The A,B,C's of Literature: M

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The A,B,C's of Literature
This week: M

Welcome to another installment of the A,B,C's of Literature, a weekly article which brings you suggested themes and deviants who begin with a letter of the alphabet.

This week, we will be focusing on the letter M and the themes this week are: Memory/Memories, Mother, Military, Moonlight/Midnight, Myths/Magic/Monsters


Dear Wartime WidowDear Wartime Widow;
You don't know me. Well, you do; I was your neighbour, we lived beside each other for two years and I watched your huskies while you were on duty in Afghanistan. I spoke with your husband daily and gave treats through the fence and cried a little when I woke up one morning and saw your eldest dog had passed away, the others huddled close to it as if to keep him warm. Your husband, he had the same name as my daughter and we chuckled whenever this not-so-strange occurrence came up in conversation and his hair was red like fire.
I used to watch him, a Goliath of a man, digging the garden in your backyard, rebuilding the fence line, laying down boards just underneath the surface of the earth to keep the dogs from digging in to our yard. I helped at midnight when somebody thought it was funny to launch fireworks in to your backyard at the dogs, I'd give you clippings of my climbing vines so you could plant them on your side of the fence and we could have a matching scree
Embers of MemoryA flash of dancing red. A searing pain in my foot. A scream in the distance. A name shouted out to me. A muffling cloth restricting my breath. The crushing blackness.
The smoke permeated my senses, forcing me to taste it with my nose; to smell it with my mouth. To see it with my ears; know it with my eyes. I could feel it with my mind, and hear it with my fingers.
Someone was holding my hand to his burningly painful face, and shouting at me, begging me for something. "Don't you dare leave me!" he shouted, "I won't let you! Fight it, damn it, FIGHT IT!"
It hurt so much; I just wanted the numb blackness to come back.
"No, don't go," he sobbed, "Call me selfish, but I want you here. You just can't go away!" I hadn't the power in me to even wonder vaguely who was speaking.
All I knew was that the voice was male, horrified and sorrowful, and that my heart gave a painful lurch at his words. I didn't even have the strength to wince, though I could feel my heart pump its last beats.
Memory73. Memory
"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."
-Kevin Arnold
I was drowning.
I tried to cough up the blackness, tried to escape from it's cold grasp, but it only choked me further, dragging me deeper and deeper still into its eternal nothing.
Everything around me started to flash, different pictures lighting up my murky mind, but they were all blurry. A smudged sunset, two people laughing, a boy on the ground…
Nothing clicked. Everything simply passed by quickly, barely giving me enough time to register was exactly I was looking at. I forgot my name, my home, my goal, everything, and it was scaring me.
The darkness started to close in again, thicker and more threatening than before, but the pictures kept flashing by. A clock tower, a long blue thing, a yellow 'X', that boy again.
I tried to focus on him, tried to make him more defined, but all I c


Letter to the Mother     Mom,
     how can you throw me out
     saying you want me to stay?
     How can you ground me at home
     and still push me away?
     Why can't you tell me: "I'm proud"?
     Instead of: "You're not good enough".
     You're angry with me when I'm sad,
     You punish me when I laugh.
     Why do I have to be perfect?
     "You have to be better than 'them'"!
     Is it too much to ask,
     to love me the way that I am?
     And yet you still ask yourself:
     "Why is my daughter depressed?
     Why in whatever she does, she
     feels she has to be the best"
Oh MotherWhoa, oh, yeah,
Okaasan sat there on the bed looking through the box. It was browning with age and nobody knew what was in it with the exception of Okaasan and I since she showed it to me when I was younger. In it were photos and dairies of Okaasan's past. From what I could understand based on the stories that Okaasan told me, she had fallen in love with Otousan when they were younger but she wasn't the only one, Ino-obasan had also liked Otousan. From friends, they had become rivals just for him. At that point, all I could ask was "Was Otousan so important that you had broken a bond with Ino-obasan?" I knew the importance of a bond, Naruto-ojisan had told me. Okaasan just smiled and ruffled my hair. She had also said that she had dreamt of marrying to Otousan when she was younger and live happily ever after. When he had proposed, she immediately agreed to marry him despite being only seventeen and him breaking her heart time and again. But her life was not what she drea
A Poem For MotherMemories that escape the mind,
But flicker in a steady heart.
The touch of a warm finger
Clutched tightly in tiny fingers.
With a mind that knows little,
And a heart that knows more
Than imaginable. Depending on
Intuition and trust. Feeding from the
Love of the heart, and the nourishment of
The bosom. Sleeping in slender arms
Strong with love and tenderness.
A fire of unconventional emotions
Between mother and daughter
Feeding first footsteps and the struggle
With words. Flesh of the first scrapes
Mended with Mommy's kisses.
Fingers that lift away spilling tears
Are the fingers that hold a child's shoulders
As she makes her way to becoming a teenager.
Firm fingers, guiding with a loose grip,
Showing the way to the awkward path of
Independence without much interference,
So the little girl can learn the ways
Of life the way it is meant to be learned.
Without the restrictions that will
Keep the truth hidden in naivety.
Even when those fingers
Have to finally let go, they always follow beh


