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Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 213 34
Literature
Wartime Pleas
It's early autumn and the war is far from over. I am
unable to travel the winding streets of your inner city,
to claim each building as mine. Rome remains unconquered -
you are still my Caesar.
We sit in darkened rooms together and our bodies
turn from ashes to ashes to night. At all times you look
out the window, dreaming of westward lands. Your hands
are strikes of lightning.
Light of my life: today the sky is a house of leaves.
There is the silver sound of gunfire in the air. The season
passes quickly, but before snow kisses the ground
let me find peace in the temple of your heart.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 20 5
Literature
A Hundred Ways
Happiness, a hundred ways:
unobtainable me and irrepressible you
slumped over sand. We draw the
briny scent of sea into our nostrils,
lungs expanding with light.
You and your limpid eyes so dark that
crabs could scuttle into them for shade,
smile lopsided from the time you stumbled
down the stairs, a flightless bird
and knocked out two front teeth. (You were
still laughing when we drove to the emergency room
as if there were rainbows lurking in the pain that
made your vision hazy, as if the rain was already
long gone.)
What a beautiful day. The tide's coming in
frantic and furious like it's two hours late instead
of right on time. You say let's go looking
for Atlantis
and so we let the raging water carry
us - our pale soft bodies - our throbbing hearts -
away; you hold my hand as we are swept under
not knowing if we will resurface
soon or ever,
not caring.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 15 4
Literature
Too little too late
honeybug,
you have a smile like the polished june moon,
remote eyes and reckless momentum.
I wanted to tell you that pleasure is beauty
that it resides in every nook of your body -
the fit of your frail bones, the
shell-like whorls of  your ears,
the sweet apex of your thighs.
We are as untenable as this melancholy season.
Lovely lovely lovely chants the refrain of the rain, whose
white hands leave me soaked and sobbing.
Your words are acts of arson.
I'm covered in third degree burns
the roof's burned down and robins
in my ribcage are singing spring.
It feels so much like the moment before goodbye.
I'll miss my sad girl, her singular voice
ringing out as horror flicks played in a darkened room
and the real fear lurked outside. Remember the first time, how the
earthquake came when we were naked and laughing?
I saw you standing in the rubble afterwards.
Watching the way your hands moved,
I thought you invincible.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 23 3
Literature
Aqueous
We were plants standing intertwined
in underwater haze. My roots had come
loose during lune hour; the June moon was
a polished orb oozing mellow light.  It trickled,
that brightness, into the clear river where
we swayed (there was no traffic, there was
the sleepless sound of cicadas).
Untenable, you said, remember?
We wanted so badly to stay but
the river paid no heed.
I understand now how the current
is aching, urgent, always carrying us away
from those small numinous spots of soil
we call home.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 15 4
Literature
Wet with Gasoline
Feverish, from cheek to bark.
You were a blazing willow tree,
an act of arson, heartwood on fire—
boughs bright with Sahara heat.
You were all but gone, stretching up to meet a
birdless sky. There was no way to sate the scissoring flame and
no way to please you.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 17 6
Literature
The Later that Killed
Last week we took a walk along the pebbly beach
where waves bit our heels, starved whippets
dark with wet.
The sloe-eyed sun was peering out from behind bar and
showing thin slants of brilliance. It was a numinous day.
There were sharp jagged rocks lining the shore—you took
one, drove it into the highways of my body, rollercoaster
red looping like a boneless dance
or clover interchange.
Your hands, at the steering wheel: steady stone. The naked
knees and loose lips were all aquiver.
The tide was shivering, silvering
we clothed ourselves in blue and little else.
I warned, "you'll make yourself sick."
Now I have hurt your heart and am responsible, you say,
for the lost hair, dimmed eyes, varicose veins like
sleepy rivers.
But tell me, where was the insistent pain
when we were barefoot on damp gold?
It sprouted like fungi—aftermath of rain—
flourishing in the cold.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 18 7
Literature
A Beautiful Nonsense
From the first I thought you transcendent. Your body
silhouetted in the doorway was thin, long like a length of rope.
There were lanterns bobbing outside, flooding the night
with dim orange
the color was on your face and hands as if
you had eaten slices of the noonday sun;
your skin was velvet on fire.
-
a fatherless boy, you learned your first
words from the television. I took that to be why
at times you were like a blank screen,
arctic eyes unresponsive—
there was a problem with the signal.
The beautiful moving images started and stopped
I wanted to call a repair man but my friends told
me to pray.
-
your sleep carried you away from me.
while dreaming you bought plane tickets, went on boat rides,
stepped across the cratered surface of the moon
you boarded trains the color of jade and I wanted to know
did you leave your heart on them like a piece of abandoned
luggage so that it would always be speeding away?
-
a ruby-throated hummingbird visited my birdfeeder yesterday.
the sky w
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 32 4
Literature
Actually, It Snowed
It was raining copper today.
You were lying under piles of pennies,
shame like a dagger parked into flesh,
pious in prayer; you were streaming
hot music through your ear canals
as if you believed that happiness
could somehow be scalded
onto skin.
The fight scene was set in the kitchen.
Pots and pans skidded across the
kitchen, a rush of gleam; you
ran but her voice nailed
