the-photographicpoet's avatar
Put Your Brave Face On
21 Watchers160.4K Page Views357 Deviations
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Does the sound of metal crushing against metal stay in your dreams? Flecks of amber and salmon pink engraved upon the flesh of your palms? Do you remember feeling the seconds drag by in hours as we rolled into one with the September night? A moment, a glance too fast was it all it took for you to spin me upon the axis of life. The scream, the glass shattering screams Ring inside my ears and the shards of the wind screen pushed deep into my skin. Does it keep you awake with sweat drenching your body, saturating you with the sheets? Do you regret that quick trip to the shops to pick up your dirty cigarettes? Did you mean to invade my dreams
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Shattered Glass
My stomach is upside down, resting uneasy on the roof of the salmon pink Corsa, the pounding of adrenaline in my fingertips - it takes a while for me to take it in It's me, strapped in and immobilised One, two, and a half... My ears sting from the sound of glass, and I can't feel my legs. Silence. After an eternity, I feel the life flood into me, escaping through the tears I'm holding back. My voice feels trapped, I'm trapped, and then he moves. I hear him speak, I feel his arm rest around my shoulders Releasing me from this nightmare, the shattered glass in my hands Blood drips from his wrist and I have a white hot iron Dragging itself
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Grief
Grief will make you do strange things, like change your bed sheets at midnight Just so the smell of yesterday's grief doesn't linger on your skin It will post a letter saying sorry, but you forget to write the address And then realise, and deny the fact that this is actually happening. Grief will make you laugh, and then cry, all in hysteria. I also won't mention how writing poetry in just your dressing gown seems like the most vulnerable act in the world. But it is, and I'm doing it for you. To say goodbye with dry tears is like throwing up on an empty stomach. The skin on the inside is raw, and whilst biologically impossible, it feels as
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Find Me
Find me, here in your arms - I'll follow you blindly. I want to be where you are, and in times of needs I just want you to stay When I can't find the right words to say, I'll listen to your voice all around. Leading me to the only place we need to be. Find me when the tears start to fall, Promise me you'll place your arms, and lead me to where we need to go. We'll find peace and belief in this moment And breathe easy for just a little while. Find me in your arms, where I'll always stay.
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Senses
Fire soaring in my finger tips, over my blushing lips as you brush your kisses on my cheek. Salt water in my eyes, tickling down in silver tracks of desperation. You catch my breath in your throat, and I can see your heart beating in my chest. We're one and the same. Embraced in your warmth, melting to your tender touch, your words of comfort and ignorant understanding: if only I could believe you when you say things are going to be okay. But you're the only one who understands the way my heart breaks, cries. The way it fractures, and rebuilds itself. Your strength, your absolution become my foundations, my shoulders when the truth break
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Infertile
I'm out of sync and desire with my body. Tonight, I intend to pour a bottle of red down my throat and hope to God it eases the guilty conscience at the back of my mind. Today, the Jewish gentleman told me. I am not a woman in the full sense. I am the vessel carrying sick cells, sick cells that mutate and decay what is left of my love and my womb. A carcass, stretched down the sides and with a broken spine: life finally settled on my shoulders. The tears settle on my lap. Beneath me is a broken bottle, etched deep in my skin. There are new stains on the carpet. If only my heart could weep the same way.
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The Driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain
Introduction: Gender or Class – the driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain? Charity work provided women of Victorian Britain with a platform between the home, social politics and the public sector which was traditionally perceived to be predominantly secularised and patriarchal. It is the general consensus that women in mid-Victorian Britain were the hidden members of society, and played a crucial role as the domesticated ‘Angel of the House’.1 However, this is rather limited understanding. On the contrary, women performed an essential role through the growing philanthropic movement, a role that provided elite and midd
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Someone I Once Knew
Your cheeks are like shallow graves in snow: pale, empty and gaunt. The silver lines of wrinkles, dried tears and worn out smiles rest heavily beneath your eyes, and your mouth is pulled into a permanent tight line. Only now you're resting inside a chestnut shaded embrace. The smell of oak, lavendar and stale life evade my senses. Cracked skin tissue - death. It's all too consuming, yet you all I can feel is a hollowness. I'm like the cancer that broke your soul from your body, stretched your barriers until the arms of angels could only grant you peace. Now you're someone I once knew, in a place I will never reach. Not even my tears can ra
