Meggie272's avatar
carrot flowers
714 Watchers27.1K Page Views330 Deviations
E
Encounter
I came home after a long long time and in the hallway I bumped into a seventeen year old girl. I said ‘it’s me’ but she shook her head like there was water in her ears and salt in her eyes. I said ‘it’s okay’ but she looked at me blankly. I said ‘it won’t kill you’ but she hurried past and turned that dark corner. In the room I grew up in I opened a wardrobe and an old friend fell out, the yearbook photos where we sat side by side staring the camera down. Arrogant and eagle-eyed. That year it rained and I wore his jacket until it smelt like him and me and his hair and my smile
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A
Alchemy
I often think I left half of me in my mother’s cupboard; as a child I would inch open the ill-fitting white-peeling wood and look at small dusty bottles of coriander, vanilla extract, cardamom, bi-carb, rosewater, dye. I believe I thought of it as all the potential of life itself trapped within sticky- lidded glass. An apothecary, profound and intricate and strange. I was so excited by the one that seemed to be a vial of blood, at the thought of dropping it and staining the floorboards red. I wanted to put all of it in one of our heavy saucepans with the handle Dad made of old piping and boil it till it stung my eyes, till some gr
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Palmleaf
There have always been hard, bright prophets their words filling our mouths like the tipping of sunlight and wine. There have always been Christs placing two fingers under our chins and smiling, blinking dust from kind and distant eyes. We have always asked questions of the sky. Someone has always tipped our faces up, and said: ‘Look – look. There it is.’ This is what we find.
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Little
His parents were shouting, and hated each other, flush-jawed and aching across the cheap table, the cheap hot rash of kitchen air all filled with meat and 3 veg and everything else, so the boy went outside, where it was a desolate and bitter July, with the paddock grasses of frost-slick knives; went outside, sat down, drew his knees up to his chest like a foetus held loose in the black coiling womb of sky. A mad neighbour shouted – a cow lowed, a soft sad call. He stayed sitting for a while kept small kept his blood cool until he'd lined his lungs with winter, bright.
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Knitted
The men, they come into my home loudly strung with all night’s stars, all beer-glint, all roughly-bright; they bring their heavy boots, their boots and their heavy mud. Their brassy, mirthful talk; harvests and ale and golden things. I have been in here alone, excepting the dogs in their slumber, husband, husband’s brother, and I have been spinning. And spinning, and spinning; spinning mice, and men, and fates, and coarse grey wool. You clap each other’s backs, the centre of your beings in the largeness of your hands. You bring the cold night’s mud on to my floor. I am the centre of your beings, men, I link you.
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Perth
In Western Australia, it’s likely that we have no prophets, we have no damned, there’s probably no heaven to be found – only this dry and aching span, roads laid down on burnt red dirt like tar-crossed, humming brands. Only construction sites laid open. You know, this city, it doesn’t grow, it doesn’t burn, it only stands. It is all, and endlessly, and only, the slam of car doors being shut, the tradie’s first cigarette, the mother’s harassed reply, the toddler’s sticky grasping hand, the tight and cerulean sky. The freeway, the peeling tunnel, the sloping oases of white sand.
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Fleeting
To be content with one night is the hardest thing to swallow; but I believe it may be possible to look back on smeared stars and softly smoke-spiced mouths and accept all for what all was, like the passing of a cloud seen only once by only one young child.
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Tunnel
In several tiny ways I put my head on the block: his head is heavy, thin limbs drooped with sleep, and I don’t move away like I should – there is a bright, beating second of contact, then the train jolts him awake newly born and blinking. This is one. Tired, heart-dazed, amongst all the stars of the city spinning in all their roaring dark, I readjust so that our shoulders do not touch.
