who saw the plans of builtup lights that burn to light a thousand pools of dripping rain and puddles layon any given night or day, the brick by brick, the mortar spread, the snap of sugarsweetly felt, the brine that made it through the cloud, the opus of theeverything, the great and wide, the heat of flame, the sun in cold but sunny sky,the sound of when a child laughs, the opus of the everything Out Of AshesHe awoke in a tidy room, lights on as well as cloths though disheveled, tired,and worn.  It was nothing fancy, nothing dramatic, only a deep breath in and thenhis eyes opened without the spinning and the forgetting and that heaviness ofheart.  In that instant, things were simplified.  The tightness in his muscles,the aching of joints and feet and this drudgery - miles andmiles and miles and miles, countless miles.  Infinity is what it seemed like before,that number that isn't a number, unimaginable even though we try to comeup with words and familiar phrases.  "Infinity". That is not how it seems anymore.  Thingsare simplified ...


ColonelFitz
I -don't- understandI (don’t) understand you, the silhouette of my neighbor’s husband, sleeping on hot cement; the egg that fried, sunny-side-up, before the pool deck burned my                               desert solesdrink, collecting diamonds dropped from the back pocket of a setting sunrise, the moon-drunk Isis shares your disgraced comet eyes with the                               haughty Rhinedrowns, my salient disappointments buried in the question of the sea; I am Dr. Frankenstein and you are my perfect Galatea, curves becoming                               gra... driveall pigtails and freckles, bubblegum and denim jumpers, you’re too young to know what the letter D, U and I stand for, but you’re already driving me up a Disney-princess pink wall an ocean of stonewe are not the sea, seething, cold,      drinking homes and spitting      dust, wet, cohesive we are sediment, layered on the hands      of our ancestors, who faces turned,      saw the stars drop behind mute eyelids,      bathed in lightning and fallout,      drank the night we are the foundations of the Earth, lightly      balanced on the foundations of the sun and stars we sleep, warm and rough beneath breathing      life and birth through quietus, stomach rumbling      with dreams of food and history we grasp the mountains in our teeth and      straining against the whispers of Elijah, ...


deviantkupo

Mature Content

 A Crab Eyeing A Tourist
 Dealing with IT - Part 1
     Simon Taste arrived for work late and without his ID badge. On mornings like this he vowed never to drink so much the night before work. He had consumed a bottle of wine and several beers and as such, he had forgotten to bring his ID badge and put his shirt on the right way round.     He approached the reception desk of his building slowly.     "Good morning!" one of the security guards said.     The building was open from seven a.m. which was two hours ago. They had drunk their coffee, chatted with their mates and generally woken up. Simon was not even convinced he was awake yet.      "Morning. I forgot my ba...


dweckie
Curvature.The snow-globe roof is night and the decoration is a golden ratio of stars swirling over and over in two clock spins: true and anti-true. Lie down and see the curvature of the earth. Sky is a blanket highlighted by solitary pins of light - it doesn't twinkle it shines with a million potential wishes. Spine curves                                                           sky curves, vertebrae breaking under planes who trail red and green over a Polaroid sky. Some of us are our own galaxies. Fireating.Your showcase act, she who toes the line between safety and stupiditytightrope-catwalking, straightline-kerbstalking distance edges closer as her heart rate stalls.Your glitz girl, she who knows the time it takes to trust and practisehorsetrot-swordthrowing actgets-crowdgoing her balance was performance but she fell for you. IntroducedNursery, their hands collide; Finger-painting side by side, A big crude mess of blue, red, green Most beautiful art their mums've seenCircle time, they sit together; Sing songs 'bout rain and stormy weather, His eyes latch on, hers look away He notes her iris'; hazel-greyDress up game, the two pair up King and Queen of childish scrubs, Tiaras sparkle as swords smash He knows they'd be a royal matchAt the end of Tuesday's play She asks if he walks home her way, As mothers chat and peck and fuss, They pinkie swear each other's trust.Twelve years later down the line He knows her smile and pretty eyes- They hold hands and walk the world togeth...