:thumb99191319: Letters To A Loved OneDear Dad,
I hope you're safe and I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and wish you were here so we can talk face to face but I guess we can't right now but maybe we can when you get home. If you do return home. I shouldn't think like that, sorry. When you DO get back, we should go for ice cream, my treat.
My little sister is still in her little phase of hating the world and everything and everyone on it, I find it kind of funny and sad at the same time. She still talks back to mom and gets mad every time she's not allowed to do something, and storms up to her room and doesn't come out until the next day, for school. Mom is working her butt off constantly now, and it's obvious she's getting to a boiling point or a breakdown and I hope it's neither. Me, I'm just trying to be good, going to school and doing homework, working and just generally staying out of the way.
You have it worse, though, you're out there risking your life and I'm writing, complaining about life. The good


bathed in moonlightMoonlight streams through the open window,
dancing with the curtains in a lazy fashion.
It streams across my naked body
moving in rhythm to my own dance.
Sitting, watching, I pull on my lit cigarette,
blowing the smoke in your direction,
as you seductively move across the room,
dancing to a beat that I can not hear.

You sit there, as still and as hard as marble,
watching me from across the room.
Eyes heavy-lidded with lust; your breath catches
as my twists and turns slowly lead me to you.

Your dancing draws you closer to the window
and the pale moonlight wanders across your body,
leaving me breathless for a moment,
making me forget where I am.

You look up at me as I get closer,
my hands outstretched in invitation.
You take them in yours,
and rise to meet me, sway for sway.

Dancing was never my forte,
but you glide around the room so effortlessly
that I move my feet in time with yours
and I am lost in your movements.

Our heated bodies move as one.
The moonlight

Mature Content



Social function of rape myths
I have written a few times about the myths surrounding the topic of rape, but I've never written about why these myths have survived for so long and the social functions that they serve. Rape myths allow people to feel safe by letting them believe that rape rarely happens, and that when it does, it is because the person secretly wanted it or that they were "asking for it". The myths enable us to maintain the belief that we live in a just world. They allow us to believe we can prevent future rapes. And in some cases they even maintain the Adam-and-Eve tradition of our culture, in which man s believed to be the innocent victim of the evil temptress – women.
Myths provide a false security
When we are confronted with the story of a rape, the easiest way to maintain our feelings of safety and invulnerability and to believe that what we are hearing is indeed a work of fiction, not a true story. If we believe "many rape reports are false", then we significantly lower our perceived chance
MonsterYou tell me so many things,
That I want to hear
That I want!
That I need...!
Your voice, rings inside of me,
So loud!
So clear...!
When I am angry,
It's you I see!
When I am helpless,
It's in you I believe!
You are the shadow of who...
I will become...
You are the monster inside of me!
Made real!
Flesh and blood, flesh and bone!
As long as I have you,
I will never be alone!
I look into your eyes,
And I know I have found my home!
You are more than just a dream...
You are becoming reality...
(Little whispers...enslaving me...)
You always know the right time,
To invade and take over my life
You control!
You consume...!
Your voice sears me through and through
Your flames!
They burn...!
When I am afraid,
You are my despair!
Every chance that I take,
I see you there!
You are the shadow...
Of who I will become!
You are the monster inside of me!
Made real!
Flesh and blood, flesh and bone!
As long as I have you,
I will never be alone!
I look into your eyes,
And I know I have found my home!

