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Deviant for 10 Years
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Literature
Contentment
Where camels cross across the sands
In hot and dry and desert lands,
Where just to live's a desperate scheme
We watch a fellow, fevered, dream:
Uncontrolled, his limbs, they shake!
On fire, his thirst he cannot slake!
But as he drifts into the dark,
His febrile mind begins to spark
With visions of idyllic zones
Of castles, kings and queens, and thrones,
The yurts of Khans, the tents of sheikhs,
The Romans, Spanish, and the Greeks -!
He stops then, dreams of nature's gifts,
Of mountain ranges, shining cliffs,
Of rivers babbling to the sea,
Of forests, of a single tree.
And then he dreams of something grand -
His one and only lotusland.
As in his mind a shape it takes,
Upon the sand he sharply wakes.
For, though this man is bound to roam -
No single place he calls his own -
He's as content as he can be:
The camels, sand, the heat, and he.
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Literature
To My Sister
1.
I told you once you had to choose your battles.
You smiled and you told me you'd be fine,
The invulnerability of youth hanging on your shoulders
And your yellow scarf around your neck
And your hair just so,
And went.
2.
Much later you had forgotten I ever mentioned those words,
You flung yourself into countless skirmishes with me instead;
In my defense I tried hard to get back at you
But my arrows meant nothing, shattered on your worn and dirtied armour like sugar cubes
Or nothing. Nothing is what they meant to you,
And when I held you off neither of us could triumph, I told myself,
But the weariness I felt facing you could mean only one thing.
I wished once you would let me choose my battles.
3.
Later still was better, less hateful, but I could see the buildup in your eyes and limbs and face
And I worried constantly
And I waited for you to lose composure and get into it
And I wanted to say something to stop the stress building up that day
And I was glad when you stopped on the prec
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Literature
Colour I: Blue
i.
She opened her eyes,
Searched for the sounds of
Information, creating a current of
Electricity through her body,
Eyes to brain and back.
She turns to you, and you read her mind,
Read it through her eyes,
Such a strange
Pale
Shade
Of
ii.
You glance up,
Escaping wrong conclusions/
Near electrocution.
Black specks in the distance/
Your eyes.
Lambs lack all stain (Zounds!)
But you know He was wounded,
He must have been,
And mental instability never beckoned so hard
And you fall, purpose or no,
And you lie on your back
And you live on your back
(And you die on your back).
All above you is the vast crushing emptiness of colour.
It makes a paste of your flesh
It makes a dust of your bones
It makes a delicacy of your eyes.
iii.
I open my eyes to every time but this.
iv.
The sun beats the uneven surface here
And shatters itself into fools' diamonds
That fall beneath the bottom of the earth.
You would not dare to follow them so far
(Though faith might whisper softly that you could)
But she wo
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Literature
Rain in Summer
The strings of rain in summer pass
Outside the window, dampen grass;
A pattering upon the glass.
A bird is singing unsurpassed
Despite the grey. The memory brings
The strings of rain. In summer, pass
The places we once caught sea bass.
Fat fish thrashing, fit for kings,
And pattering upon the grass.
We drank the sun as days went past;
Allowed to fall upon our wings
The strings of rain in summer. Pass
Control to me- Too late, alas.
The severed ends of puppet strings
Are pattering upon the glass.
Though we may hope, love never lasts;
The bird must cease, for all it sings.
The strings of rain in summer pass:
A pattering upon the glass.
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Literature
Red Head with Bourbon and Lime
His idea of beauty was a red head, eleven shots of bourbon, and six lime wedges.
He was drunk and she was too.
They fell into bed after, giggling about this and that.
He slept fitfully, stealing the covers.
He awoke in the night, wondering what a terrible mistake he was making.
He got out of bed; he tucked her in.
3am he left, worrying about the morning.
The next night he was at the bar again.
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Literature
Reckless Abandon
Throw all your worries out the window, yea,
And dash your little ones upon the rocks.
Night comes quick and soon to your detractors;
The sland'rous shepherds will fast lose their flocks.
Your critics will be silent evermore,
The ignorant and liars must all learn
When they harp upon your every movement,
They only will condemn themselves to burn.
So feast, feast! on the hearts of enemies!
So take a life's course best described as random!
So take the things that lie within your reach!
Behave with the utmost impeccable reckless abandon.
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Literature
Frozen Solid
(Completely)
Still.
No sound
(Of breath).
(You have) no
Pulse (right now).
Brain (function has) ceased.
(No need to) worry.
Just another statue now;
No life left.
(I blame) the winter.
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Literature
Pa, we have a lot of Land...
Pa, I know you'd never want to split up the farm.
I know that our family's held on to this land for so long. I know that your granddaddy's granddaddy bought it off a shifty guy they all called Crooked Jim. I know that Crooked Jim got shot here. (I know it wasn't any of our family who did it, though.) I know that your own momma got married here, and that your granddaddy built a little tiny chapel on part of the property for the occasion. I know that the chapel burned down three months later when a local boy knocked over a few candles. I know it was never rebuilt.
I know, too, the ins and outs of farming, Pa. I know why we need so much land and I know about rotation, soil fertility, topsoil, overgrazing. I know you were thinking about retiring. I know when Ma went you threw yourself right back into work. I know you have doubts about me taking over. I know why.
But Pa, I know farming like we do doesn't bring in as much money as it used to. I know the economy's bad. I know we're running in
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Literature
Mary Celeste
A month later they found you, alone.
No violence upon you, silent and desolate;
Your abandonment, unreasoning.
Terrified, they passed you around:
17 men in 13 years-
The oldest profession for your kind,
The Amazon type (if you know what I mean).
You were ruined by the last,
A greedy fraud and conman,
Left for dead for 100 years and more.
They found your bones in the water where he left them,
Hard and cold and rotting.
If you only had talked to your rescuers,
David Morehouse and his faithful Dei Gratia,
You could have been better used.
You could have been a rescuer.
You could have been proud for years.
But when you died,
You would have been dead forever.
Haughty death claims all,
But your haughty life keeps your spirit in the world;
None, perhaps, may ever be allowed to forget.
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Literature
She Wore Paisley
She came by today, the message on the door says.
She was wondering whether you had her scarf.
She didn't want to call you, it seems to say.
She worried that would give you false hope.
It was a different scene, that night,
(Just three weeks ago, but it feels a lifetime!)
When she came up to you in the hotel bar.
She didn't know you, but she liked you then,
Liked you enough to let your transparent flattery get the best of her
And get the best from her in your bed.
She left it there then, the scarf she had been wearing.
It was still there in the morning when you woke up and she had gone.
You kept it on your bookshelf against the time when she would call.
But she didn't call, and as the weeks melt away you know the scarf is all you will remember of her.
Pity you weren't here when she came by, said the note, you could have seen her face.
But all you will ever remember now is she wore paisley.
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Literature
Infinity
Truthfully, we are bored by infinity.
We only ever view it as
The flat night sky,
The symbol in a math problem.
There is nothing in infinity but endlessness,
A vast empty wasteland, mileposts forsaken.
Interest lies in vast finite distances:
The answer to the math problem,
The secrets of all the stars in the sky.
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Literature
Late Night
Late night, the air is heavy and still,
Lit by pools of orange that grow with the darkness.
There is no sound:
The cicadas are hibernating in the face of cold,
The furry creatures are asleep,
The crickets silence in fear as I move past.
The humans are gone.
Where are they now,
The belligerent, the cheery, the sorrowing,
The players on the world's stage?
The stars know all but will never tell,
Laughing twinkling from the safety of their universal bed.
Their blanket of sky offers only a flat interpretation of
Infinite distance.
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Literature
William Carlos Williams
I cannot be a William Carlos Williams.
I cannot see the significance of a "wheel barrow,"
Or why it is significant enough to warrant two words from one.
I cannot understand the emphasis of color,
Or why it should matter whether the chickens are white or brown or red.
I cannot feel the strength of need for a wheelbarrow,
Or why this one in particular seems so irreplaceable.
But today brought a bicycle, rusting on the highway's edge.
Yellow bicycle, rusting
Under the sun:
How is it you,
Once built for two,
Have ended up with none?
I find my words will rollick in their own light, seriousness aside.
I cannot bring myself to write such things in tranquil lines.
I cannot convey such vast feelings in such small form.
I cannot be a William Carlos Williams.
But, just today, I can sympathize.
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Literature
Forest in Winter
Between the trees the wind lies still,
Waiting to pounce on they who run-
To freeze them with a sudden chill.
Winter - a grandmother lies ill;
"I see fairies," she says, "they come
Between the trees." The wind lies still
To mourn her passing as the family will.
So does Death gather all as one
To freeze them with a sudden chill.
They stumble to the forest, numb and ill,
Searching for her. "She just has gone
Between the trees," The wind lies. Still,
Its song is quite enchanting of the will;
Its siren song- to draw them on,
To freeze them with a sudden chill.
Out of the forest means over the hill,
The prey fast lose the strength to run;
Between the trees the wind lies still
To freeze them with a sudden chill.
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Literature
It Falls Asleep
It falls asleep
To the sound of her voice,
Hoping there will be no nightmare around the next bend;
The dream landscape, ever-gray, calls,
"Come to the mist-covered land of the dead.
We all must die someday, why not give it up now?"
Somewhere a gentle whooshing rhythm reminds it -
It is indeed alive, it which dies every night inside its own head.
It falls asleep
Though it really doesn't want to.
But her voice is so lulling in the warmth of its room,
The bed just the right temperature to curl up inside itself and hope it will be fine.
Sleep, running through the darkened room, agrees.
Darkness, it learns, isn't only cold as the corpse hands usually rushing up to meet it.
Darkness, it finds, can be warm as the feeling of a blanket and a voice.
It is indeed dark, it who will find pleasure in a place of sorrow.
It falls asleep
To the sound of her voice
A blanket of warm sound turned ocean,
Deep blue words drifting past into light-dripped shallows;
Rough, stormy spray on the jagged rocks;
The
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Activity


