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About Literature / Professional Savannah Houston-McIntyreFemale/Canada Group :iconamyachronicles: AmyaChronicles
 
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Literature
Spring
There is warmth in the wind
As I clasp at streams
Of sunlight.
There are faceless flowers -
Waking--
Bees--
Awkwardly roaming.
Breathless clouds
Whispering-
Comforting echoes
Of crying rain.
We are boundless
In search
Of a blushing spring day.
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Literature
At the Park
It is a beautiful spring day
Painted gold by a fanciful sun-
Peeking from a clouded sky.
At our feet--
Branches of trees encompass us.
An the daffodil bobs its white head
Grinning a yellow grin-
With its arms raised skyward.
Perhaps in praise.
And we lay here - in damp grass
And you laugh, and laugh
Painting the sky with your happiness.
And I smile - knowing.
That these small moments
Are my greatest joy--
And my greatest accomplishment.
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Literature
Nightmare
Why do you meet me in dreams
When my mind is dark and-
Thick with vivid imagination.
There are rats heaving over me
Giving me that serial killer grin-
And I can feel the claws of dread
The hook that catches my insides:
Pulling me downwards.
I remember sepia tones--
Slipping from the walls.
A thick stench of perfume and smoke
Toiling against my eyes and tongue.
Vomit and stink pool in my stomach--
But never death.
The moon was saturated in menstrual blood
Pouring a clotted brown light over me.
And though my memory is a dying thing
There are some visions that will not fade:
No matter how I command them so.
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Literature
White Night
As the mother’s frail leaves fall
And frost begins to blow a cooling breath
Autumn bathes us in red - gold, and all
Young widows gather to mourn summer’s death.
And though I hear a flutter of wings
I am lost:  trembling within a spring day,
Once so remote - to my memory hastily brings
A dream that appeared perfect from far away.
But while within the grove the sun has dimmed,
And the moon is haunting summer days – lost
I find the oak’s lips are golden brimmed
And together we kiss the moon’s twilight frost.
And as we watch a cascade of castaway stars
I know this unframed white night is ever ours.
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Literature
Freewrite
It is a cold evening;
My breath paints a picture
Of death dressed in white.
I enjoy the company.
My feet ache for home
My heart wonders why-
They journeyed so far.
The mist seems to blend -
My tones into the sky.
I become invisible
Under the cover of the world.
It has been a long way home
And nothing shelters me
Except moonlight and frost coverings.
Nestled in my heart there is a pearl-
Of sorrow.
It is encompassed and entwined by love;
Suffocated by gay and wondrous dreams.
The decay of leaves and flower petals
Echo an illusion of breaking waves –
I am sure a path was here.
My feet pad quickly homeward.
I am bound tightly in the knowledge-
I have reaped.
Cherishing faint and golden impressions;
I start to wonder why I ever hesitated to dream.
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Literature
Rote
The falling sun pours its marrow
Into the bones of the castle –
As if dowsing the steeples with wine
Red hues of romance or death.
There are fears that I have been—
And no posies can burn their worries
From within my skin.
Have I turned so grey
Have I become mud-speckled -
I grope in yearning – a way back in.
But the rote battlements-
Are devoid of hope and hollering,
And my pleads reach nothing-
Save for the far butte in the distance.
I am dour with the looming
Endeavour of forthcoming clouds -
Stirring winds that thread my dress.
Wind whistles through my lungs and-
Tormenting rain scorns my skin
I melt away - into a small mere
Half covered in worn silk
On the steps of the palace
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Literature
Colourless
It is a colourless autumn day
As if the rain coated sky-
Consumed a once pastel splattered world
Painted by children and fairy dust.
I was a writer once –
And the ink beat through my veins.
I accost my heart about its well;
To find that blood never tided there.
My dreams speak to me-
Like imagination
Splattered over pale walls.
As I scribble oracular words,
Illuminating an unfolding world- -
I wonder if I have been there before
Or am I purely out of mind.
Watching ink drain from the nib as if from-
My brittle wounds.
I wish for a vast ocean of night
To tell me what my name is worth.
And if it cannot give me the value of my letters,
Or casts the wrong eponym in my direction
Will I become as brittle as my words-
Is humanity so fragile
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Literature
Strict
Never does time stand still;
Seasons overlay in endless dregs and-
Beyond my corpse vultures encircle
They murmur that I am old.
Our feet drag coarse and rigidly
As if to slow the Reaper's till.
In dreams time lingers to taunt;
How is one to know-
Their life is understood.
Beware - they say - beware.
You are old:
And time stays for nothing.
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Literature
Weave
Seamless dreams tide through fleeten hands
As upon the loom she toils with fellon threads
Whispering mellowed breath upon bands of weave.
Her body heaves with haunted air;
Dolorous with age --