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See all
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Does the sound of metal crushing against metal stay in your dreams? Flecks of amber and salmon pink engraved upon the flesh of your palms? Do you remember feeling the seconds drag by in hours as we rolled into one with the September night? A moment, a glance too fast was it all it took for you to spin me upon the axis of life. The scream, the glass shattering screams Ring inside my ears and the shards of the wind screen pushed deep into my skin. Does it keep you awake with sweat drenching your body, saturating you with the sheets? Do you regret that quick trip to the shops to pick up your dirty cigarettes? Did you mean to invade my dreams
0
8
S
Shattered Glass
My stomach is upside down, resting uneasy on the roof of the salmon pink Corsa, the pounding of adrenaline in my fingertips - it takes a while for me to take it in It's me, strapped in and immobilised One, two, and a half... My ears sting from the sound of glass, and I can't feel my legs. Silence. After an eternity, I feel the life flood into me, escaping through the tears I'm holding back. My voice feels trapped, I'm trapped, and then he moves. I hear him speak, I feel his arm rest around my shoulders Releasing me from this nightmare, the shattered glass in my hands Blood drips from his wrist and I have a white hot iron Dragging itself
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0
G
Grief
Grief will make you do strange things, like change your bed sheets at midnight Just so the smell of yesterday's grief doesn't linger on your skin It will post a letter saying sorry, but you forget to write the address And then realise, and deny the fact that this is actually happening. Grief will make you laugh, and then cry, all in hysteria. I also won't mention how writing poetry in just your dressing gown seems like the most vulnerable act in the world. But it is, and I'm doing it for you. To say goodbye with dry tears is like throwing up on an empty stomach. The skin on the inside is raw, and whilst biologically impossible, it feels as
0
1
F
Find Me
Find me, here in your arms - I'll follow you blindly. I want to be where you are, and in times of needs I just want you to stay When I can't find the right words to say, I'll listen to your voice all around. Leading me to the only place we need to be. Find me when the tears start to fall, Promise me you'll place your arms, and lead me to where we need to go. We'll find peace and belief in this moment And breathe easy for just a little while. Find me in your arms, where I'll always stay.
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Senses
Fire soaring in my finger tips, over my blushing lips as you brush your kisses on my cheek. Salt water in my eyes, tickling down in silver tracks of desperation. You catch my breath in your throat, and I can see your heart beating in my chest. We're one and the same. Embraced in your warmth, melting to your tender touch, your words of comfort and ignorant understanding: if only I could believe you when you say things are going to be okay. But you're the only one who understands the way my heart breaks, cries. The way it fractures, and rebuilds itself. Your strength, your absolution become my foundations, my shoulders when the truth break
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I
Infertile
I'm out of sync and desire with my body. Tonight, I intend to pour a bottle of red down my throat and hope to God it eases the guilty conscience at the back of my mind. Today, the Jewish gentleman told me. I am not a woman in the full sense. I am the vessel carrying sick cells, sick cells that mutate and decay what is left of my love and my womb. A carcass, stretched down the sides and with a broken spine: life finally settled on my shoulders. The tears settle on my lap. Beneath me is a broken bottle, etched deep in my skin. There are new stains on the carpet. If only my heart could weep the same way.
2
1
T
The Driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain
Introduction: Gender or Class – the driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain? Charity work provided women of Victorian Britain with a platform between the home, social politics and the public sector which was traditionally perceived to be predominantly secularised and patriarchal. It is the general consensus that women in mid-Victorian Britain were the hidden members of society, and played a crucial role as the domesticated ‘Angel of the House’.1 However, this is rather limited understanding. On the contrary, women performed an essential role through the growing philanthropic movement, a role that provided elite and midd
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Someone I Once Knew
Your cheeks are like shallow graves in snow: pale, empty and gaunt. The silver lines of wrinkles, dried tears and worn out smiles rest heavily beneath your eyes, and your mouth is pulled into a permanent tight line. Only now you're resting inside a chestnut shaded embrace. The smell of oak, lavendar and stale life evade my senses. Cracked skin tissue - death. It's all too consuming, yet you all I can feel is a hollowness. I'm like the cancer that broke your soul from your body, stretched your barriers until the arms of angels could only grant you peace. Now you're someone I once knew, in a place I will never reach. Not even my tears can ra
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deviantART's 11th BirthdAy: Let's Celebrate!
