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Literature
The Devil Is In The Details
I am from loneliness; I am from flashing lights and dim lamps,
shouts and he-man-protection-strength in front of a brown couch.
I am from snow castles built by mythical sober giants
and destroyed by real rain and poured beer cans;
from nightmares and contingents of stuffed animal sentries.
I am from sawdust. The scent of creation and reverberation.
I am from the solidity of a bookshelf that holds Sunday Comics;
I am from the memories of my father reading “Calvin and Hobbes”.
I am from fried chicken and picnics and grease and broken plates.
I am from having everything swept under the table and forgotten
until my father is thirsty again.
I am from escapism, I am from depression, I am from loneliness,
flashing lights, dim lamps and the tension in my arms from selfish love.
I am from growing up surrounded by trees and fields and imaginary friends.
I am from humming and laughing from nonsense lyrics. I am from
“Oh big buck pheasant from Kalamazoo” and catching c
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 0 2
Literature
Lover
I can fly through your space-black hair,
exploring the universe of you, a Woman
of divine structure and holy form.
Curving around your lips, a kiss so perfect,
it stops me cold and I'm unable to breathe
until your eyes bring me back from Ecstasy.
Goddess, You are my faith in being complete.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 4 7
Literature
Gorgeous
Inside her there's a galaxy
of endorphins and dopamine.
We glow, the sheen of us
so bright, it melts us together.
Next to her there's an ocean
of oxytocin and comfort.
so safe, we dream deep.
Away from her is a blizzard
of blinding snow and ice
so cold I forget how to breathe.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 6 7
Mature content
Trust :iconwildmonky:wildmonky 1 0
Literature
The Pillow
That son of a bitch, Smell
gets all the credit for memory.
Me, I just wish I could touch you.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 4 2
Literature
Pray
"Do anything special for the weekend?" I asked and he said
he watched prayers float up to him:
"Down through the atmosphere, they twinkle like stars."
I asked if there were any novas that caught his attention
and he said that everyone pretty much asks for the same stuff;
"it's how I made you all, you know."
"Yeah."
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 2 11
Literature
On Living After A Broken Heart
   One of the most human things you can do is to continue to function with a broken heart. This is harder than it seems. The paradox is that being human is not always in human nature. Mostly you're going to want to cry and wallow within yourself. You want to try to find comfort in things that are not her, but everything you try, you did with her. Dinner, your favorite tv show, her favorite tv show, reading, looking at clouds and seeing what shapes your brain makes out of coalesced water vapor.
   Everything you feel during this is part of being human. You don't realize it at the time, of course. Within yourself and your attempts at distraction you're the first person to ever get hurt. No one has ever felt as much pain as you have. No one will ever go through what you have gone through. With a broken heart, you're the first primate to discover fire.
   This fire becomes your world. You see by it, cook by it; it comforts you
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 4 4
Literature
War
I can't escape my ghetto heart;
my Gestapo thoughts guard me
when I touch a new girl's face.
I can look out through the camp fence
and see a world without you,
but I'm too hungry to even move.
A kiss of another's lips is poison,
showering down, drowning me
because they taste different than your softness.
The ashen remains of my love
bury me, covering me over
and keeping me away from victory.
We will not end in a bombshell;
there is no Geneva Convention.
You are forever my conqueror.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 3 10
Literature
The Fall of Man
Love didn't have a name
until she came down
from the last trees
and walked on two legs.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 7 5
Literature
Nature Hates A Sucker
An empty heart can not stay that way forever.
Your head can keep a girl on constant repeat,
but eventually the idea of her decays, leaving
a vacuum that will be replaced by something real.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 3 13
Literature
Never
I want to destroy everything
that reminds me of you,
but I can't reach the stars.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 10 8
Literature
A Slow Burn
My heart will be broken forever,
like a photon decaying into nothing.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 2 4
Literature
Fallen
She was a Paradise.
I lived in her, surrounded.
Skin smooth to my fingers;
her hills and valleys.
But I ate from the Tree
of Complacency and Sloth.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 4 12
Literature
Heaven
Your breath escapes from you, like hydrogen
condensing into stars, lighting my universe.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 2 19
Literature
Charged
Together their eyes were like a shower of shooting stars,
flickering back and forth, taking in the space of each other.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 0 14
Literature
Novel
He wrote pretty words to prettier girls,
because that was all he could offer.
Instead of a kiss, he gave them poems.
Short stories were weekend getaways,
and scraps of thoughts from his head
were flirty glances.
One day he hoped to find a girl
who would be more than a love story.
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:iconwildmonky:wildmonky 10 12

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Activity


Humillionaire. Now that's a great fucking word. You're welcome.

deviantID

wildmonky
James
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
           Writer.

Current Residence: Idaho
Operating System: Windows 7.
MP3 player of choice: winamp 5.
Wallpaper of choice: it's random-ized-ish.
Favourite cartoon character: Stewie; Fry; Zoidberg; Bender; Homer; The Comic Book Guy.
Interests

Groups

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Comments


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:iconfootnoting:
Footnoting Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2016
Thanks for the watch and the fave.
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:iconfootnoting:
Footnoting Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2016
I am utterly overwhelmed by the immense beauty and prowess of your poetry.
Reply
:iconwildmonky:
wildmonky Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2016  Student Writer
thank you. i'm overwhelmed at your comments and enjoyment. i don't write much anymore. but i'm thankful for your appreciation.
Reply
:iconfootnoting:
Footnoting Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2016
Regarding not writing much anymore, perhaps it is just a lull between two segments of your life.  The great American poet, Wallace Stevens, fell silent for nearly ten years between the publication of his first book and the next poem he published afterward.  Almost a decade, and he came out much better for it.  With your obvious talent, one can only hope for many poems in the future from you, so, again, I hope more poems will come to you in their good time. 
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:iconshadowspyproductions:
ShadowSpyProductions Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2016  Student Filmographer
I liked your stamp :thumb51408258:
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