As though for too long she has sat there.
Perchance the wind this day will carry spring-
Beneath the door to swirl dust amongst her drapery
And stir her to be – bold as a whore.
As she rises –
The floor, her chair, and bones do creak
Jubilating with a melody of forgotten age.
Beckoning her inner mockingbird to crow or croak
She advances ahead of that worn and darkened door
With passion cracking just beyond her breath,
She climbs onto that slanted field – heavy with respite.
At the crown of the hill –
She drapes a tapestry over the line
Damp with the wetness of new age.
There her new dream hangs among its fading kindred;
And as the spring wind toils –
Thick with pollen and winter dust
The line of tapestries bend and curtsey -
Towards their maker,
As she too one day –
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Literature
Ghost
Dying ghosts of autumn leaves;- and bitter fogs coils at my heel--
That howling wind calling forth its decaying meal
I wonder where I am going - said I as I went exploring--
Dearest that sad soul exploring,
Through a forestland of indecisions
Trying to sort unchained revisions;
Of things said and voices heard;
Over that loathsome – coiling;
Ever twining; decaying wind.
On that crumpling floor of death we lay;
And I think;- that is not what I meant at all.
And I say - that is not what I meant at all!
No not at all; not at all.
And now here I am,
In a woodland of indecisions-
I wonder where I am going
As I walk here and there exploring;
Clutching my heart as it pounds in my head
Swept away by this desolate decaying wind;-
That is not what I said--
This is not what I said at all!
No not at all;-
Not at all.
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Literature
The room next over.
There is a monster in the room next over.
I can hear
The quick beating of his breath.
Speculations in a paradise
Of unconscious childhood.
In conviction of obscurity and darkness
I was raped today.
As the world presses against my chest
And my outreached arms grasp equivocal ocean
I realize I cannot forget;
I think - this is my sin.
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Literature
Meditation
The heart may heal in time.
As a mother I sat below the gnarled tree,
Under the grey chilled heavens.
There was power in this silence.
While as a father before the faller fields,
I tilled the clouds and fashioned a dream.
As a child I sit in watch of the wind,
The only movement in this stillness,
While awaiting her spirituality in the ordinary.
Clinging water rains to wash away the dreams,
As the sun rises to chase the fleeing silver moon.
The steady woman finds herself balanced,
As new winds break through, she will never be the same.
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Literature
Curtains
I closed the curtains to my heart,
And pretend I don’t miss –
Clasped in the moonlight
Hued in a chilled night’s thrall
Twilight locks – spread across hands clasped in prayer.
How does one bear the hourglass,
And how does one ride the pale horse-
Of Death and Romance.
Quiet goodbyes scorn the heart and clear the mind.
I pretend I don’t miss-
The caw – and the call
Of the brittle nightingale’s
Incoherent chitter.
I open the curtains to-
Watch my reflection in the window,
Burned from the low sunset.
The beating of a mournful voice,
Spins in the distance.
I watch the dreadful look of contemplation
On the window’s face.
How can it be that what brought us most together,
Holds us the farthest apart.
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Literature
Storm Runner
The hard storm swept wind curled across her back
While she sliced through the cold stung air of freedom.
Her feet beat against the ground
Quicker then her heart could slam against her chest.
Only her tears fell behind to see
Clouds of climbing storms from which she fled.
Fleeing from the ever approaching hail,
The Storm Runner has lost all feeling
To the motions of escape.
Spread ahead were the pink skies of freedom,
With the soft acrylic grasses swaying below.
Petals dance in the airy breeze,
Through which did barge her dreams.
She once again brakes from the cloudy overhang,
To tumble on her shaking knees,
The buttercup grass she did clutch
With all she knew of passion.
The temporary beams of sunlight,
Seized hold to the agony congealed feet.
She knew the storm was approaching still,
But a thousand breaths lost must she catch.
The hollow shattering of her chest
As she inhaled her temporary deliverance.
Her eyes to the purpled clouds turned
Fragile against reflected sun
Enchanting ray
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Literature
Expecting
|| Golden light trickles through foggy curtains of memory
Swayed to spread on questions of love.
Light is no truth bringer.
A broken princess of dreams sits,
Cast in the blue hue of
Broken romance.
A mix of fortune cards that should not be,
Though they all answer the same shade.
Left with trinkets and stone,
Pressed flowers and piled notes,
She kept it all.
This princess of stolen dreams,
A burden of flesh and blood,
Sits in nothing but imperfection.
Reverse Princess of Cups,
Castaway Swan,
Fallen Raven,
Planet, House, Sign.
Fortune tells of nothing.
The sweet breathing tune of bowls,
Rims and wood,
Can do nothing to hide the memories.
Imperfection of this damn blue hue,
To bring nothing but rejection...
Shiny silver armor
Dyed black as day.
Oh Hero!
How weak perfections strength
Fell to be.