   Tweet August 7th, 2011 marks deviantART's 11th birthdAy, but in true devious style, we're taking a whole week to celebrate! Our original plans for Deviants Appreciation Day were so huge that there was no possible way to express our love for the community in a mere 24 hours. Instead, we've created Deviants Appreciation Week, and what better time to host a week's worth of community-oriented events than in the days leading up to our birthdAy? Each day this week, we have something special organized for you to participate in! Check out the schedule of events below to come party with us! In Skribble, our latest community contest, we challenge
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the office I hold
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Grommets for Hanging
The buildings so tightly packed that the roofs became a city unto themselves, new roofs erected from detritus hauled up from the streets below, built by human versions of same. Old rooftop was floor space now, shingled and tar-papered carpet subfloor under layers of cardboard bedding and lean-tos and currogated shacks thrown up against exhaust vents. The sun was blocked by endless tarpaulin of vinyl sheeting stitched with baling wire and shoestring and power cables from obsolete machines, held aloft by whatever the roof dwellers could prop up. Cymbal was picking mushrooms under the blue light cast from noon sun filtered through the vinyl ove
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Always-on
Paris::15d since last chat::0 New Messages For months, I'd see her at the clinics for our injections, and online in the therapeutic forums. She kept the same odd hours as me. The others managed to find work on a routine schedule. Think-driving sanitation units, working the inbound tech support lines. Workaday, like regular humans. Safe. Not us. We were always-on. It had been that way in the Gideon pilot pod, when we were all wired together, our minds fused into a single mosaic. I was intuition, stay a step-ahead of the enemy, guessing the next ten moves. She was the logic center. She did the math. She was a cascade of formulae, speaking in
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Exhume
Pale sunlight peeks through the cotton tongue of a ghost, words dripping as random as raindrops on dusty pavement. A needle dances on grooved vinyl in voices long since faded from memory, recalled only in the hollow chamber of a mind devoid of dreams. Swaying on sunset hills, caught in the wind, amber flesh through phantom fabric, no more real than the collapsing shape of a fantasy, the figure trapped within the marble. Footsteps erased by the rising tide, we move through shrinking space without motion, falling through emptiness, stones on water, skipping without consideration of sinking.
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Make A Wish, Take A Bite
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Quarry
Sculpture of a man, chiseled free from the slab. A fine thing, strong jawline and attentive eyes, white, ever-vigilant of the world before him. Hands of such fine detail, wrinkles and lines, perfection lives in the details of his flaws. Some men hammer far too long, and some not nearly long enough. Too much stone trimmed from the form, a man becomes weak, unstable, shows the fractures precipitating collapse. Too little and the man is trapped, born into a prison with no hope of escape, frozen arms, the hammer teases, just out of reach. And yet, a man of stone, no matter how exquisitely cut, majestically shaped, is not a man, but a figuri
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EUREKA
Giving a purer sense to the Dialect of the tribe, to get The ecstasy and the heightening Of the drug, the indolence, to Lay hands upon all other hands That I could, the sensation of Ev'ry experience that I could, The challenge of not only reading But solving me, a draft of speech of a lurid existence Grown ashen and sober, this star With pallor I mistrust - hasten, Let us not linger, Let us fly, for we must. Oh! That my young life were a lasting dream! My spirit not awake'ning till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow Lest the night be senescent With the moon of its crescent, Disrobed and fallow in its sorrow.
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December 13, 1990
United Kingdom
Deviant for 10 years
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Life can take you places
Whenever I attempt to throw myself back into the wonderful community here on DeviantArt, life has a way of pulling me back to my nitty gritty reality. In all fairness, my life is going in a wonderful direction but I miss the creativity of this place, and so I will not promise to be back here for good, but I promise that I will make more of an effort with you wonderful creative hearts :heart: Since graduating from the University of Derby, life has been pretty busy, and I won't bore you with all the details but here's what I have been up to (and hopefully this may explain my absence) I was in a terrifying car crash in September 2014 which t
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I've done it!
I've completed my degree and I am now a BA (Hons) History graduate from the University of Derby! :wahoo: Actually, I finished on the 1st of May but I've been celebrating on holiday with my Robert :heart: we went to West Sussex, exploring places such as Battle where the Battle of Hastings took place as well as Dover, Brighton and Eastbourne. We had such a lovely time, and now it's back to reality and work. :shakefist: I have a job interview on Friday for a Recruitment Consultant in Birmingham, and I just hope I get it :fingerscrossed: I am currently working as a Receptionist at a hotel quite close by, and the one thing I have learnt is that
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Where I have been and PCOS
Hello everyone, I am slowly coming back onto dA - I have been reading and viewing all of your art pieces recently. I haven't :+fav: anything simply because I didn't want to make my presence back on here so known yet. I know it has been such a long time since I've really interacted on dA but it's slowly starting to happen again. I have been keeping a personal blog and diary to keep my head clear of my studies and issues which are currently going on. I'm nearing the end of my degree in BA History, with just my dissertation and 2 more modules to go. I have no idea what I want to do after I graduate, but there are quite a few plans in the pipeli
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LadyLincoln's avatar
LadyLincolnHobbyist Writer
Wherever you are, I pray you have the happiest of birthdays.

Love you :heart:
Jade-Pandora's avatar
Sammieeeeeeeeee! .: glomp :. 

Sini Birthday  My wishes for you on your special day is that you have (and had, with the time change) the BESTEST HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVER!! :omghai:
:pokehug: With XOXOs (I miss you!)
birthdays's avatar
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

It's December 13th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

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Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW