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Keep your verse terse
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Literature
the daughter universe
Lonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little houses
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother.  Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
here.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 90 30
Literature
Alchemy
Inside these walls, I wait past dark.
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 15 15
Literature
workshop
The hearth in your denim pocket,
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 19 19
Literature
working
I wake
in mourning
working
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
brittles
in their
marrow
the eyes
become
dimensionless
never weep
from their sleep
years
digress
between
sun salutations
the gut
grows
tempestuous
with a cruel child’s
shame
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
deity
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
deadnettle
for regret
in the early grave
of March.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 26 11
Literature
The Meaning of Bearing Life

Experience
may not last.
It
is impractical to
continue to evolve and become
the collective
experience of
bearing life,
for such
internal hardening and
the effects of
material
fatigue, going further
can be called
failure.
Life is the
life of bearing before it fails;
the so-called life
experience.
Life should peak,
oscillate, or remain
extremely short
and compromise
known or calculable external forces
or inertia.  When
free,
ignore deformations in the
frame
and act on a bearing, on a
direction,
for only light
applies to
pure
acts.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 15 8
Literature
60 Inch Samsung TV
The vagabond
at its hilt
in its infant neural twist
before meandering
80 years
in feral knots
and vanishing in a lurch
prior to weeping
into knees
for uninvited gods
in the cold behind the grocery
despite a lack
of all the trappings
articulating
personhood
I’m sure he had it:
a smoke of a dream
a million heaving cigarettes
blazing in the unborn stem.
I took his air
and animation
but in this new configuration
the atoms speak only to his faithful ghost.
In my stolen host
my wiry beard
I never leave my final place
reclining
in the aftermath
and never knowing.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 19
Literature
Elsewhere
I do not cede your life to you.
All things begin in my aching bed.
Baristas, starmen, nothing has survived the light.
The living lose their space to me.
The last fond ritual before the ghosts will be allowed their speech
is the moment that I really live, when I breed all neurotic wants at once:
to king, to beggar, to whore out every figure
yet to be betrayed by gross approximation
and dumbly muddled by these dumb fingers.
The all important touch is just a disillusioned brute
hanging like an ugly halo around an arbitrary mass
that hosts your hidden magic.
And I kill the world to have it.
What bizarre and dissolute intelligence births itself in a hot smear of thought,
infests the throbbing slums of my sentience with ideas,
hungers and machinates for a free and unkempt soul,
reams into the deep darknet to damn my lazy search for hell,
or no, but to illuminate this damning of my design
and uncouple me from centuries of tiresome ontologies?
I’ve waited for the searing sign to emblaze
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 6
Literature
Retirement
The pecan tree looms like a ghast above the trail
waiting to collapse and crush someone’s skull.
It’s fruitless and frozen in the throes of a last hurrah,
unmoved and unmoving, a fitting bride for fire.  
I wonder when they’ll cut it down?
I am a wretched effigy
pining for the arborist to cull me from the path.
I’m still leftover from the bloom
frankly splayed upon the bosom
of this great interminable happening.
All that is animate is my nonnecessity.
I can no longer rise above the level of my eyes.
The tendons are frayed and salt-encrusted
sail boat lines brittling in the Gulf.
The bones grow blond and discontented.
Tell me, why should I ever move again?
The wind will list southward and find its way
to cool the cracks in this rainless mud.
The planet will bring news of the coming brood,
drench the veins with a violent pace
and I will finally be replaced.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 12 12
Literature
Business Trip
I’ll never make the drive west to San Fran
like a psychedelic troubadour
a zealous eremite on a mad mad dash
a pilgrimage through the Sonoran holy desert
those hipsters lounging outside City Light Books
cream in their wares about.
No, it’ll be this lonely business
pragmatically jetting over grave errors
of character and wind wrinkled hillsides
everyone circling the same 25K miles
half-dead asleep on these very wings!
All the while, trying to forget
what the world remembers to forget;
this is what you wanted.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 14 16
Literature
language
I see her
foraging
for joy
in the tiniest of things
and pretend
I know the world
as well.
Somewhere
on her lips and cheeks -
a myriad of flights
and plumes,
the sweet
dichotomies
between
her muscle
cantering
the pace
of summer
and lounging
with the artless peace
of willows
guarding
waters’ edge,
I find
what she is
looking for -
a pair
of shadows
in her eyes.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 24
Literature
loathe
Curious, how he ages past his origins
a rage unfurrowed by the planet's touch
by the girl who held him like a furnace bides the coals
by the women who survive him as a coat of arms
by the man whose imperative is sowing seeds in space
on the mind within the mind where ancient troubles fall on lips
and regrets' subdermal cultivation
in the bodice of his erroneous twin
bloom in these terrific wires
‘till they turn up into the skin;
recalcitrant sores of a leper god
see them worship and abhor!
What tribe, these scars
dark medicine art
and who will bear his animus
when now he's old and new again?
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 7
Mature content
The God Of Landscape Timbers Says Not To Worry :iconspoems:spoems 14 13
Literature
caesura
Today, impermanence is 5 weeks of rain
and pine limbs spindling clear above the house
and things I’ve left underground:
a cavity in the storm
misplaced regality
a stark white coat.
How do we perish yet
still lounge eminently
sharpening the catalpa
pacing the gutters
impaling midnight
in our wanton monotone?
My jealous imperia do not ruin.
Innocence is never lost.
It grows back like phantom vertebrae
and rebuilds the animal.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 22 15
Literature
the lesson
Following the last communique
of any order
of anything,
we'll not find a posteriori death
no grand apocalypse
carried off in bits by ants
or hurtling beside us
like dark matter twins
nestled in our bullet blue capsules
fighting us for singular dimension.
Under stones, behind the clouds
sleeping in fire, circling in bodies
we'll turn over nothing in nothing
that doesn't lead the way to these:
Pioneering blossoms
of my judas tree;
unabashed
unrepentant
Mexican pink.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 27
Literature
I would have you do this
Here.
this is your prayer
your mantra, your news.
I leave it as I found it, papering in the streets.
as godless a truth as you will know
it’s still a ghost of a dream
smaller than theories of infinite resolution.  
you will believe it because it has no industry
no acolytes or storefronts.
it’s not an embezzlement of fascination
or confabulation of missing histories.
you will not doubt its truth because your design is hollow
    the space inside your car
    the adventitious spine that vials through the weeds
    the ice of march on adam’s needle
    the ants, crickets, beetles under sandstone
    waiting in a music box for the catalysts to wake
    and split them out into the breen.
you will speak of your awareness
without knowing what inhabits it
    like a colour that doesn't hum
    or passing through a future forest
    of apparitions in bald park meadows
    a
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 28 15
Literature
While Driving in the Suburbs on Valentine's Day
I’m sure of nothing, no one;
we’ll never be ourselves.
Our lone device is left to searching
through bins and vessels
on drives and circles
one by one, houses upon houses
secreting pills and thoughts and air
behind their stealthy doors and bellies.
I stab into each of their ugly little anthems.
What is mine?
What is mine.
Windows caught on Christmas trees
pathologically white
the pale hypnosis of television
bleeding through curtains drawn to a slit.
What dares to go on living in there?
Dawn comes drunk and begging
shrill and shameless, undiscerning
‘till the string breaks high above the plains
‘till it’s engorged on everything
the hairline crack in a potted blue sage
the lip of the gutters haunted by cats.
Houses are holding things close to their lungs
moistened in darkness, a glorious sadness
that no one's allowed.  Left out!  We're left out
of unholy communions, distensions of time.
I've only the rumors to cradle my demons
and only your face, sw
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 25