:star: My Favourite Piece :star:
A piece selected from the above featured
midnight by SubstituteSadist

:spotlight-left: Spotlight Deviants :spotlight-right:

rain or shineSoggy on the field today.
Fat drops smacking, attacking and driving away
the thrum of the speakers as the DJ scrambles
to fold his tent.
They don't relent.
The grey above is not proof against purple,
marching without rhythm,
some steps slow,
some jogging, some wheeling,
all smiling; they have beaten the Crab
this year.
This year, it's raining.
Next year, maybe sun, we all tell one another,
but the others on the track in the first lap,
who fight
every day,
want only to wake up
every day,
rain or shine.
Mother and Old Man WinterFolk called him Old Man Winter, the hills of Grey were his home,
He hated the hearts of mortals, forbade them his hills to roam,
His breath was a storm of black frost, leaving aught but death in its path,
And his touch bore the chill of the boneyard,
    Boneyard, boneyard
His touch bore the chill of the boneyard, his eyes white with ageless wrath.
It was the last night of Winter, the snows of Grey fell thick.
Two faced the winds and the darkness, their horse had fallen sick.
A young lad and his mother, hardly past her maidenhead,
She and her boy fled southward,
   Southward, southward
She and her boy fled southward, from a man she could not wed.
‘I’ll flay their fair skin from them,’ the Old Man raged from his peak,
He clawed with icy fingers, until their legs grew weak.
The boy turned blue with shivers, his mother she feared for the worst,
She held the boy close to her breast,
   Her breast, her breast
She held the boy
Over a Wasp, Down a MountainDuring the years before I stuffed a Ford Taurus full of my earthly belongings and pointed it toward Texas A&M, my family had an annual ritual involving a dying piece of technology. Every year, never at the same time, either Mom or Dad would find some kind of reason to go shuffling through the Buffet, an ancient piece of furniture with which I grew up, guarded for decades by an ugly ceramic frog that Dad won in some contest or another.
The Buffet was festooned with drawers, one of which was solely devoted to stacks of tiny boxes of Kodak slides. What are slides, you ask? You see, kids, before we could take pictures with our telephones, our cameras burned images onto thin strips of delicate and temperamental material called film. When we had filled up the film with photos, we would take it to some disgruntled teenager in a tiny booth in the middle of a parking lot somewhere, and about a week later we go back and collect the results, either in Prints or in Slides. Prints wer
Purpose DrivenI didn’t explode when I struck. My time would come later.
It was 1958. Hundreds of thousands of us fell upon the island of Quemoy. The reasons didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was the long, cold barrel, the instant of ignition, the ponderous arc across the Taiwan Strait, and the fall. From a Soviet factory to now, my destiny was to kill.
I didn’t explode when I struck. My time would come later.
I waited. Rain and wind piled mud over me. Cold, heat, night, day passed again and again.  Then, the claw of a steam shovel, and I saw the sun again.
There was a flatbed truck, and crates, and thousands of my brothers stacked on top of one another.  We clattered as the truck bounced along the muddy roads of Kinmen. Our war was over. My time would come later.
There was a bespectacled man, gentle, with a hammer and a practiced arm. I melted in his forge. I folded under his hammer, under his patience. I became thin, hard, and gained an edge that would split