you to the linoleum floor.
Metals jangled rudely and,
my god, you were so sick of making your
way through life like a catfish with
the barbels sheared right off.
You wanted desperately to reside in
New Zealand, sending postcards and scraps
of love to your parents once every thirteen months.
You wanted to be a kite gone rogue, a fugitive
hiding among the island sheep, an unmanned
aircraft.
Lately behind your eyes there is always
the idea—friendly and faceless—beautiful as
choir bells—of immigrating into a new life.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 25 4
Literature
Mise-en-abyme
The days are like some mockery of babushka dolls,
each uncapped to reveal a more compact hideousness.
Eventually there remains neither fine detailing nor any hope of
a pleasant surprise, only solid wood, a lathed baby,
a perfect metaphor for my round and complete
unhappiness. We shed our hope with our skin,
dead cells on the floor. Onions may be peeled
into nothingness even as they incite tears;
stories end with the narrator suspended by
the neck, chair kicked to the side, cares
misplaced, love slumbering soundly
somewhere on the east coast.
Blissful only in oblivion.
Strange as it may seem, I used to think
that joy could nest anywhere.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 19 6
Literature
Romancing Cotton
Someone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her like
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet.  What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
dry hands.
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
of crows slipping across the sheet of day. Union makes for ardour
and sweat. We were trying to build a body bereft of bones, with
phrases shaped like small sharp pins, like dove-fletched
arrows, like abandoned gods—relatively, you're
beautiful
and there are always greater pains.
I assembled cribs, prayed to the god of broken things.
The future
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 190 34
Literature
Attrition
I lived with him for the period of time it took
to go through a tube of toothpaste—love, turns out,
can be as easily used up as gel dentrifice. At first
there was patience, adoration, words like
the touch of a velveteen rabbit. Months later
the carcass of our relationship lay belly-up
on remorse-stained carpet: a testament to
the power of erosion.
In the middle of the night my mind is cluttered with
wrapping paper, the memory of the scent of dewberries,
a Chopin waltz he played and butchered (it's intention
that counts, but sometimes no numbers are enough).
His thick voice was the lallation of a recent
immigrant devastated by the new and cold.
Remembering the way that mouth moved brings
a pain that warrants singing; nostalgia,
I have discovered, leaves people
bearing large packages of ache.
I subscribe to the belief that little adjustments
To the tracks of our lives matter, that exercising
caution will somehow enable me to escape
from passion, erosion, disillusion
tender and unhar
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 9 5
Literature
Very close, the holiday season
We are new and naked, a house open to the world, and
I do not think the novelty of it will ever wear off—this is
Christmas Eve, all the beauty of almost bright like glass.
The air is redolent of last month's failures. Unlock the door,
Let the fresh year in. I will play a song to the cold and
Submerse myself in louche fantasies, heart drumming
veins wondering.
Do you-do you realize what you are holding in your arms? Answer
Is: someone who does not understand the concept of limitations,
Flighty as a migrating bird, face shaped like a mistake.
Truth be told I care nothing about honesty or being
Honorable, just could not bear to see rejection
Ribboning from your pretty mouth. My dear,
Hold me as a corset does a woman's torso.
Say you'll love a liar.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 23 4
Literature
blind is bright
what did you see today?
well I saw a woman whose skin was like
drapes of cream, like the smoothest Yukon
snowfall you've never seen, my desertboy,
her rouge tipped across cheeks glossed with
lychee pulp—scarlet brewed and served sweet
on a shore leeched clean of shame.
you would have stared, for sure.
and I was on the bus with children
their hands fluent as damselflies addressed
to parents with clogged ears and open palms
I promise, I was only rude
because I didn't know how not to be
same as the way the sound of us
rendered in your inflection and estival lisp
strikes me blank and stupid
and loved.
oh, i saw a girl as well.
hair cut short; any vanity on her would
have been excess—you take my meaning? she
was not beautiful. but she had enough pinches
of aqueous sunshine and tornadoes
in her mouth to last a while, i saw her in the mirror
but she didn't wave, was too busy being oblivious,
infatuated, plain as a song sung
under dead leaves.
you know closing my eyes I wished
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 30 8
Literature
hallmark of home
I live in a temperate rainforest biome, where it is
too damp for romance too green for the best kind
of desecration you and I will never engage in,
give to give,
but last night was a cold desert—a white fawn—
a cheesecake moon—
and I wanted so much to find you for more, was
afraid of stepping out, of lacking luck enough to
encounter that dreaded hallmark of home: acid
rain, as it falls and shines and kills
this heaven-heat.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 14 6
Literature
ombrophobia
today is the kind of day that—if translated
into personhood—would be thin and not unattractive,
in possession of eyes the same color as skinned fish,
with an oneiric cast to her lips, mind macerating
in the image of neat cheerful little graveyards
(as if their very existence didn't consign
them to melancholy).
a line of thought unfurls:
this state of being cannot go on yet
she knows herself incapable of bringing it
to a halt and her entire body quivers in anticipation of
clouds;
the sun of such lives can be here
but briefly.
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel
:iconsliverofciel:sliverofciel 19 6