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See all
E
Encounter
I came home after a long long time and in the hallway I bumped into a seventeen year old girl. I said ‘it’s me’ but she shook her head like there was water in her ears and salt in her eyes. I said ‘it’s okay’ but she looked at me blankly. I said ‘it won’t kill you’ but she hurried past and turned that dark corner. In the room I grew up in I opened a wardrobe and an old friend fell out, the yearbook photos where we sat side by side staring the camera down. Arrogant and eagle-eyed. That year it rained and I wore his jacket until it smelt like him and me and his hair and my smile
0
13
A
Alchemy
I often think I left half of me in my mother’s cupboard; as a child I would inch open the ill-fitting white-peeling wood and look at small dusty bottles of coriander, vanilla extract, cardamom, bi-carb, rosewater, dye. I believe I thought of it as all the potential of life itself trapped within sticky- lidded glass. An apothecary, profound and intricate and strange. I was so excited by the one that seemed to be a vial of blood, at the thought of dropping it and staining the floorboards red. I wanted to put all of it in one of our heavy saucepans with the handle Dad made of old piping and boil it till it stung my eyes, till some gr
7
12
P
Palmleaf
There have always been hard, bright prophets their words filling our mouths like the tipping of sunlight and wine. There have always been Christs placing two fingers under our chins and smiling, blinking dust from kind and distant eyes. We have always asked questions of the sky. Someone has always tipped our faces up, and said: ‘Look – look. There it is.’ This is what we find.
5
6
L
Little
His parents were shouting, and hated each other, flush-jawed and aching across the cheap table, the cheap hot rash of kitchen air all filled with meat and 3 veg and everything else, so the boy went outside, where it was a desolate and bitter July, with the paddock grasses of frost-slick knives; went outside, sat down, drew his knees up to his chest like a foetus held loose in the black coiling womb of sky. A mad neighbour shouted – a cow lowed, a soft sad call. He stayed sitting for a while kept small kept his blood cool until he'd lined his lungs with winter, bright.
4
4
K
Knitted
The men, they come into my home loudly strung with all night’s stars, all beer-glint, all roughly-bright; they bring their heavy boots, their boots and their heavy mud. Their brassy, mirthful talk; harvests and ale and golden things. I have been in here alone, excepting the dogs in their slumber, husband, husband’s brother, and I have been spinning. And spinning, and spinning; spinning mice, and men, and fates, and coarse grey wool. You clap each other’s backs, the centre of your beings in the largeness of your hands. You bring the cold night’s mud on to my floor. I am the centre of your beings, men, I link you.
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15
P
Perth
In Western Australia, it’s likely that we have no prophets, we have no damned, there’s probably no heaven to be found – only this dry and aching span, roads laid down on burnt red dirt like tar-crossed, humming brands. Only construction sites laid open. You know, this city, it doesn’t grow, it doesn’t burn, it only stands. It is all, and endlessly, and only, the slam of car doors being shut, the tradie’s first cigarette, the mother’s harassed reply, the toddler’s sticky grasping hand, the tight and cerulean sky. The freeway, the peeling tunnel, the sloping oases of white sand.
7
7
F
Fleeting
To be content with one night is the hardest thing to swallow; but I believe it may be possible to look back on smeared stars and softly smoke-spiced mouths and accept all for what all was, like the passing of a cloud seen only once by only one young child.
1
8
T
Tunnel
In several tiny ways I put my head on the block: his head is heavy, thin limbs drooped with sleep, and I don’t move away like I should – there is a bright, beating second of contact, then the train jolts him awake newly born and blinking. This is one. Tired, heart-dazed, amongst all the stars of the city spinning in all their roaring dark, I readjust so that our shoulders do not touch.
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Good Hooks seen on DevArt
I'm sitting in an alpha male's piece of shit old car. by Meggie272 (https://www.deviantart.com/meggie272) ~~~~~~~~~~ Hugh Everett's ashes are in the dumpster behind the restaurant I work at. by muscularteeth (https://www.deviantart.com/muscularteeth) ~~~~~~~~~~ There are three kinds of people in the world. Flesh eating minions of hell, humankind, and those caught between both ends of the spectrum. They call them carriers. by laurotica (https://www.deviantart.com/laurotica) ~~~~~~~~~~ winter was/wolves with glass teeth/and frozen words/so frail they shattered before/I heard them by WizardHowl10001 (https://www.deviantart.com/wizardhowl10001) ~~~~~~~~~~ "Sir, sir, please do not touch that!" The panicked man jumped between the hand and the button. by Mythiril (https://www.deviantart.com/mythiril) ~~~~~~~~~
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What Is a Literary Journal?