ella-vere
Love and War: PrologueThey were seven years old when they first met.The boy was squatting in the dirt and watching a beetle as it flailed on the ground, stuck on its back.  He prodded it gently, turning it over onto its feet as the girl came up behind him."Whatcha looking at?" she asked.  The beetle flicked its wings indignantly, and sunlight flashed off the iridescent green.  "Ooh, that's a pretty bug."She reached down to scoop it up, but he grabbed her wrist.  "Don't touch it!"  Sensing the danger, the beetle began to crawl away."Hey!" the girl exclaimed.  "Let go of me!"  She yanked her arm free and shoved him backward.Startled, he landed on hi... The Stepmother's TaleI found a man in my garden bed, Picking herbs for his wife, he said, For she was hungry and heavy with child. "For greens, your daughter is mine," I smiled. So after the birth, I took her away To a tall, doorless tower where she would stay. I was her mother, she my one care-- "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair!" But then a prince came and stole her young heart, So I cut her long locks and let her depart.I took her tresses for my own And saw how beautiful I had grown. Then I wondered: could I, too, Find a prince so valiant and true? I married a king, to my delight, With one daughter named Snow White. Though his age was quite obsce... eleven o'clock p.m.at eleven o'clock p.m. we sit in the barn silent and nervous listening to the panting doe, waiting after five months of waiting. when will it begin?she heaves pushing longer and harder than before. it has begun. we stand ready hearts pounding in anticipation hands clenched tight around the towels. a bubble appears. is that a nose behind the membrane?we do not have time to wonder. a small form writhes in the sawdust. we dry it off and hold it out to the mother who murmurs proudly, so immersed in her first-born that she does not realize a second has come. she is now standing up so we catch the kid before it hits the ground.when the third com...


Hesperie
HindsightNo one ever calls me. They text, they email, they leave notes. Calling is a very unreliable way to get in touch with me; I normally will not answer. It's nerve-wracking, carrying on a conversation with someone whose face you cannot see. Things can be misunderstood, and feelings can be hurt if you aren't careful. This is why I ignored the insistent buzz of my cell phone as I sat in that dim little café. The place wasn't the easiest to find, and the coffee could get a little expensive, but it was good enough that the price was justified. It was a nice place to relax, and that's why I refused to pick up the phone. Usually I turn it off compl... Perfect ContritionIn a proper Catholic church, everything echoes. Any sound uttered within the building bounces of the floor and the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings, so much so that I imagine that they could easily reach the ears of God himself. It's a rather poetic thought, the voices of mere mortals ringing towards Heaven with the help of good acoustics, but that thought's tempered by the fact that it includes every single noise: the coughs of emphysemic old men, the rustling of an impatient young girl's dress, and the taps of even the softest rubber-soled sneakers are no exception. On rainy days like this one, those shoes tend to squeak, which pro... 87. HungerHe decided one day that he no longer needed his heart, so he plucked it straight from his chest with the intention of ridding himself of it. As he cradled it like an infant, he realized how frail it was, so young and unready for the world outside.It grew quickly under is erratic care, eventually becoming something quite beautiful for all its eeriness. Soon it became able to aid him in his work and threw itself into the tiny tasks he often neglected to complete on his own. With increasing frequency he'd look over to find it staring at him with a burning gaze, but he simply brushed it off as an inevitability; it was a heart, after all.Someti...


