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Colma BART At Dusk by ReYo Colma BART At Dusk :iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
I didn't know what to say.
I didn't know what to say.
I never did.
Instead of actually saying anything I just sat there, staring at the page in front of me, blank as it ever was, and I started to dream.
Dreaming of words that fill the air with meaning, dreaming of images appealing, and thinking of those who seem to exist only for those around them to reach the uncomfortable conclusion.
I'll never have them, they think, they say, they tell their friends.
But I won't give up easily.
This person, the beautiful, custom-built love of my future, simply sits and dreams along with me, only... fifty feet away.
Any advice, my inner-peace-loving friend?  Or am I to war with my ego, a powerful foe, one that keeps me to my seat like a stamp never sent?  Am I to dream a liquid dream that only slips through my fingertips?
No, this dream is solid.  This dream is real.  This dream fills the air with cologne, with a sight to drink in like the wine I wish I had, the wine that may give
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It's me... respectable-like. by ReYo It's me... respectable-like. :iconreyo:ReYo 0 1
Literature
What are you telling me Emily,
What is it you're telling me Emily,
what are you saying?
Why does the fellow entice you so,
as he slips between blades
and slides over the dirt?
I haven't met Him -
maybe I just have not dirtied my feet
as I should have,
running loose over the lawn
or behind the Bog,
or maybe He was too shy
to introduce himself to me...
Is He shy, Emily?
Is He afraid of me?
Or have I just not come
to the right locale,
should I go to Him?
What can He teach me, Emily?
Can he teach me anything?
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 5
Literature
Homeless
While Kenneth followed the beaten path he came across a young man, sitting alone on a crumbling, partially-rotted bench surrounded by loose brown dirt and tall, thin trees, half of which were a dried-out brown with few (if any) branches reaching from the trunk.  The young man (Kenneth assumed he was probably ten, twelve years old) had his legs folded over each other, each foot resting on the opposite knee, his dark blonde hair dirty and wild, his clothes torn in some scattered places and mud splashed over others.  The young man, the boy, was smiling, his bright blue eyes squinted straight ahead, looking to be locked on something in the distance.
     Maybe he's a runaway.  Kenneth stepped lightly and slowly to the boy, trying to keep from frightening him or distracting him from his focused view.  As he sat down (very cautiously, as Kenneth didn't know if the bench might collapse under their combined weight) the boy turned
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
Untitled August project 1
"Wh3r3 j00 h1d1n6?"
     The girl dressed in the blue sash was standing on the opening of the vast arena, trying to take in every little crevice that could be seen from her view on top of the tall mountain ledge.  The compound behind her was solid, carved out of thick steel to make the thing as structurally sounds as possible, as well as being a building that struck fear into whoever caught it out of the corner of their eye, mostly because of its grime look and scorch marks where it take taken point-blank shots from rocket launchers and machine gun fire alike and never showed the slightest dent.  Turrets stood up from the squat compound center like fingers scratching at the darkened red and purple sky, topped with unused, broken down guns slathered in rust.
     The girl glanced down below her again, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of her enemy from her post.  Not many paths reached up to where sh
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Light head by ReYo Light head :iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
Death
"Little punk, what're YOU gonna do?"
     The boy looked down to the ground and shook his head, then kicked his view back up to the speaker with a smirk, his eyes narrowed in a strange glare.  With a level voice, he spoke:
     "I'm going to kill you."
     The man looked the boy over, and started to laugh.  He was not visually intimidating; 5'6", skin-and-bones build, big blue eyes that could almost pass for a Japanese anime character come to living breathing life... he looked like he'd be more suited to talk about which Star Trek captain was strongest (or "got more chicks") than be involved in any physical confrontation.
     "You're... gonna kill... ME!?"  The man was barely able to push the words between fits of laughter.  Slowly he stumbled his way over to the boy and, with his laughter cutting quickly, slapped him across the face.
 