Favourites

Drops Brushes by notasinglesong2 Drops Brushes :iconnotasinglesong2:notasinglesong2 52 3 Blood by Scully7491 Blood :iconscully7491:Scully7491 2,841 157
Literature
Deus ex machina
Ink & blue-on-screen-on-wall, the sky was humming with the
convergence of dirt and hallelujah;
an awareness that, given moments or months,
growth can consume you.
The radio was invisible as I tried to think less of historical anomalies
and more of cavities in the earth that
sheer away into shades of escape.
Waiting in a city that existed without the aid of wings
we walked streets holding hands like
touch could bring the buskers to their feet
and keep pavement from cracking. At some point
the walk reached an elevator and then a decision.
Soon there were cold fingers and pale grey smiles and gloves
that smelt like headlights
and the eyes of a fox at twilight.
The car bays were full so we were waiting at the bus stop when your message reached me.
The driver asked for change and I wondered how the whorls of our words ever touched.
I took a seat and an old man asked
who was going to tell you
I was gone.
:iconOceansOfBlue:OceansOfBlue
:iconoceansofblue:OceansOfBlue 9 10
Journal
Spreading the DA Love: Vol. 1
Welcome to the 1st volume of Spreading the DA Love
:heart::iconGoldendAplz::heart::iconGoldendAplz::heart:
As the title suggests, this news article series aim to promote wonderful aspects of the deviantART community, from showcasing beautiful works of art, to informing you of great groups, and to interviewing inspirational deviants. I feel so happy being part of such a wonderful community and I hope to make it better, even if it's only a little bit, by making these articles. My goal is to bring to light everything that impassions me and, hopefully, inspire you!
At the end of each month I'll release a new article chock full of amazing stuff I have discovered here on deviantART that I feel would be great to share with the rest of the community, whether they are popular or not.  Also, I'm open to any suggestions regarding groups you feel deserve some good old DA love or maybe even an inspirational deviant who you might like to see interviewed.
Each articl
:iconQuolia:Quolia
:iconquolia:Quolia 38 40
Literature
that may.
we turned off televisions and radios, hearing your name on strange tongues, and turned instead to solace; your grandmother, alone in her room, untold of your death.  and Pavel, part crying to your coffin, part laughing towards the sky;
Ira, in purple hail, we saw you standing there.  your bones just buried 'neath the ground,
denied - we saw you everywhere.
:iconetre-aime:etre-aime
:iconetre-aime:etre-aime 32 8
Apple Blossom by JeddieFacenna Apple Blossom :iconjeddiefacenna:JeddieFacenna 319 46 G u a r d i a n by DusterAmaranth G u a r d i a n :icondusteramaranth:DusterAmaranth 283 138
Literature
it's hard to love a trainwreck
Note to self: Do not fall.
apart. Do not fall in love
with a Scientologist. Do
not let a coin make life-
changing decisions.  Do
not listen to the leaves,
or to Honest Abe; he
says Heads, but I say
Tails. Do not listen to
the Devil on your left
shoulder; shrug your
right one, but do not
listen to the angel,
either. Do not listen
to your libido; listen
to your heart, even
when you're going
deaf.  Do not listen
to The All-American
Rejects when
you're depressed.  Do not
listen to this. Do not take
my advice.  Do not take a
chance.  Do not take two
pills. Do not take Physics;
do not take out the trash.
Do not take out all of this
on your boyfriend. Do not
take the easy way out; it
is not worth the pain. Do
not take that which does
not belong to you; do not
take candy from babies. I
am a baby&you're candy.
Do not take off the week;
do not take off your shirt;
do not take off.
:iconChloroformBoy:ChloroformBoy
:iconchloroformboy:ChloroformBoy 171 84
- Don't eat me, ... please by LiiQa - Don't eat me, ... please :iconliiqa:LiiQa 1,820 370
Mature content
Ten Things I Probably Should :iconelzorrito:elzorrito 1,221 381
Boo 02 by Donnis Boo 02 :icondonnis:Donnis 117 20
Literature
it rained one year ago today.
so i thought i
was invisible; and i
could hide from you and
your glances that cripple
and
break me.
-
so i thought you were
deaf; and you couldn't
hear me and i didn't
have to hide my words
along
with my actions.
-
so i thought i was
gone; and you weren't a part
of me anymore, but you found
ways
to stay inside of me when
i was
inside out.
-
it is cold outside and i'm
sitting on your porch
waiting for you to
come home
again; i remember one
year ago today, when we stood together
in the streets; in traffic.
we felt free.
we felt safe.
:iconstuff7:stuff7
:iconstuff7:stuff7 49 50
Literature
self-esteem
i beg you to command me,
                                                     softly,
          or else
a forestfire of lust and variant futures
            will breeze into the grandfather
clock and the hand will strike
                                                     me
    with only an hour
      
