|HAPPY EASTER 2013!|
Galatea.I have searched for him in the low places,Galatea. by xxDearOblivionxx
have looked for years among the fallen stones,
tumbling through the reeds
of other men's rivers.
The waters of Jordan ran quick and fast, a shimmering stream
with onyx banks.
It pulled at my lonely ankles,
paternal tendrils I thought I recognized
closing over tendons strained
with the weight
of a bastardized body.
And I was glad,
glad for the warmth of your belly against my back
while my body shook with the chill
of another long night
(the third of my life)
that he's missed,
all while he slept
beside the ruin of my name...
Every day I walk
my path twists away from where you run;
the narrow channel we carved when you were home
new estuary starting
with her name across the mouth.
You race for the desert, as gone now and as different
as the man I mistook you for.
He stays away;
half-forged daughter lost,
forgotten in the weeds.
ThousandOur silence lasts for miles,Thousand by shairese9
tangled around my ankles and throat and
stretching down the highway to end at your
computer screen. I like the way it tastes,
like bitter chamomile and rust.
from morning to dusk and drink too
much coffee and watch the Bruins pound
the Jets and forget that once upon a time,
we said we'd get married.
Sometimes our fingertips remember the tapping of keys
on late nights, our poetry and faith streaming between
our eyes in rivers of need, and we
cave inside. Just a little, though.
Mostly we sleep beneath the fluorescent lights
of God and sex and grocery shopping,
and we pretend we don't see
the misty-eyed couples
hanging around park benches.
We're good at surviving like this.
LiberationHe said "I'm sorry" so many times,Liberation by shairese9
the words burned echoes into his tongue.
If you listen as he prays,
you can hear them still.
His body aches like words and roots
ripped from bones; a man that typed not with ink,
but with soul.
His is the world, and the world
is hers, that last hope he threw into the wild,
flung with all the desire of bourbon-fueled summers--
she was a flicker of flame he knew would burn
This is the part where he lays down his
last stanzas, throws his timecard to God or whoever
is in charge, and leaves for the woods and
the winters and the loneliness he knew would be his
from the moment he was born. Unshackled.
His is the freedom of clear skies.
Holiday Card Project 2015!Holiday Card Project 2015! by madizzlee
The DeviantArt #HolidayCardProject is back for its 9th year! With the goal of bringing a bit of holiday cheer to patients in the hospital during the holiday season, the Holiday Card Project connects artists from around the world, applying their tremendous artistic abilities to designing and creating uplifting holiday cards.
In the past few years, this project has received more than 5,000 cards sent in by more than 2,000 deviants from 60 different countries/political regions. Cards are then divvied up and distributed by DeviantArt members to local Los Angeles hospitals, with additional cards given to various hospitals in the U.S. and abroad for DeviantArt volunteers and hospital staff members to hand out to patients.
The idea behind the Holiday Card Project is simple: do something nice for others. However, if you're looking for even more incentive, every deviant who sends in
|A lot of these favorites span across a great deal of styles. The one common thing? the effort, I love artists who give it their best.|
RivalryHello there sir! If I could just show you here,
a painting by none other than myself – glorious!
I have painted for many a rich man like yourself.
Take in my colours, the way the light soars on down
and perfectly lights my subjects face – superb!
I am a perfect candidate for your choosing right here!
Hello good sir, I am but mediocre in this craft
I have little knowledge of drawing the hills, however,
my skills in anatomy and hands are showing through.
Please pick my work, I only strive to improve.
What nonsense this boy speaks! His art is worth nothing.
Compare his forehead to mine, what do you see?
I have lines which show my effort and wisdom, him?
As blank as his mind - you need a real artist
who's art you can hang proudly and not be disgraced!
Look at the canvases alongside and see who is the best!
Excuse me sir, you're not being fair! For you were me once.
My spirit would be lifted, I assure you I am worth-
Come here my good sir, leave this fraud behind.
The So-Called Immortals, Ch. 1The sun rose, and Evelyn Vandergraff died. What a miserable place the desert was.
It was beautiful, of course—especially at dawn, when fire overtook the sky and threatened to turn the whole of the Earth to glass—but it was a grotesque sort of beauty that reminded Evelyn too much of herself. Especially at dawn, when the glass earth beneath her threatened to shatter and swallow her whole.
Nevertheless, the capacious solitude of the desert afforded Evelyn a rare opportunity—dare she say a luxury—and so she left the curtain of her litter open and watched the day begin. Minutes passed, then an hour, and Evelyn indulged herself an ugly smile as the sun baked her pale, frail skin.
A hot breeze blew, heavy with the too-familiar scents of life. The sensation at once snapped Evelyn out of her languor and drove every thought in her mind into a narrow, strangled point. Careful to cover her face with a curtain, she peeked her head out to see a small village approaching on th
|POETS AND WRITERS! IF YOU WANT A CRITIQUE THAT'LL BE SEEN BY MY WATCHERS JUST TAKE TIME TO INQUIRE VIA NOTE OR COMMENTING ON ONE OF MY DEVIATIONS! I'LL BE MORE THAN GLAD TO WRITE YOU ONE; TIME PERMITTING.|