ixykix
The Birthday Book - Page 155 by ixykix Mes Blue Stories :page no.13: by ixykix Desire Lines -Towns we Pattern by ixykix


jahg
Climbing Everest
reach out and touch joy. stretch higher to attain it. feel the mountain-top. Astronomical Love
Astronomical love the girth of planets the magnitude of galaxies flowing like water, star over starthe years magnified in glass to rub shoulders with posterity glaring like ravens, fit for monsterslaw's a fickle brigand clear of sense ever blooming detail like mould stringing enormities, strange glorious mushroomslife in the microcosm the weight of small society's beaded realm floating like beacons, bracketing passionso tickle the pen eager to drip monuments weaned so recently to solids teaming like salmon, baited and knowingclumsy stab and thrust to prick a life the organic levitant smoothes shyness blaming like youths, fighting without r... Summer's Girl
I am gathering flowers for my girl. She waits beneath the cherry tree, couched among the leaves upon the grass.Her beauty is no small thing, and through the shady boughs Summer's breath turns the twist of her braid.The sun is sweeping clear the morning, turning over slowly into midday before expiring into unseeing darkness.These garnered blooms still hardy though, despite the shortened moments of their existence, they will colour the chestnut hair I love.In truth, I cannot stem this smile, this attitude of quiet pleasure; she has distilled it like music.I am gathering flowers for my girl. She waits beneath the cherry tree, couched among th...


joe-wright
Far-fetchedAn elf lay in a tree, comfortably as if it was a hammock. A dwarf stoked their campfire and lit his pipe. The forest was quiet but for the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls. The night spun lazily above them.'Do you ever wonder who lives in the sky?' said the elf after a while.'Birds,' grunted the dwarf.'No, I mean the people up there.''All the poor buggers who fell up into it, I would imagine.'The elf sighed. 'Where do your gods live?' he asked.'Our gods are wrought in stone,' replied the dwarf. 'What would they do up there? There's nothing to do, nowhere to stand.' He paused, then added 'Nothing to hit with an axe.'Silence ... The Undeath and Death of Yves CarabinYves Carabin was kind of undead. It was a complicated situation. He was also a private detective. That was complicated too.He left the bar a little wiser than he'd been when he walked in half an hour ago. He was also a little drunker and his knuckles were a lot sorer. His trenchcoat whipped in the wind. A few drops of rain came down sideways to herald the gathering stormclouds. Yves turned up his collar and lit a cigarette with his eye socket.There was a girl he used to know. A djinn. One time he got himself shot in the eye. She mended him with smokeless flame. Resurrected him. That was the first time. A couple of glowing scars on his back... 35mm black and whiteNestled in the vignette gloom, Cross-legged in a stranger's room. Upon wool carpet you luxuriate, your feet bereft of shoe, Façade of soberness betrayed By the bottles there arrayed, Dilated eyes look through the lens, a glint of mischief there imbued. A stubbl'd man nuzzles your neck, In camera flash, he's caught mid-peck, His face obscured but for his jaw, slight smile upon his lips. Your hair reads strawberry red despite The rendering in black and white Of the party you're enjoying and the boyfriend you eclipse. The ghost of you considers me And smiles quite adorably, And seems to find it funny, but I can't say I agree. It seems to me ...


JoeyLiverwurst
Coyote EnvyJeremy Driggers didn't just love coyotes. He envied them. He wanted to be one, and gradually grew less and less guarded about it. He drew coyotes in his notebooks in class. He watched Warner Bros. cartoons and rooted against The Road Runner. He wrote letters to the editor defending coyotes going through garbage cans in suburbia.Jeremy wasn't very outgoing in or out of class, so no one paid much mind to him or his coyotes. He wore coyote T-shirts to class and even put a tail hole through a pair of pants, but no one asked him about it. At night, rather than socialize, he would lie outside and stare at the sky, obsessing about being a coyote.... Looking UpAaron fumed.It was his day off, and here he was at work anyway, two hours to close. He hated training people, but tomorrow was a big day, and he would pay for it in the long run if he put it off. He had been home alone, wasting time, but the principle of it still bothered him. He practically lived here these days.He exited the car and slammed the door. Then he noticed a young man, probably a college student, standing at the edge of the parking lot. He was on the grass, looking straight up at the night sky. A full moon gleamed overhead.In his funk, Aaron had forgotten the full moon! It almost always cheered him up. He smiled and called out ... Five Misconceptions
I'll warn you upfront: this isn't glamorous.At first, I thought I was in a car or on a plane. I woke up in an uncomfortable chair with an incredible headache and no idea where I was. My eyes slowly adjusted to the sickly yellow light, and I saw a ceiling with water damage. I didn't recognize it. I smelled mildew and smoke, which would've startled me if not for the headache.I started to rub my head, but I couldn't move my hand. I looked down, and my wrist was stuck in something. Actually both wrists. And ankles. I didn't like where this was going.Ugly laughter erupted from across the room. "About time you came around!" someone shouted. I ro...