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 1 0
Literature
:untitled story: - Prologue
"Geez, this happens every time," I whispered to myself as I sat staring at the laptop screen.  "I just... geh."
     I sat back, hoping the inspiration would just come to me like moths enjoying gathering around my house's porch light some summer night.  It had been a year since I finished my first novel, and since then I had done nothing to it or for it.  No follow-up.  No clean up of the first draft.  Absolutely nothing, and it drove me crazy.  The lack of inspiration to continue on with the story had totally vanished when my best friend Katie told me her thoughts on it, but even so, I felt I had nowhere to go.
     I sagged in the chair for a minute or so and started counting the little bits of stucco on the ceiling.  I guess when somebody's bored they do pretty much anything to take their mind off of the task that they should be doing.
    
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
A Life Forgotten (beginning)
I sat up in the bed, looking around the room I was in, and took a look around, feeling the pounding of my temples behind my eyes.  There were posters plastered on the walls in what was obviously the bedroom of a young woman, covering only a select area of the musical spectrum; The Backstreet Boys, the members of N*Sync, Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, placed over each other in a large collage, covering the entire wall.  I stood up from the bed and took a peek in through the closets' left door, taking a step back as I looked in and felt my eyes start to burn from the plethora of bright pink that met my eye.  I looked away quickly, the color just too much to handle.  I took a step back into the middle of the room, trying to take in all that I saw, given the dim light from the small and blinded window.
     The bed was quite the resting place; it had to be king-sized, with four posts nearly scraping the ceiling.  The
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
How many stars are there
Laying on my back,
staring at the black abyss overhead,
I wonder: How many stars are there?
It's not a very original question;
how many children have asked their
parents that same question?
Only I can't see many stars out tonight,
too many clouds blocking my view.
I stretch and think about heading back inside,
but only for a moment.
Then I start to feel a few tiny splashes
against my skull,
the beginning of the winter rains
that are sure to come, as they always do.
But the splash gives me pause,
and I begin to wonder again.
How many stars are there?
I can see each drop
as they fall to earth,
each an individual, different size,
different shape, different amount of light
reflected in its fragile marble
only to burn out as quickly as it flared.
Each star, falling around me,
a special wonder of the sky,
and my question is answered as quickly
as it lights up my brain.
How many stars are there?
It doesn't matter.
I would like each one.
       Inspired by
:iconReYo:ReYo
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Me with the new hat by ReYo Me with the new hat :iconreyo:ReYo 0 4
Literature
Phantom tears
Phantom tears
splashing under concrete sidewalk,
the loss of substance a cry
for help from beyond the gravestone etched
with her name,
invisible sadness from
her ghostly gut.
She wanders the earth around
her, specter footsteps littering the grass,
presence past leading in all directions,
none more persistant or insistent
than the last, multiple possible paths
to follow and search for what
might give her peace,
help her to finally sleep
with a smile.
Her eyes open and she lays,
startled but silent,
just for a moment.
Her body slides from under
the comforter, her head off her pillow.
She has been crying in her sleep,
her pillow salty with tears
and a cold, cold sweat.
It was just a dream,
she whispers to her bear,
the tattered paws always offering the softest of support,
nearing possibly the end if his life
but trying desperately to keep her
at all times huggable and safe.
Straggled fur, matted,
coat moist with her fear
and stubby tail,
yanked off years ago,
he is the veteran of her mood
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0
Literature
Shall we dance
Fingers cradling pencil,
mind cradling words,
the two converging to create poetry,
rhyme and meter music for the tongue
to rhomba, to salsa, to waltz
on the linguistic dance floor
with letters dressed for the formal occasion.
The "y" in a low, flowing gown
and her date, "t" in his lined bow-tie,
complimenting the dances of couples
like "er" and "ck" as they cuddle together
as partners do, the rest of the alphabet
circling, their turn is coming
to enter the middle, their sounds
and syllables waiting patiently
and singing along with the song.
But, before they can dance,
before the band can tune and begin,
the mind must combine the right mixture
and tease out the notes through
each pencil stroke.
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 2
Literature
Funny little monkeys
Funny little monkeys
on a yellow dance floor,
cart-wheeling and swing-dancing
with tiny green trees that
hold the monkeys waiting their turns.
They stroll through the campuses
and chase after friends,
bouncing lightly and performing
their jig for anyone in eyesight.
Whoever knew there could
be such an energetic world
painted across my sister's
traveling pajamas?
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 1 0
Literature
The Journey and Thoughts...
See me on the page,
words baring my soul to the world
through 0.7 mm graphite
and its Bic-manufactured master,
printing out the thoughts of a lost little boy
who's found an open sheet
upon which to draw a spiritual map to share
with those who might know the proper way home.
Discover me through my ink,
the letters falling, raining onto the page
and splashing into imperfect sentences
staining the paper with my thoughts,
spreading as the ideas become a mental monsoon
leaking through my pen.
Find me in my words,
the choices made in expressing my world
to you, my reader,
joining me on my linguistic journey,
hopefully discovering a piece of you self
as I search for my own.
:iconReYo:ReYo
:iconreyo:ReYo 0 0

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Activity


Whodathunk.  I totally forget I even HAD this account, let alone added any new material to it.

In case anyone following me even still has an account, let me bring the world up to speed.  I've turned 28 years old, still write poetry (more so recently, now that I'm unemployed work has time to be written), write video game reviews and articles for fun and profit, come out of the closet... yeah, a lot of what I was when I first started writing here at all has changed, and significantly.  It's surprising to look back on this and remember that I would toil and try to be profound and things of that nature, now that I've put a few additional years on me for perspective.  I don't know how much of what's written in here I even want to be reminded of, let alone read AGAIN.

That's the one thing that seems to not change for me: I hate reading my older work.  True, what's been written here could be seen as a stepping stone for what's coming out now... thankfully I was obsessed with the shape of that stone, as much as I'm obsessed with the shape of the one I'm on now.  Still, it's been a cliche journey from then until now.  I go outside and breathe fresh air when the mood strikes me.  I fart in crowded elevators and blame the small child next to me who's pressed every floor button.  My kitty passed away.  I do stand-up comedy sometimes.  I shave more often.

I don't even know where I'm going with this, so I'll just wrap up there.  To everyone reading who's read my work in the past, I hope you enjoy the new work I post on my domain.  Just maneuver to the "Doodles" section and see what cheesy batches of wordsmithing and pretentious "look at me" I'm up to now.  Until then, the rest... is madness.

-Kevin
kevinss.net

deviantID

ReYo
Death kindly stopped for me.
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
I write. It's what I am, it's who I do.

...

That... that didn't come out quite right.
Interests

Comments


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:iconcccp-lord-soth:
cccp-lord-soth Featured By Owner May 26, 2016
burrrrrrp
Reply
:iconreyo:
ReYo Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2016  Professional Writer
Ugh, I forgot I even HAD this account. :-P
Reply
:iconnovembercosplay:
NovemberCosplay Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2009
Hey Kevin. Long time no see. How's it going? I just found you on Nicole's friend list. :p

~Carla
Reply
:iconreyo:
ReYo Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2010  Professional Writer
Heya! I don't really post on here much, haven't had any serious poetry or short-ish fiction to fill in anywhere. Overall though I'm doing alright, how be you are?
:ninja:
Reply
:iconnovembercosplay:
NovemberCosplay Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2010
Cool cool, I'm good thanks
Reply
:iconthecolorofblood:
TheColorOfBlood Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2008
Love you dood
Reply
:iconjennykat:
jennykat Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2007
yeah!!!! i found you!!! you're it!!!
Reply
:iconthecolorofblood:
TheColorOfBlood Featured By Owner May 14, 2007
Wow, it's been waaaay too long since someone's commented here... you are underloved and underappreciated... tis a shame.... I LOVE YOU!! :D
Reply
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