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 17 24
Passengers by miqulski Passengers :iconmiqulski:miqulski 1,445 366

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sliverofciel
if windows stayed open
Canada

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2012   General Artist
Hello there, lovely person! :wave:

You've just been featured in my journal: [link] :heart:

It would mean the world to me if you could the article and maybe even find some pieces worth faving as well? :eager:

Thank you so very much for your time! :la:
Reply
:iconvespera:
vespera Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2012  Professional Writer
your gallery is impressive
Reply
:iconmummywriter:
MummyWriter Featured By Owner Jun 26, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Your beautiful literature has been featured in my journal ([link]) along with many other wonderful writing pieces! :heart:

Thank you for being a writer and bringing your lovely literature to the DeviantART community for the enjoyment of others. :meow:

~Abigail (=MummyWriter) :iconbeauroseplz:
Reply
:iconakarra:
akarra Featured By Owner May 4, 2012  Student Writer
You've got some awesome work:

"Your words are acts of arson.
I'm covered in third degree burns
the roof's burned down and robins
in my ribcage are singing spring."

I've got to figure out a way to incorporate such awesome words into my own work. Thank you for sharing!
Reply
:iconwafflemel:
wafflemel Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2012  Hobbyist
lmao, hey peipei my lovely <3
Reply
:icontsukiiyo:
Tsukiiyo Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Very nice gallery! :heart:
I would like you to come join me in my group [link] to share your wonderful creations.
Reply
:icondeerberry:
deerberry Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012   Artist
you are incredible.
Reply
:icondeerberry:
deerberry Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2012   Artist
well, i just realized i recently commented on here complimenting your writing, so now i feel obsequious and weird. but whatever! :laughing:
Reply
:iconsliverofciel:
sliverofciel Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2012
NO. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DOING SO. It means a lot to me.
Reply
:iconindigo-mouse:
indigo-mouse Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
what a gallery. don't stop.
Reply
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