Kazali
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kingmule
FlyingWe swam through the sky and when we landed we felt higher than when we almost reached the Sun.You kissed my neck and your lips still burned and the fire in my hair went out and you sighed.I hate this part of the song where I can't hear you anymore.When you woke me up I remembered why I used to love you;why the ash on your tongue used to taste so sweet. mermaidswimming in my salty sheets, not unlike the ocean.      i undulate with back pain and in the water i'm seen. i wrap my tail around his wrist and kiss, but he only notices bare breasts on me. the jewish daughterThe dispatched current of his discontent; the greater twin daughter - his relish - divides an entire nunnery of bogeymen      between her legs. And it's almost mean - that antic dress,          that endless body, richer than rancidity;          exhausting.


Limbs-of-Osiris
PearlI dive for pearls of dissonance when the surface of things is too damn flat and placid;too many things knocking me into Christmas stocking holes, stuffed deep and warm where the light gets dimmer. Too many voices planing the peaks of me, sanding me down until I shine and glimmer gemlike and polished.I want peaks to scale and troughs to navigate; want fat and gristle to chew and my own grit-strewn trail to stumble along; I want to smart and bristle, flicking opinion from my skin like dew off a nasturtium, and punch holes in blank pages like bullets. In summer we all burnThe summer is coming, I hear the beach roaring from here, can see shirts hung over shoulders, sunglasses, arms round waists, can feel the earth's purrs, breaking hibernation, pollens tossed up at us in fanfare.Ants are walking over me because we're sharing a tree together. Back to back, we're trying to make our winter's pallour a warmer shade. Is it some sort of personal sign when you let your shoe-tongues fill with tan bark, when it's driven you mad your whole life? Or when you eat ice-cream in public (the sticky fingers a mere afterthought)?These trees though, they're not changing. I can't help thinking they're often doing better than we... SloughCaught myself looking at myself, my own self-knit frown staring down the angles our shadows burn into the wall – that frozen floorboarded hall of mixed metaphor and a portal between today and yesterday.Staring through the marks and cracks that delineate the look of me toward the back of a head where the past lurks – full of its own regrets and quirks, and "let's find out what works";those dares that beckon, darts of stares loaded with lightly-packaged suggestion, they are at the roots of all the stems poking out of coat collars, bobbing on their pedestals like wool spools rocking off their bobbins.They're elsewhere now, the daring howls ...


monstroooo
LateSammy paced.This had never happened before. And tonight, of all nights! He glanced at the clock, grimaced, and paced some more. Where was he?Behind the curtain, he heard the chatter of the crowd, the beat of the music.Marv the Magnificent, the "compere extraordinaire", strode up to Sammy and gave him a questioning look. Sammy answered with a shrug. Marv looked at his watch, wiped his brow, sipped from a tin hip-flask."It's now or never, Sam. Do or die. I believe you can do this on your own - but he'll be here yet."Seeing the fear in his star attraction's eyes, Marv put a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "He'll be here yet ", he repeated.Sammy ... The Ballad of Eiy'ra Haiz
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he don't answer any more. Not the whiskey drinking Indian, the marine who went to war. A beaten up jukebox played old country songs in the corner of the bar. Outside, the mid-afternoon sun beat down on the cracked clay floor. The rocks surrounding the small mining town of Cripple Creek almost seemed to glow in the heat, and the horizon was half-hidden by haze. The township went about its business under the watchful eye of the local Dominion garrison.But those in the Pink Moon sheltered from that world. The barman, Townes, was an old war veteran with only one arm. In place of the other was a crude robotic substit... The Gunslinger
"You mean you ain't never heard of the Gunslinger?"The bar was almost dead at this time of night, and the question seemed to echo around the room - emphasising the sudden silence, rather than masking it."No, boy, I ain't."Only a handful of stragglers remained, the dregs of the evening clearing the dregs of their whiskeys. The lights shone dimly, and everything moved lethargically in the warm Texas night."Well I'll be. I thought everyone 'round here knew the story of the 'slinger'," said one of the stragglers – a tall, skinny man wearing a pale cowboy hat. A battered guitar rested on his knee."I'm new in town."They sat at the bar - the mus...