Art in the Professions Week There are lots of magazines out there. Ones you might be more familiar with are the ones you can buy at the grocery store check-out aisle—Elle, Vogue, People, Cooking Light. You know, that stuff. But most of these magazines publish work that is along the lines of journalism, or occasionally creative non fiction (CNF) and criticism (reviews). Magazines you might not be as familiar with are literary journals. You probably won't find these at the grocery store. You might, but it's probably just The New Yorker. The Paris Review if you're at some schmancy place. These are some of the oldest and most celebrated li
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More features!!yay (Part 1)
This time a random collection of poetry/writings i found throughout the time on this site, which inspired me each time i read them.
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You know what would be nice?
If I could go one day without screwing something up. :facepalm: On a more positive note, some word beauty:  
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My Daily Deviation Highlights
Welcome to a Community Volunteer project in which we will be highlighting our favourite Daily Deviations featured within the recent weeks! We would like to encourage the community to join in on this project by simply going through the Daily Deviations page and collecting some of their favourite pieces of art within a journal titled "My Daily Deviation Highlights"! We hope this project will help spread awareness and love for Daily Deviations and our fellow deviant artists! Use the hashtag #DDHighlights so we can find your journals! :la: You may choose to feature deviations from all categories, or you can focus your journals on a specific cat
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Summer Contest: Women in War
Alright guys, here is the deal. I haven't done my yearly contest so here it is. You want to watch this journal keenly because the prize list is going to expand rapidly after today. The subject is women in war. I don't see enough of this in military fiction at all, let alone on dA, so I'm running a contest for it. I want realistic, historically accurate portrayals of women's contributions to war efforts, be they soldiers or pilots, camp followers, auxiliaries, or on the homefront. There are plenty of cool things to choose from, from female ambulance drivers in WWI, the Night Witches of WWII, Jean d'Arc herself if you want. Go check out Women
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A five month feature!
Well now... HELLO EVERYONE!!! :wave: :nuu: It has been SOOO long since my last feature here on #PoetrynProseWatchers (https://www.deviantart.com/poetrynprosewatchers), and frankly speaking, I do feel that this hiatus has paid off. I was looking at the message logs in the admin area, and I realized how much you - yes, YOU, DEAR MEMBERS - have contributed with your invitations of deviations by other poets and writers on dA. And it is amazing. A lot of works which are intriguing and full of emotions, drama, thought, thought provoking insight, depth, dedication, and all charming in their own right. Unfortunately they got featured after five months ^^; when more works which are intriguing
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writing prompts, because you need them
literature prompts for my group #da-literature:  anyone that completes and posts 100 pieces of literature based on all 100 prompts, let me know and you may win a prize, maybe some points!*  *while supplies last.  if you like, you can submit pieces inspired by the prompt list to the Prompts gallery.   cheers. 1. final grocery list 2. wet and furious 3. it can’t be you! 4. bodies 5. Rorschach's blot 6. save your flowers 7. nothing is as real 8. transgressions (against the father) 9. it happens at this time, every night 10. the unheard anthem 11. blue 12. symmetry 13. dormant, for now 14. sixteen times 15. afterglow 17. feint of 18. the
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.MoLtEn UnIvErSe VoL. I
. "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back" :bulletred: . .thank you for inspiring. .
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Mar 4
Australia
Deviant for 10 years
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Oleg-Bardenkov's avatar
Oleg-BardenkovProfessional Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!!!!!!!!!!:) (Smile) 
Meggie272's avatar
Meggie272Hobbyist Writer
thank you very much! :D 
Lintu47's avatar
Lintu47Hobbyist Photographer
Thank You (16) by daniya-ART
Meggie272's avatar
Meggie272Hobbyist Writer
you're welcome :)
BlackBowfin's avatar
Hey there, Meg... and thanks. :) 
Meggie272's avatar
Meggie272Hobbyist Writer
hello yourself, and you're very welcome :)