Queen of imperfection,
Broken dreams...
Time to trade the flame for needle,
Patch together a new imperfect dream.
Through the darkness
Show them you are strong,
Do not falter in th
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Literature
Worn
Her worn face clasped in soft unforced hands,
That reflects on the puddle of thought pooled.
A crumpled love note half folded before her;
One written with her own thought and un-thought of feelings.
The lone pen nub of self expression lays snapped on the yellowed parchment;
With a stir of ink my portrays of soft love went unnoticed,
And the nymphs and brownies of words have carried off...
My broken imagination.
The chrysalis tears of thought pour down my cheek,
I cannot help but cry, 'What now.'
My true shepherd of soul's mate has been ripped,
Shredded in an unheard note.
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savvy
Savannah Houston-McIntyre
Artist | Professional | Literature
Canada
I am the author of the fantasy webcomic 'Amya'. This DA account holds my poetry work and some old short stories.
Interests

Transfer Complete

Journal Entry: Fri Nov 14, 2008, 5:24 PM


My Galleries



All of my literary pieces have now been switched to this account; with the exception of Stan Higgle since I am still in the process of revising it. You will need to refave anything you want in your favourites list (Everything, right? :P j/k ) If you wish to view my artwork, simply click the link to the right.

Thank you to my watchers who have been supporting my work and helping me to improve my skills; it has meant so much to me! There will be many more literary pieces to come.



Notes

|| - ||
|| Working on: Commissions and Stan Higgle ||

  • Listening to: Brush on Silk

Comments


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:iconburningwoodm:
BurningwoodM Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2013
It's wonderful book series, and a great team you have ;D
Reply
:iconsuzannebookworm:
suzannebookworm Featured By Owner May 20, 2010
ohmygosh, I just found your comic Amya. It's soo good! :la:
But what I'm even more excited about is because we're from the same city! :eager:
Reply
:iconsavvy:
savvy Featured By Owner May 30, 2010  Professional Writer
Hello Suzanne!
I'm so happy to hear you are enjoying Amya. If you ever spot me around Stratford, don't hesitate to say hello!
Reply
:iconnoropro:
noropro Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2010
Thank you for the llama badge! :-)
Reply
:iconb1gfan:
b1gfan Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2010  Student Writer
:icongringlomp::llama:

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:iconsenshuu:
senshuu Featured By Owner Dec 26, 2009  Professional Digital Artist
Ah... thank you for your gift. :heart: Thank you so much. I noticed something seemed a little different about DA, and then... pow! It struck me!

Nicest thing ever.
Reply
:iconb1gfan:
b1gfan Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2009  Student Writer
:glomp: How delicious is it to wander around, looking for nothing in particular, and end up back in places you'd loved being before :)

:wave:
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:iconwickedlyloquacious:
WickedlyLoquacious Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2009
Hey there! We appreciate your continued support and hope that you'll drop by soon to take part in some really cool activities and poetry shares!

:heart: - ~WickedlyLoquacious
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:iconarcharad:
ArchArad Featured By Owner May 30, 2009
Thank you very much for the :+fav: - it is greatly appreciated! :aww:
Reply
:iconteague-drydan:
Teague-Drydan Featured By Owner May 17, 2009  Student Writer
Thank you for the favourite on "Pomegranate and Scorpion."
~Teague
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