Exnihilo-nihil
TONNERRES ET DESTINS - THUNDERS AND FATES J'AI VU TOMBER UN EMPIRE - I SAW THE FALL...(English version below) J'ai vu tomber un Empire.                                                       À Marie. Cité désagrégée par les vents de la guerre Murs d'airain éventrés Coeurs froissés à la peine un espoir comme cendres Par-delà les tertres froids Dialogue d'un être et d'un néant Soi contre moi Te bercer dans les bribes balbutiées Fils d'argent d'un discours sur l'or de ton coeur lourd La feinte du fantôme Comment voguer ton orage profond Troue les abysses épais d'éclairs vifs courroucés Marie Porphyrogénète Tes yeux sur les frontières sacrées de l'Ouest Fa...


nonamepsalmist
UnkemptEvery other day you shook the       smell of sweat and coffee           from your skin.       You kept yourself preserved-    hairless as a sphinx cat- wearing control as natural selection-   calling in the honeybee   to buzz round your neck    and your knees.Full of cream        and tiny hairs,          the razor's matter-of-fact tears             against your calves, against your heels           rendered you less mammal                                    and more mythology.     In a flesh-colored towel you emerged unsexed with y... ManuscriptI have written us down, typed us up, and sent us out. they will edit us, and say some parts are no good.but I want your run-ons, your lack of punctuation; and you are so easy on my weak binding, my damaged spine. Outer SpaceI have constructed a canyon.                   ( it will be an addendum to the dream )Not a U.S.-Southwest-redrock-dayhike-national-park canyon.       (it's the sort of place you go to die and so it is too tempting to pass up)  Before you go, I   will have to strip you of your juju.                                 Whatever it is.                                  Wherever you keep it.I have constructed a canyon. I dug long and through until the sharp point of my want for you        dulled ( I did not know another way ) and the little zigzag ...


ohgravity
Charlie The Waste WorldShe said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like mor...


poetries
:thumb328545607::thumb330497822: WarriorsWarriors, unite! Warrior, fight! Yes, yes, Unite ! Unite for our glory, for our honor, And for our price. We are invincible, We are gods of war, Gods of the field, Heroes of the battleground, Demons for the ones that cant see our glory. We are here for all of you, Protecting you from real demons, With our hammers, With our sword, With our power, With our glory. We stand against evil, We stand against the ones that donÂ’t pay. They are waiting in fear, They are scared of us, We will destroy them all. Brothers and sons of warriors, Be proud of what you may be, And fight for what is real, And destroy everything that is in your way. Destroy is...


