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Sam W
95 Watchers22.5K Page Views82 Deviations
George Street
George Street Veins rushed too much blood to an eyelid squeezing a lash's point against a snot-coloured iris jerking frantically as he clutched two headlines - mom & pop cog store bought by magnate and flimflams a price a penny fingers leapt onto his neck wrangling it, dropped the paper, and rubbed his forehead, while loosening his navy with white dots cotton tie; Leonard winked hi but he was too busy mourning the loss of the word-puzzle on page 12 -   bus grinding up George Street, the road could've been gravel against flesh as he witnessed the latest atrocities in fashion and ogled a plump lady's curvaceous
  Painting She somewhat grins with master strokes - Curved lines carved roads winding over each other in search for ways to express the moment when she twinkled. Her portrait is a lesson in geography, mapped texture symphony, different shades imposing on each other - harmony in gradients and contrast. Run your fingers up her coarse hair and ripe-less nose, a hand's etchings into canvas, the steady story where copper hills meet an oily river of tan and burgundy: Paths groove through a valley - wrinkles on soft tundra, lace in the hot Latvian loom, sticky leather skin ripples, weaving through childish screams, tugging w
Morris the ox
  Morris the ox In thought-filled stillness under a dull U-shaped snout it pondered the new surroundings over grass kneaded 'till it was fine as grease. Morris, I told it. You are free. Leg twitch, Snout-fume stuttered spurts, a hoof beat against the ground - muddled clanks reminiscent of nature's linger. Perhaps an absence of cart ropes pulled its balance apart - a lightness in worn-wood shoulders never known - or it could be that the lulling strokes of its masters whip shooed flies away better than a tail's vagrant flaps ever could - for reasons unknown the ox stood outside the gate, free for three days and
Birth Collage
  Birth Collage Embryo True love, the bud, cushioned by membrane, in mindless nurture consumes nutrients for embryonic development. A lipstick mark on the cheek from a mother's kiss, it is an imprint of the past. Fetus Embryo evolved. It is a flower that opens its leaves as a story unwraps, revealing what is to be waited for - what once was future. Trees Two trees stand a field away, laughing at each other. Differences in  their barks' patterned facade have them slapping each other with autumn's leaves. And they grow old together in whimsical ignorance. Fossil Lodged in its rocky shell, time, an assortment of fluid
  Captain The captain's oak-chest heaves reflect a buoy floating on rolling waters' life-like jabs. A half-wink and pipe clenching lips strain like ropes taut across his face, drawing chin to cheek. With a snow globe fastened by a puckered squint he bears a swashbuckler's glare while spit swells over his tongue swirl around gold-stained teeth - what madness would have waves tearing down on him through shredded sails? The ocean belly swallows could forever tug at the ship waiting for its inevitable smother in frozen abyss, and he would meditate, rum-barrel arms stuck to wheel, salt-soaked face, ivory eyes, unwaveri
  Dams I. Flood waters smothered a lizard, floating statuesquely with my brother. Bare feet choking, I waded half blind through icy slough. My eyes boiling red, fuming forehead weighted by the hollow current's lure. His body impaled on my bony shoulders I carried him over countless fields in darkness that knew no ends, but touched me with every glance. II. In sunny pasture shovel in hand I found myself digging away in my mind, frothy memories and calloused tongue trying to whet arid lips. I removed topsoil in preparation for the new dam, waiting for the tractor to clumsily roll over horse hoof imprint
  Demaestro Two holes formed where the old floor boards had given way centuries ago, yet the air's foulness possessed a fresh pungency. As the fumes reached the nostrils, his mind reeled in nausea's ecstasy. He stumbled onto a light bulb joylessly swinging. Its leprous eye gargled in hollow loom; while he bled sweat, the shriveled walls flaked. A redwood anonymously laughed through what once was a window. With two stitched-on buttons I gaped back. At one point the deadness of noise was realized. Its rotting corpse made his ears cry in thirst. I searched the doorway for his shadow, patiently straining to hear tr
Held in Shiraz
  Held in Shiraz Sewage-soaked, he faltered, purple ears pricked while once more a windy melody faintly harped slowly saturating him with tales of misty fields; swimming through crispy grass, enveloped by the permeating scent of orange trees, chiming birds dusting splayed hearing; nudged by the breeze, he dreamt of being freely swept like a shiraz lily on waters' ebb. Distantly, in a gentle lull rain pelts rung, thumping with applause into soil's cushion. Laying dormant, hissing yelps from the corridor sang and he heard a tiny voice - There is an old Iranian proverb "If you see a blind man, run up and kick him.
  Extremes Plastered pupils rastered, the pupils, inspired, desired to purchase his latest attire, staff surgeon urging to get one autograph, searching for crib notes while wife-gossip splurging   listen. Light leans are for show. Heavy forwards are twists. Heavy back, backflips. Remember. Mastering the air is a pipe dream. What does that mean? Listen. Do an Ollie Mctwist with an Indy. Don't forget attitude. Pay attention to the breeze, because only fools blindly follow the coy seductress - pop off the jump struggling to pull another trick for provocative photographers thoughts of doom hidden behind a devil grin th
  Juggernaut Gooey morning dew stirred me to life, rattling eyeballs shredding the inside of my dry-slab head. Iron clad, in a steady procedure akin to mechanical reflexes of monotonous love, I habitually rose, underbelly's dusty cogs deeply groaning, while joints' neglected fluids dribbled. Brushing soot off thighs I waited for the engine to warm, its screeches for oil falling on worn-out ear holes. Hands and feet wrapped around gears, in synergy, lead-weight pillars rolled as we began to move. Lungs brimming with mercury, I looked out through two tiny portholes at myself in granule reflections on my hood's g
See all
Sitting on the chair on the green grass overlooking the ocean allowing clouds to pass. Slumped against the wall, reaching down for the ground. Shadows racing away, Others gathering around. Spread out on satin sheets, Absorbing flashing lights, Leaving a vacant smile, Prompted by figures in white. Face drooped out the window, hands clutching the wheel, distanced shouting and screaming, beyond the twisted steel. Gazing at the mirror, Dressed up and ready to go, Dangling from the ceiling swaying to and fro. Images rush, noise fades away, Jerking, numb, even dull, all, eternity, freezes, nothing, oblivion, null. Sitting on
ever after
sensual wrath
The Pool - taking the plunge
flower nymphs
flower nymphs
Senior Sanchez en el centro
Trained Shades of blue grey and black, pierced by headlights, on a bridge - Beaming technicality, pillars of ancient fuzzy logic harbour cars floating on wind, seagulls hunting under clouds - pinned to sky, watchfully procrastinating, swooning over buildings - cardboard boxes from a dusky distance, mumbling grazers - an audience - silently admiring a cheery eyed rocking tub of human hussle, sleepy spot lit container of idle thoughts and cliches. Kaleidoscopic noise punctuated by tapping made almost inaudible. Picture watching picture, but which one is framed? Our characters are such spectacles they dare to rival m
Warrior Simpatico
i watched you become born under unknown stars scorning unchosen scars deceit conveyed in cold breaths dark spirits bickering on each shoulder as though you were already dead though palm trees wrapped bareness but for a cloth draped you would rustle in wind together, simpatico; a citron in a foreign place negotiating scraps of sustainability adorning spattered ignorance in blossoming crevasses while willowy flesh entertains sharp edges of steel you grew into mountainous whisper providing repressed hope, legendary thunderous demeanor plunging Rechev, your sword, through bellies of beasts. Akiba the philosopher's neurotic
slept in sand
Slept in Sand When but a child I slept in sand he told her as he held her hand. eyes closed particles slid down porcelain shoulders giggling to my arm pits dismissing hysterical slapping reigning wind wrought, stillness instilled in nomads paying lip service to eyelashes I baked under a sun punctured by pouncing clouds; Torment inherent in a single grass blade\'s raging recluse a sparrow pondered seeking sanctuary from kids counting castles and angels (with feet), in my sealed cocoon; when I was young my childhood lay buried in flowing desert and now hourglass sand hastens down a dry branch through clam fing
my castle my home
. my home my castle skin slit white armies rush to shield virgin flesh lives lost in vein for the holy heart while engineers regenerate structures, inside pretty princess spirals into sorrow absent as rational queen formulates future scenarios sanctioning sensibility poetic princess's veiled glares strain through seconds mumbling a mantra "Venus pimped for Picasso bazaar" nobles remorse at blooming battle-scars showcased just as jesters' frolics are lost on limp lips; innumerable gods endlessly implore she entices her subjects would gladly be wasted like water on rock philosophers would clutch at the f
happy autumn
SEEKING SPRING I am the tree-in-winter man bough bent with wintry woes seeking spring. Inside, below the gnarled and ravelled rind, inscribed by glacial ink in cruel seasons, exigencies and crises lie curled concentrically in seized circles from heartwood to the bark. Inside, again, sap congealed and gelid trapped static in harsh-hardened tracheids, sits still pooled and sorrow chilled in serried cellular ranks from yesterday's roots to tomorrow's twig. Yes, I am the tree-in-winter man waiting for spring's demulcent peach-pink breath to melt and liquefy from frigid core to icebound bole and tempt the sap to surge and ri
Problems With This Generation
The Problem With This Generation Chris Serio The problem with this generation, Our generation that is, meaning anyone between 10 and 25 And lacking awareness enough to be thoughtful To the level that society should expect but is unwilling to enforce,   Is that we've gone it doggy style with too many Ja's, Too many Britney's and Christina's (Strap on notwithstanding), Too many corn fed popstar's and media moguls With Beamers and marital problems that we actually care about, unlike our own.   An abundance of too grouped with too many many's, Makes too many teenie boppers too preoccupied With Winona Ryder's fetish for grand th
: chance
: chance diesel couture dutifully squeezes femorals / fashionably whiten nearly crampy monkey toes hanging ten / too fine the edge of mombasa masala cloven numbed conversation tween 2 now met in-cafe: backup plan cd-rw art sludged in 5th grade paper mache hung licks reassurances across walls provides promise of intellectual exit from neurotoxic drone of an absolute socio-apath compartmenalized apartmental in complemental chairs asses oozed as half filled sand bags-like they phosphoresced confessionals of Love woven into tongan internet hubs Love iridesced by benthic fireflies tacking away
lets do business
My Fabulous MicroMoog
Sunflower Flux
He played hard this month:                                      She played well this month: Mortgages prefixed sales                                         Chlorophyll quotas left in the wake and rows of steadfast hotels,                                    of cushioned lovers and tickling tiny noses plastic monuments saluting a gaudy cannon               A row of gently dandling milk flashing jail-cell smirks                                            warmed by the notion of a golden god as his firing squad gained two more guns.                 as they dawdled from nap to nap. They scratched his name into a plaque,                    
. devotion . in the dew of morning's rise drips wonderous lure soft delicate breaths enter my slumbering being awakening eternal dreams gazing into deep puppy browns lifting me up in flight like wings floating atop auspicious clouds lustrous touch love's enduring   caress roll back ocean's wave over me tide's ebb ever flowing drifting back into sun's setting this love's rose never  fades away …
The Masks We Wear
The Masks We Wear I seem to see masks, flasks of unasked Queries, like a series of theories, Trying to explain existence, without assistance, With stubborn persistence, they distance Their smiles miles away, choosing a style Of seclusion, living on false delusions, Wading in this confusion, they blame the intrusion Of society, claiming sobriety the cause for their anxieties, The poor souls, seeing life through wooden holes, They lack any goals, barely in control Of their emotions, they drown in oceans of demotions, Mocked by those who are themselves locked, Blocked behind a permanent state of shock, Unseen expressions behind


  Dams I. Flood waters smothered a lizard, floating statuesquely with my brother. Bare feet choking, I waded half blind through icy slough. My eyes boiling red, fuming forehead weighted by the hollow current's lure. His body impaled on my bony shoulders I carried him over countless fields in darkness that knew no ends, but touched me with every glance. II. In sunny pasture shovel in hand I found myself digging away in my mind, frothy memories and calloused tongue trying to whet arid lips. I removed topsoil in preparation for the new dam, waiting for the tractor to clumsily roll over horse hoof imprint
flower nymphs
Deviant for 16 years
Super Llama: Llamas are awesome! (31)
Still alive
Just incase anyone is wondering, I am still alive and well. I don't have the motivation to write these days. But I will write more poetry in the future. Hopefully soon. To everyone that has supported me and my writing, thank you!
I have been told that the Vatican was built in a way that was to symbolise the smallness of man. The main chamber is almost 10 stories tall (28meters/100feet) and you could probably have 100,000 people standing comfortably in this one chamber at any one time. (I remember looking up to the top balcony in this chamber and the people on it looked like ants). To top it off, the whole chamber is entirely made of marble and gold. The are probably around 50 other "smaller" chambers (which are still huge). They are lined with gold, marble and art. This is all in the main compound of the Vatican (there are other compounds). When you go to a place l
Me Likey Bush
Is any one surprised? Seriously though.


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fyoot's avatar
Are you still about?
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tmpst24myst's avatar
:omfg: you're still here too! how's life?
mines .. busy.
<heart> dae
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childproof's avatar
childproof|Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Wowsers! I can't believe it's been since Jul 26, 2005 since you let us know you are alive!
Ah well, here's a nice message for you when you might return one day :)
HI!! Have a noice dayee!
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batousaijin's avatar
"WERNSTRUM!!!" screams Farnsworth. :rofl:
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batousaijin's avatar
are we not futurama fans?
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