:iconmagic-fan: Magic-fan
Tales of the ForbiddenPrologue
Bitter winds ripped sands across the gritty desert plain, covering the fallen warriors and plaguing the living. It bit into bleeding flesh, stinging the injuries of people conscious enough to care. A wounded man clad in tattered white robes stood in the center, amongst those not yet fallen.
The stench of rotten flesh infested his nostrils; fighters who fell early enough for the scorching sun to hasten their decay. Others fought well into the night. They battled for survival and revenge for their fallen comrades. The sand beneath his bare feet caressed his skin, coloring crimson as blood trailed from many wounds and soaked into it. The upper part of his robes had been shredded and hung past his waist – a large gash tore across his chest and bled profusely.
The lacking garments on his upper body freed his wings. Two wings larger than himself, once a stunning white were now tainted by dirt and blood, the remnants of his battle. His left-wing twitched and hung limp. He stretc
-Poem- The Triple I'sInconsistency;
                All things in life
                Change – don't remain
                The same. Sun to
                Moon, moon to sun
                Life to death, all
                Passes on
                Slowly crawls the
                Change, or quickly
-Song- Take ControlAnother day full of lies,
Trust is gone; it’s no surprise
Abuse is what he does,
He’s not the man she thought he was
Pleading causes more pain,
All for his own gain
He doesn’t care; he never did,
He treats her like a spoiled kid
No more,
It’s time to even the score…
Take control!
Let it go..!
It’s your life,
Remove the strife
Go away!
Don’t let him stay..!
Once he’s gone,
You’ll be okay
She regrets the choice she made,
Knowing now; she should not stay
She plans to leave him alone,
As she finds her own home
He tries to stop her, as if he cares,
The truth she knows; he’s only scared
Afraid that he’ll be lost, confused,
Because he has none to abuse
No more,
It’s time to even the score…
Take control!
Let it go..!
It’s your life,
Remove the strife
Go away!
Don’t let him stay..!
Once he’s gone,
You’ll be okay
Finally parted,
She’s back where she started
Letter to... A New Year's SelfDear New Year's Self,
You are a writer – always have been, always will be. Stop your constant procrastination and show you're serious about your dream. Finish a novel. Heck, go for more than one. Finish one and edit while writing a sequel, or another novel. Find some way to make it happen. College is not extreme enough to cause your procrastination, nor is your part-time job. You've got a novel to write and a year to do it.
Make it happen.
You know those sweets you keep grabbing for when you're bored (read: when you could be writing)? Yeah, those. Replace them with some fruit and use the time to write. Not only will it help you lose the weight you're trying to make disappear, but it will also help you pursue your dream. I know you've lost a lot of weight already and occasional snacks aren't an issue, but you have to keep it up.
Amazon is your friend in this foreign country with poor selections of English books in the stores. Locate the books you like, then browse the sugges

:iconmode-de-vie: mode-de-vie

:iconrosary0fsighs: Rosary0fSighs
Secret ClosetsI walk through dark closets,
feeling for white bones.
my hands find slender death throes
and hide softened tears beneath the cloaks.
I dust paper skeletons
and hang them in solemn moth eaten coats
keep them safey wrapped in shadows
between lullabies and dust motes,
like cursed angels
too terrible to speak of.
I lock them away inside, somewhere deep
and swallow the key.
my soul reverberates and fragments inside me
whispering empty words into the blackness.
hollow gospels fill the space with the echoes of memory
with each fall,
I drown in secrets and ghosts
Ich DieShe thumbed my wrists like old poetry books -
m-dashes, underlines and damaged spines.
I wrote cursive scripts over her lips,
hoping the ink would drip into my hands.
We laid down my head beneath blank pages
a poet bleeding meaningless words
into dark spaces.
I placed her mouth onto the doorstep and stepped back,
pressing my hands to white corridors
searching for meaning.
hospitals are just pretty morgues.
I See Through Your EyesHushed cries seep under the doors and through the walls in the ward,
as souls slip into a slow decay.
I don't belong here, wandering these halls.
The sick drift like lost ghosts with limp hands outstretched,
searching for meaning in their charts
and the strange language of the nurses.
hospitals are just pretty morgues.
You used to make me smile, but there's nothing to smile about in here.
there's only sadness and a sorrow
that creeps into the shape of my bones.
I don't want to live like this.
I don't want to be alone.
There is nothing here.
voices whisper through the darkness for my name,
and I am powerless.
above myself, I float, and stare down into the emptiness,
watching the black holes move under my skin.
my bones feel small, and I slip away,
down into the roots that hold the earth to me.  
There's nothing to do, in all this silence, and I wear it so well.
I drink cold cups of tea, and speak above the static words of the other patients.
I eat plastic food with silver spoo
SalvationsI woke with a barcode tattooed into my wrist, over a scar.
nurses conspired in soft tones
tracing the sound of schizophrenia into an injection needle
to hush the patient in the bed next to mine.
their voices echo in my bones.
I stopped breathing in your hands
and you lifted me like
a drop of snow, to drink.
whispering intraveneously into my lungs
I breathe light
and  swallow myself whole.
black holes moved under your skin,
and your limbs felt soft, diseased.
hours passed
and we prayed for release.
we searched for wings in the corners of wards
breathing prayers into our hands,
pressing them between the outside floorboards
and writing the gospel secrets of the damned
I am, I am
I am mad
we were the sick they laid down in marketplaces
to touch the holy hem of silk, to be blessed by solemn hearts
our fingers missed and felt god depart
we touched the air.
lips seeking reverence in the place of saints and
haloed heads.
we spoke hymns into the space
and touched th