projectilewordvomit
Hydrofluoric AcidWe called it the sparkling city, the castle on the other side of the world, but it wasn't until much later that I found out it was just a glittering oil refinery pumping toxic gases into the air. We wondered at the way it glimmered against the stars like a just out of reach mirage. We were safe, 6.7 miles away, lying in the grass underneath the weight of invisible radiowaves and unspoken thoughts.-Now Dad tells me about my sparkling castle; the jagged, smoking tiers that pierce the skyline and cast a heavy glow outside of his new apartment. "So there's this toxic gas they use to make petroleum in  the refinery. It's fine for now, until s... AutumnSomething happened in autumn. Besides the leaves turning, anyway. They weren't very pretty this year, to be honest.  The trees changed unevenly because of the lack of rain in the summertime. The sky was gloomy for most of October.I wanted to take photos of the trees with you before they turned. You know, cliché nature shots. A hillside lined with red and umber foliage. Maple leaves sprinkled over the patio after the unexpected snow in October shocked them. Milkweed spores detaching from their pods and drifting away. Things to line the inside of the photo album I was making for you.We drank too much of the summer sun in July. By the time... InscribeOnce I knew this boy  who stopped knowing what to say, so he took all of his problems and left them on a page.So I'd read between the lines of different quotes every day. Sometimes lyrics, or sometimes Vonnegut, Neruda or Hemingway."So it goes" he'd quote, and I never knew what to say Instead I read the words he fed me until they'd eaten me away.He took all of his troubles and stacked them on a shelf, Too high for me too reach, too far for me to help.Now I'm reminded of him when I hear a book or movie quote, or when I see the delicate lines and marks of music notes.So I took all of his words and kept them in my head. All the work he'd wri...


ravenofroses
that quiet little struggleYou exhale and let the nic fit slither down your spine. Your hands tremble—not that you're paying them much mind when there's a fresh pack of Marlboros on the desk in front of you. It's been how long, now? But looking at the little tab in that clear plastic wrapper, it's like the first day all over again.You can already feel the soft weight of it between your middle and forefingers, drooping a little from the density of the tobacco. Hear the click and hiss of your lighter and the crackle of embers. Feel the warm sweet-bitter smoke settle in your lungs as you inhale and escape from your lips again when you breathe out.And you taste the fil... the editorI make bad things go away.Hit man? No, it's nothing like that. No, not organized crime. Christ, kid, where do you get these ideas? I bet it's television. Or those goddamn video games you people are always playing. What? So now I'm being judgmental? Do you know what I could do with one scratch of my pen?No, forget it. I'm a little tired, that's all. It's hard work, you know. If you'd just listen for a moment, I'll tell you.I'm a city editor. Not like newspapers, no. You have to train a lifetime to do the kind of work I do. And even if you do train a lifetime, not everybody's got the brains for it, you know? Imagination, that's what I'm talk... Change.“I’m sorry.”The words barely register; she’s already slumped against the tree and clutching her elbows with bone-white fingers. Something cracks in her left arm, but the pain won’t come until much, much later. Her breath catches, falters, ceases for longer than she would have believed possible, until her vision dims and she sucks in a rush of air that triggers the tears already threatening the corners of her eyes. She should have expected this, of course.The moon, obscured by fog, casts little light on the deserted park, and her stomach lurches when she realizes that she won’t even have a clear memory of his face. She fumbles for her...


ryante
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SCFrankles
Musical ChairsThree women.Three bladders.Two toilets. Fan FicJohn punched Sherlock.Sherlock detected animosity.


Self-Intoxication
Ephemera.Try turning a gun inside out.  See what happens. Perhaps you will find love there, around the bullets, or a story about love in a way you've never experienced, but you somehow know exists.  Try turning a paper crane inside out, or a thousand. See what happens.  Reversed, they just make other animals, butterflies that refuse to eat for an entire lifetime, wounded elephants, and spiders that feast upon sunbeams.Try turning your house inside out, like it has an eating disorder, and purges your books and CDs and unwashed laundry onto your lawn, the neighbor's lawn.  See what happens when you try to talk it out of destroying itself, tel... Depressing Russian Literature.Guilt is a piano on top of you instead of a man.  Street noises drain you like bleach on a rainbow. Indecision becomes a washer & dryer you can't stop putting things into & taking things out of all through a painful fluorescent night.  Thebrain becomes smoke, a hidden stash of dark red cigarettes, dipped in formaldehyde, waiting for you. Depressing Russian literature becomes your best friend & you can't remember what it is liketo have a flesh & bone best friend, a soft voice at the other end, someone to cough up pounds of dirt and flashlights and floods with you. Fun becomes self-destruction in the form of 47 gramsor too much coffee in... I want to write.At 4:30 in the morning I race on my bike to your house. I wear your T-shirt and sweat pants so I don't get raped, and because I want to bring your belongings back to you. I crawl through your open window and think that someone could easily kill you with a silencer and a black pillow and you wouldn't even have time to open your mouth to scream.Then I say: I love you. I want to write a love poem about you.The moon sparkles behind the blinds and I want to reach for your dead hands and put them on my throbbing sweating chest but sometimes I fear that they are maybe made of clay or are someone else's entirely. I want to write a love poem about ...