Random from Poetry

Literature
fill pages
fill pages
from roll of stones
     on one foot path
from tilt of chair
     before it will fall
or pattern
     produced by light and lace
then fill with
     rape at 14
or then
     drugs at 12
with full details
     on what kind
     (pot)
     where
     (jeff's house)
     what it was
     (alright)
or lies
     on what girl you want
you know you need
      that smile
but these lies
     fictionalized
recreate the reason
      so many are still so few that
fill pages.
:iconGhrey:Ghrey
:iconghrey:Ghrey 2 2
Mature content
guiltless masturbation :iconsulvee:sulvee 3 4
Literature
the eyes of k-f
In the hospital named after the saint of children, sixty-five miles outside of home, I sat
in aweTop-seat of the theatre where we watched Kermit the Frog pucker his green cheeks and
make you giggle andWrithe onMy lap as the room filled withWater from theStreet all covered
in iceFrom where you forgot to turnBoth ways as theSpigot sputtered and spat cold water on
to the floorAs my feetIn a nervous rythmeFlowed in time with the crash ofApplause as I sat
in aweTop-floor of the hospital where I watched you sleepWhere you attempted to cross that
the streetTurning only once--one way(back to me)There your eyes in the gleam of headlights
I will never see
:iconsulvee:sulvee
:iconsulvee:sulvee 3 0
Literature
deathtreatebbingbreath
* .... through crooked&plastic
TEETH....
my sister shys into shadows her
pale pink lips
.... slowly breathes ....
H A L L O W E E N
H A L L O W E E N
here we are together; holding hands
our tempered juliet gloves together
with buckets glow skeletal & sweet;
asidelong glance of frightened eyes
cold @ October-hips touching warmth
{ sang doorbells!
{ sing demons!
{ oo oo, aa aa!
the incandescent red lights heave()
i mean S
        C
         R
  E
   E
            E
     E
              E
               E
                A
A
        