Seems I'm going to start putting some of what I've written in the past couple months up. Then I will be annoyed at how much less I like them.
  • Listening to: Football
  • Reading: Catch-22/The Waste Land
  • Watching: That little blinking bar that tells you to type.

deviantID

since-then
sarah
United States
Current Residence: Somewhere with KITTIES!
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Whatever fits...I hope.
Print preference: Does it matter?
Favourite genre of music: Didn't the previous question already cover this?
Favourite photographer: Haven't heard of any (whose names I remember).
Favourite style of art: It changes like my hobbies.
Operating System: o3 o3 o3 o3 o3 o3 o3 I made paw prints!
MP3 player of choice: Don't have one, don't care.
Shell of choice: Does this have anything to do with anything...? Atlantic Scallops, they're pink/orange/both.
Wallpaper of choice: A cat. Or an alligator snapping turtle in my yard.
Favourite cartoon character: Me! If I were a cartoon character.
Personal Quote: Good morning...
Interests

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:iconwingsalamode:
WingsALaMode Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2009
OMG, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!!

:0
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:iconrukiakuchiki926:
RukiaKuchiki926 Featured By Owner May 7, 2009
Good day, my cat-loving friend XD
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:iconsince-then:
since-then Featured By Owner May 8, 2009
We're sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again. This is a recording.
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