SugarHeartedGirl
Piano PlayingI am a pianist And you are my piano, dear.I play minuets along your ribcage, Write love songs on your arms, And press your vertebrae like keys To let soft chords fill the empty space. Your hairs are the resounding strings, Your lips are polished brass pedals That make everything loud and soft at the same time. Kissing you makes the whole world shift up an octave.I am a pianist And you are my piano, dear So let's write a duet in the dark. Rock Meautumn blunders in, clumsy stiff fingers frosted still by early winds, rocking trees back and forthred leaves splatter the ground paint drops, hanging from drooping branches, rotten fruit still litters the sidewalksi head south for the fall with the ducks.the train creaks like aching joints there's a crow on my windowsill, ruffling his feathers the trees flash by red -yellow-redmy ticket's got a hole in the middle from being folded over and over the crow says "summer ain't that great, Peach Girl." i watch the sky and ignore his clicking black beak "the autumn's gonna follow right behind ya 'n turn the whole world red-yellow-red at yer heel... The Memory BoxShe locked her heart in a box as summer ended And tucked it under her bed, in a nest of cobwebs Waiting for winter to frost her eyes closed For her long hibernation until heat spilled again Through her bedroom window.But as she lay down on silk sheets, Hair cascading across her shoulders in an overflow Of spring flowers and memories, He appeared, standing over her, Holding the box in his palm."Summer isn't over yet, my dear." He said. "Autumn is turning the world orange, And there's a butterfly waiting on your windowsill. So let's pick sunflowers till sunset comes." He reached out a hand, she took it.The box clicked open, spilling out Deep...


TransientTopHat
HarvesterHarvester of Lost or Possibly ForgottenFrom you to the sky to the Beast to the floor, we are All one endless string.All is the lost hound's shiver Trotting down the city street. All is the grieving Master, alone in a foyer chair—his Loneliness A headless man who stands in autumn leaves, Tapping on a windowpane.All is the reunion and the warmth of the fireplace.At night, or if overcast is thick, I reach into the Skulls and pull out the Lost, And imbibe the murky time-forsakenAnd daydream a day When I'll need be a glowing stain on someone else's tongue.

Mature Content

 Bunbury Parisian Apartment: 1900. Banished man of sick beyond repair, Sebastian self-reflects and then Connects with Oscar's sickly stare. Questions abound. Sebastian solely speaks: I can sink into recline with seeming ease, like young Wilde in old photographs. (Stillness.) Reading Goal pages spread about my breast.I sign it all Sebastian                     Melmoth. Wilde grew blowzy, burst his eardrum. His body though released is branded, deeply burned with off-white prison stripe and symbols of The Crown. Naked, clothed, the baggy folds of clothflesh stretch          out to all like sick yawns.           ...