:iconsulvee:sulvee
:iconsulvee:sulvee 4 2
Literature
November 3 tris
Memories will stay
long after my final words.
Think of me, often.
:iconPrettyCrazy:PrettyCrazy
:iconprettycrazy:PrettyCrazy 3 7
Literature
November 1
We clean the graves,
put fresh flowers with the dead.
Clean beds - better sleep.
:iconPrettyCrazy:PrettyCrazy
:iconprettycrazy:PrettyCrazy 4 11
Literature
Am I nothing?
                                          Am I nothing
                                          But a voice—
                                        Who has never
                                   &
:iconwldmtnhny:wldmtnhny
:iconwldmtnhny:wldmtnhny 1 3
Literature
the morning afters
wash off the night sounds
and the secrets you wore
                                 for him
           the spice colored lipstick
           the muffled purr
           the fortune-teller glint painted into your gypsy eyes
shed the clothes that aren't yours
shed the skin you weren't born with
It's morning now
and there's nothing you can do.
:iconFrancieT:FrancieT
:iconfranciet:FrancieT 1 2
Literature
Spider Webs
his mind is full of
spiders that spin vast webs and
eat each other whole
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w 6 20
Literature
Poseidon I
Poseidon told me
about a race,
distant cousins of his,
that swim across the lightwaves
and solar winds
that stretch the length of the universe
He told me that they combat
the currents of dark matter
and ride the undertow of gravity
as they avoid getting drunkenly drawn
into suns and blackholes
He told me that when they kiss,
nebulae form around them,
making procreation as dangerous
as dancing in minefields
He told me that when they are born,
like angels, they must quickly learn
to breathe the light
or they will wither like damned souls
He told me than when they die,
they dry and harden, and are at last
pulled into the hearts of flaming stars
where they explode like the shards of diamonds
(redhot, with radiant white auras)
He told me that their weary spirits rest
in the blackness beneath
constellations
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w 6 19
Literature
the last day of the World
On the last day of the World
we discovered,
(of all things)
wine favours the liver
far better than brandy.
Remember when
there were so
many goddam miracles,
we couldn’t seal
the embankment?
Those bricks wept
of hand-blood and
still they poured unstoppable,
those weird
serendipities,
like leadlight
candles,
through stained glass
moulds.
And You?
Well, You grew my feet,
to fit certain sandals.
But hot blotches and spacious
sizes are no substitutes
for freedom.
Objective philanthropic growth?
Oh please, life was never so big.
And Myths?
I declare, what lit
and talking box,
will tell me what to think again?
What sediments of wit and foreplay
slip though these waves of mud?
Show me your chaos and
I will present to you
the gift of perfect order.
And Time?
History built stone sticks,
from earth and wood,
to hold our strange desires.
Sand to glass,
towers with cloud views.
Rivers swerved
and diffused,
and we forgot to ask,
if they could ever disappear.
(Turns out they could.)
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth 26 32
Literature
complete exsanguination...
       who knew it would be
so hard to make oaths in blood?
        let's use spit instead.
:iconthisdemonblack:thisdemonblack
:iconthisdemonblack:thisdemonblack 9 30
Literature
Vagrants
Your words are vagrants,
bent black and blue
by the wind -
soiled and lonely,
waiting for a beautiful man
to brush them from your face
and make them clean.
They long to find a hallway
and to intoxicate someone's lover
and play Jezebel in his arms
without understanding
what his name really means
and why his wife is dying.
They want to call him on the telephone
and ask if these scars are real
or if all sin is original,
immaculate and lacking,
like something left out overnight
that cannot find its home.
They want to hit below the belt
and leave lipstick on his collar,
a telltale slash,
and climb into a whiskey bottle  
left hiding in a suitcase -
the kind your father carried
when he left you
waiting for a promise.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 136 99
Literature
love and justice: a blind date
I now prefer
my beauty
nameless
so I can quake
and curse fate
blameless
bereft
of the burden
of discovery
avoiding left by
almost alright with
anonymity
see
once you learn
to love
it's like
riding a bike
and it seems
I never met a liar
that I didn't like
and/or
I love you's
not a sentence
that lasts
for life
or perhaps
(and this
possibility
just occurred
to me)
there's a sort of
painful
parole
obtained through
perjury
so
what's a boy
to fear
when fear's not
what it appears
to be?
how to
intuit an intent
when purpose is
a question
in perpetuity?
:iconYouInventedMe:YouInventedMe
:iconyouinventedme:YouInventedMe 125 120
my favorite dA poetry

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I'm open for requested critiques - mainly free verse poetry, but I'll consider other forms. Please note me with a link or links to pieces you would like critiqued, and I will add them to the list.