:star: Other Writers to Check Out! :star:
Miseria-Cantare megan24601 Gricken Mattiello
marzguy MinorKey Kitri-du-Lac mspadfoot2 Malinda-Rose

Thank you to all the deviant suggestions and theme suggestions from pullingcandy rockgem Vashta-Nerada91 namenotrequired AlecWolfe alockwood1 Memnalar GirlWithAHat TheseKrimzonFlames WorldWar-Tori thorns williamfdevault paper-dart jcroxas TheLupineOne Magic-fan
Remember you can suggest a theme or deviant to me via note, or if you have someone for the next feature then please let me know

Previous Articles

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L

Next Week

Send Suggestions for Themes and Deviants!

Thank You
© 2011 - 2021 the-photographicpoet
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cirie's avatar
gorgeous reads, mine simply pales in comparison. But anyhoo, thanks for the feature.

WorldWar-Tori's avatar
Fantastic features again :heart:
Magic-fan's avatar
Thank you so much! :heart: It's an honor to be featured amongst so many talented writers. :love:
zelo-s's avatar
O-oh my...Thank you for featuring "Letters to a Loved One". :shocked:
the-photographicpoet's avatar
LadyLincoln's avatar
Lovely features, Sammie.

I just simply adore =methylated-spirit, `Memnalar, *Magic-fan and =mode-de-vie :heart:
Magic-fan's avatar
You are far too kind. :heart:
LadyLincoln's avatar
And you are as sweet as can be. :tighthug:
Magic-fan's avatar
:tighthug: How have you been lately?
LadyLincoln's avatar
Hanging in as best as to be expected honey.
Magic-fan's avatar
You, your mother and your family are in my thoughts. :heart:
LadyLincoln's avatar
Thank you, so much :heart:
Magic-fan's avatar
mode-de-vie's avatar
You are a sweetheart, I tell you. :heart: :smooch:
LadyLincoln's avatar
Thank you, Sara.

It is often easy with lovely people like you here amongst us. :tighthug:
the-photographicpoet's avatar
Thank you hun, and yes I do too, I found a delight with =mode-de-vie too, I'm stunned I wasn't previously watching her! :ohmygod:

Minor-Detail's avatar
Thank you for featuring "Memory"! Who suggested me, though...?

Oh, and for N, maybe something like narcolepsy or necromancy.
the-photographicpoet's avatar
You're very welcome, and I found your art work by searching :aww:

and thank you for the suggestions. :aww:
Rosary0fSighs's avatar
:aww: thank you for including me :hug:
the-photographicpoet's avatar
KeraRaven's avatar
So many good reads up there. ^^

For N I guess I could suggest

No (That could be a really interesting one in my mind)
the-photographicpoet's avatar
Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the feature and also thank you for the suggestions :aww:

There will be a poll which I will post next Sunday so maybe suggest there too in case I forget :hug:
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