Venry
Spray Your Sins Away!It was a scene of utmost suspense, the cliché that often made its way into romantic comedies and commercials. Inside Dick's We-Carry-Every-Item-Imaginable-for-the-Filthy-Rich , two different people reached for the last can of Sins-B-Gone in cinematic slow motion. One hand was French-manicured and wore an ostentatious diamond ring (inscribed "Love forever, to my Richard"); the other had "Vermilion Vixen" nails and was likely to never wear such a wedding ring. Fingers from both hands closed in on the blue spray can like eager vultures, plucking it off the shelf in synch. Both ladies blinked in confusion before they realized the other was... Crayon ChildYounger Me, still fending off nightmares with plastic swords and MONSTER-B-GONE lights.  I was rarely gentle with you.I blistered our hands with blacktop; I choked our sandals with mulch.Yet you remained untouched by life's failures and faults, only marred on the skin by two frolic-scars.There are seven chin stitches from a monkey bar mishap, and three on your upper lip from disgruntled floor tiles.But that never halted your gap-toothed grins.I fought by your side during alien invasions, where broccoli trees swayed beneath the 1% lowfat Milky Way.We cradled dirt-stained snowmen that lasted weeks in the freezer, and attacked Georgia firef... A Little Broken"Oh dear," Worry murmured, "now this is a problem."She hovered over the heart, peering at the jagged pieces. Ever the watchful nurse, she jotted down seemingly inconsequential details with a meticulous hand. "Heart," she started with hesitation, "I'm sure you'll be fine... Unless you won't be... But you most likely will be. I think. Now, it might take a while for you to heal.. and I'm afraid it won't be the last time you break... but let's get you to the recovery unit first."She wheeled the little pieces to the ER room, pausing to check on Sadness. She was sniffling in the corner of the waiting room, painting the wallpaper blue with her te...


WetKakashi
Epistles of A Rising SunTo Nihon,A crane silhouetted— Wings against a rising sun Samurai spirit.:::*:::*:::.To Jishin,Birth to Tsunami Wooden frames buckled and swept— My kin, I carry.:::*:::*:::.To Tsunami,Mountainous waves stretched— Extirpating the people, The veteran land still stands.:::*:::*:::.To Tochi,Fault lines cut through—deep— Dismantling, deforming— You are still our land.:::*:::*:::.To Umi,Our homeland submerged— Sakura blossoms scattered I will gather them.:::*:::*:::.To Tsuchi,Our photos buried, One day, it will sprout again– Softening our fall.:::*:::*:::.To Mizu,Flowing freely here From cracked teacups and tea leaves– Still, we will dri... Retraction of ChlorophyllLonger nights,                  and shorter days, Sinking towards the horizon, the sun stretches itself against pulsating veins – retracting from margins to petiole to stems –            unmasking                      green                            from orange               to gold,                        to vermilion                                                                       in casual descent                           Â... Release   Shattered stone vase– twin dragons among clouds,    thrown into the sun


wrheath
Shack Shadowsspring shade - a shy shroud of snow shuns sunshine Thaw    spring thaw - chickadees splashing   in my bootprints June Haikuthon 30th dayJune 30shy young girl - a wildflower peeks from a windy fieldJune 29in no breeze the slow bend of a grass blade - ladybugJune 28just a flick of the cow's tail - morning stillnessJune 27horsefly into my morning shade - my honey-do listJune 26bluebells perfect in the morning sun -a sunday choirJune 25an evening fog fills the valley - after the quarrelJune 24my bloated pond - a poem trickles onto a new pageJune 23enduring drizzle - an american beauty finally succumbsJune 22morning rains... everything sleeping inJune 21midstream - the cool splash of ferns on the pathJune 20riverside willow - one lolling hand from the canoeJune 19wild strawberr...



This Article Series Is Inspired By…



An undiscovered gem I found while browsing DeviantART. I took intrigued notice of MonsterBrand’s 25 Deviants You Should Know and thought that would be a brilliant chance to spotlight  writers I adore in proper fashion. Of course, I had difficulties keeping the feature limited to only twenty-five writers. I realize there are still a great many deviants who are not on this list, but it is far from complete! I do urge you to take a look and get to know some of these writers listed – as they help to make DeviantART the wonderful literary community that it is – but your journey is far from over.

Enjoy,
LadyLincoln

:heart:

© 2012 - 2026 LadyLincoln
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Exnihilo-nihil
I was reading some of your journals (a lot you have!!!) - thank you :rose: