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poemSplit ends smelt into ashes between her fingertips
teeth pop out, blood dew gathers on her lips
& ran from the tip of her chin
unto soggy button scraps
and she cried out,
"What of the children with gnats?"
daisies ran recluse
lightning hid in her eyes
and nobody was left
to care of the children with the flies
scenethe tip of the sword prodded dragon's throat
Hero both hands on hilt raised it a
-bove his head, poised at the thick bulging jug
-ular. He brought it down with all the skill of
a thousand years worth of slaying exper
-tise. as it clattered to ground dragon
gave a hearty chuckle, " little hero,
it is not your place to decide who may
boast my hide. you must do your duty." His
hands were trembling. "nay, I am not fit
for such a task, beast. run along before
the others arrive." it chuckled once more.
"oh don't worry , let me help
you." a serpentine tail offered Him a
mud-streaked murderer. "why, why, beast do you
plea to die?" a yellow iris bore in
-to a brown with all the knowledge of a
thousand years; "because mortal, it is the
set storyline. You are the hero, fool."
told in verbs/ fragileThump, thump
bleed, break, breathe, crum
-ple, glue, kindle, fragment,
drop, shatter, sigh, cry,
crawl, fly, fall, sob,
curl, cuddle, can't,
cut, curdle, can't,
weave, mend, unfurl
yesterday i met spidermanYesterday I met Spiderman
in second period no less
chewing cherry bubble gum
which he proceeds to stick it on his desk
I think I also saw Batman
perhaps the day before
dark alley; black hoodie;
weed strewn up on the floor
I see the Flash,
everyday on the track
in those commercial breaks
sports drink in hand, his agent patting his back
Iron Man rescues stockbrokers a lot
to him its no bother
If Superman drunk a little less
he might realize he had a daughter
Green Lantern's dishin' out diamonds
Wolverine's butcherin' them fruits
Mr. Fantastic's lies are elastic
Wonder Woman's acting is ecstatic
And never forget Dick Grayson's
Yesterday I met Spiderman
who I sit behind,
but yesterday I met
who showed that little girl where her mother was
with the map you picked off the bottom of that desk
and shined it off with your shirt, and in the mirror, she smiled
And I think that's the most super power of all.
-you stitch with fingers curved
into back-bent grandfathers
twirling needle heads blurring
the swerve of neon pipes
looping collarbones towards
a crooked finger expostulating
into snail shell shaped circumference
carefully examines your miner's eye
you left some threads on that
driveway where that summer
ran it meticulously, one spinal disk at a time
thumping them into the
parched earth, fed it
to the cranberry lye
i saved some, that lye -
wove it a basket of oxygen bonded
with backwards backs
is it for you, or I?
How to enervate an egotistic entityDo you have that insolent acquaintance who does not feel the need to shut up, like ever? Does he/she/it gloat constantly about themselves to the whole of the general populace, and their mothers? Frankly, are they and their garrulous garbling getting on your nerves? If you answered yes to any of these questions, the following solutions may prove effect for any mortal in need of a pedestal chiseler.
THE FASHIONABLE METHOD
Subject must be four legged and furry. Must enjoy cold nights, frosty winters, and the general extreme conditions. Sharp teeth and claws are optional.
Step One, find a dragon. Must be of terrorizing capabilities, or method will not proceed as directed. Fire breathing and acid spitting varieties are preferred.
Step Two, anger the dragon. Additional bystanders (helpless villagers, royalty) must be present. Tail stepping is not encouraged. If followed through properly, a hero will emerge on scene.
moon glimmer1. roses pressed in the pages of moleskins
locked in towers of molten deserts
half-souled butterflies wings crisp in
night's frost. they never stood a chance.
2. sunflowers in the palms of undulated lovers
mutilated and torn apart limbs skew
the sun-litten dungeon floor littered
with leprechaun flecks too late for any
serendipity. they lacked resilience.
3. tulips in earthen thrones disdained
yet refrained their aloof unseeing eyes from them
and stared through their glazed reflection
searching for utopia. the sun-litten glare
up heaved cowardice from withering
lay petaled corpses upon earthen thrones.
they were too incompetent.
4. cabbage patch children crying pity
fleas and gnats repossess stolen property
the tyrant smiles down at his faithful subjects
and gazes at the ones beyond his reach. they
have known nothing else.
5. piranha has a heart shanked by hatred and
mistrust banished by her Jimeny Cricket to
donkey-land where the fleas and gnats fear to venture
;for her yearning and sk
acetell the cloudwalker
it's really a sidewalk-
the world's different up there
when you don't wake
with concrete chips in your coffee cup
and a pinch of monday
tell them, dreams are different
on the asphalt. down here
all our pilots crash land --
remembrance is as far as the blue
trodden fields we once walked
and as cherished as a sweep
above our all-knowing eyes
AgainForever perceiving tunnel vision
Lost in everyday traditions
Composing nonsensical renditions
To explain the thoughts within
Always falling backwards
Into the deepening abyss
Looking to the sky to find
The meaning in the myth
The Torturing DreamSoft... her skin. He knew it would be before he even knew her name.
Silent... the breath he can't catch after his gasp when she said 'Hello gorgeous. Let's go make some trouble.'
Soft... the sheets on the bed in a room he'd never seen, but was happy to be inhabiting.
Silent... the arch of her back and the tears on her face, oxytocin induced...
Hard... the concrete he sees when he awakes from the dream
Cold... the skin on his chest where she laid her head seconds before
Hard... the sound of him lighting a cigarette in the quiet room
Cold... his breath when he exhales the first drag of another day
Children of Ash and EarthThe chanting filled my head.
Staring into the gentle crackling of the fire, I could hear the twisted lullaby repeating itself as if the monks themselves were beside me. Whispers, deep booming calls, broken calls to the heavens in a language nobody understood, they rose together in a clamouring tinnient at the back of my mind. They filled my head, building in volume and harmony as they sang to the rhythm of the fire. I heard those damned voices always, even when they were no longer singing. I wanted nothing more than to silence them forever. Staring hard into the fire, I wound the hand wraps tighter around my palms, re-wrapping them over and over again, daring to hope that perhaps this time, I could stop the bleeding.
“…Will you bury me?”
The chanting stopped. I looked up, the lullaby momentarily banished by my sister’s voice. Asha didn’t stir. Sat across from me, her dull and lifeless eyes were visible only for passing seconds before she was obscured once
Embers"How are you?"
"You have a good day?"
falling like embers,
"Do you ever have fun?"
"All the time."
but burning to the touch,
"You never smile."
"Of course I smile!"
then flickering out,
"Are you keeping up?"
"I never fell behind."
but soon they build up,
"Did you sleep well?"
swarming like fireflies,
"You look tired."
turn into flames,
"Are you sick?"
taking your clothes,
"Something on your mind?"
the flesh underneath,
"You wanted to talk?"
"It's not important."
"You've been acting distant lately."
"Sorry, I've been busy."
"You missed a class."
"Must have been a mistake in attendance."
"We're worried about you."
"You need help."
War Never ChangesTime and time again we falter
Gunshots sound about us
Fighting to see who is king
Our heroes of patriots sing
At the point of our enemy's guns
Fear strikes the heart
All of our daughters and sons
Are being ripped apart
Storming a beach never again
People rise at the sound
Of their brothers and their sisters
Falling all around
Lords will fall
While heroes crawl
Through a trench of gore
Back at home music plays
Glorifying the war
The People think that we have won
But we have just moved on
To a beach so far away
No one will hear our song
A song of glory and righteousness
Turned inside out
Filling all of our hearts with the depths of doubt
Lost LoveShe was precious as a flower
That had come close to a frost,
Like a bird flying in the wrong direction
That would never admit to being lost.
She was beautiful as a butterfly’s wing
Just catching at the air,
And she’d find her way into your heart
Before you even knew that she was there.
She was tantalizing as a summer breeze
And delicate as lace.
She’d go wherever the wind took her,
And would be gone without a trace.
ForgottenMy heart like shattered glass lies broken,
The fragments pierce my lung,
I grasp for words unspoken,
for feelings left unsung,
my skin it feels so cold,
why don’t I feel the pain?,
my bones they feel so old,
the steel against my vein,
perhaps in crimson tides,
will you remember my name
Heart CutoutI met loneliness on a desolate road
And I became the only friend I had.
I fell in love with noble words
And moonstruck dreams
And genius schemes
And flaky thoughts
And berserk quotes.
One day the hummingbirds
Laughed at me because my songs
Contain no music.
I shouted loud, "YOU BIRDS ARE WRONG!
My songs are poems and a poem is
An eerie song that plays alone.
I had a heart shaped cutout in my chest.
Sometimes it became a subway for fireflies
Sometimes a bridge for love and lies
Sometimes I hid there a pack of fries
And a coke with ice – extra large size
But most of all, I hid a secret –
A hope so deep it blurred my eyes.
I wish one day you'd read my songs
-and return my heart to where it belongs.
CondenseCan you hear them from your speakers?
complaining while maintaining
multiple online personas
drowning in useless megabytes
neck just barely above the
torrent of the social me-
dia movement breathing in
way of life on their fifteen
inch screens addicted to
the filtered medica-
tion they are gobbling
down like guppies in a
fish tank of which glass
walls are created
of what they forged from
their minds to forget
why all the facts
were there in the
for them to breathe
in all that is
and want nothing
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More