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matron by InkatMidnight

Little Submarines by ohara1901

Freediving by indiana-w

Name That Baby by xlntwtch

This, My Father Talk by TheGlassIris
Ghost by TheGlassIris
Portrait with Mourners and Childless Couple by TheGlassIris

remembering by ersatz-moon

Wasteland by Infractusgrace

Wings of Glass by Klei-Brandybear

space by Tomea

Rivalry by akkajess

House of Life Lessons by belcanto2

My sorrow by TheIcyGlaceon

A Year Spent With Delirious Wounds by Canis44

For Leyla by S1n7h

Human seasons by byronycal

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Holidays, DDs, and White Feature

Journal Entry: Sat Dec 19, 2015, 12:24 PM
For me, the holidays are always a time to reflect on the state of life and things.  I look on this past year, and in spite of whatever happenstance I might consider as negative, such as health issues or the general and seemingly unending malaise of the world, I am forced to conclude that it was, in fact, as good a year as I could want.  As joy often goes underreported, I’m here to say that good things did and do happen.  And they will continue to happen.

In the realm of DA, I received a DD feature on my poem Pertrichor spoems.deviantart.com/art/Petr… , thanks to LiliWrites .  Considering the recent changes to the site, I had hoped that DA would make daily deviations more prominent than they have been. My feedback to staff has always been that DDs are not an art filter or browse option, they are a feature. Don't make people dig for them, as that is really antithetical to the purpose of a feature.

I’m also closing in on 9 years on the site.  I look back at my art, the art of my DA friends and other artists I admire as well as the site as a whole, and I do notice the changes in all these aspects.  Here’s to the continuing evolution of our art and our spirits.

I hope everyone has a great holiday season.  If you prone to struggling emotionally during this time of year, Heidi has compiled a good list of hotlines that people can call to get help:
 




                                                                                             ~*~
                                                                     


And now for a white feature:




 
                                     
                                                       

 
 
088 by narva     11 by staceyclarkephoto



                                        
                                         


Victor 3 by NataliaCiobanu



White Lace by AgatkaAltModel   
                                                



 Dispersion by offermoord



K by RealKilroy   


Black and White Fluid Painting by Mark-Chadwick



                                          
                                          
     

his history by MartaSyrko



Pale by thefirebomb   



Sky Storm Sea by Senecal


                                                                                  



Marine by EmilySoto

     
                              
                                         




   golden river by KariLiimatainen



luna by ESPRIT-CONFUS



M by kakaoconad


Helena by EmilySoto




W-out 0392  '  spekker ' by W-out









Cheers.

shane

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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States


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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States

words cannot describe what i really am







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Please join us there and share your literature with us.



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Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconspecialized666:
specialized666 Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2018  Professional General Artist
Hi, have an awesome day :happybounce:
Reply
:iconaway-with-knives:
aWay-with-knives Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2018  Student General Artist
I love you Shane, thanks for being there to inspire me. vents are cappileries; black holes and white holes are the feeders
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:iconbeeswingblue:
beeswingblue Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2017   Writer
Hi -- I haven't heard from you for many moons, and I hope that you are healthy and happy.  I've been worried. Much love to you. :heart:
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:iconrensknight:
RensKnight Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Hi...I used the "Send a Note" feature on dA-Literature to inquire about something group-related, but I am not sure that was the right place to ask my question.  Please let me know if I need to re-send it to you, or to someone else.  Thanks!
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:iconzpnn:
zpnn Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi! Sorry, very late response, but Shane hasnt been online in two years so it is unlikely you'd get a reply from him.

Was your issue resolved through notes?
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:iconrensknight:
RensKnight Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
It looks like because of the admin rights issues there is no way to submit to the folder (religious works) that I have been told as a member to submit to.
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:iconzpnn:
zpnn Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Yeah, next time you try to submit comment in the comment section (of the submission request) and let us know. I'll have to manually move it over for now.
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:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2017
Whoa!  Belated, Shane!:iconblushesplz:
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:iconcinnamoncandy:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday!
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