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BlockThe words aren't coming
The flow has stopped
The spindle runs thin
The flowers cropped
The letters dropped
Hand on her chest
Wishing she wasn't
Entwined in this mess
The honored guest
To maritial ties
All too late
To bid her goodbyes
StructureI'm not a fan of structured poems, at least
When they're imposed on me, like subtle frames
Of written code which keep each line the same
The trapped voice a bird that yearns for release
Allow the flame to grow, please free the beast
Don't snuff the candle's fickle, frozen flame
Set meter and rhyming, you are to blame
Rendering my creativity deceased
But for you, I'll accept the forms you wish
Consume, swallow words with a grain of salt
My heart, wrapped in paper, I'll give to you
In a stanza, a line, or a swish
Of reason, confining words to a fault
Just don't think you're the only one who knew
Lucid - WIPI'm lying here on a table. Nothing but the sweet hum of machinery, both around and within me. They'd mentioned something beforehand about my hearing. Something about sensitivity that wouldn't hurt in higher decibel ranges.
My hand twitches to touch my new ear, but it remains limp by my side, paralyzed. I think they'd mentioned something about the risk of muscle atrophy in low-gravity environments. Something like that.
I'm hearing my heartbeat now. It's strange to hear such an organic sound in this sterile environment. If I cut myself, would I still bleed red? Or had they replaced my blood with a substitute? Was it still red, or another, foreign color?
With a slight click, a bright light switches itself on from overhead, illuminating the capillaries in my eyelids. Still red...
Squinting, I try to turn my head, but my neck won't obey me. As if reading my though
Ghost of the PastEver been haunted by a ghost of the past? You know, those recurring memories of a time long gone, the ones that float uninvited into your head? Maybe it's triggered by a memento, or a visit to a sacred place, or the mere mention of a name. The moment relives itself in your head, then disappears, leaving you with only a scrap of cloth or a pressed flower to remember.
But what if these ghosts aren't really ghosts at all? What if they're still living, breathing creatures? Maybe you never see them anymore. Maybe you live too far apart. Maybe you see each other on a daily basis, but you both pretend the other no longer exists. Maybe you're enemies, or even friends. Either way, you've both made an unspoken pact to never speak of the moment again. In a vain attempt to smother the memory alive, you flood it with fresh oxygen, fresh consciousness upon which it can feed.
Is it better this way?
PerfectionistsA writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
LifewishA mourning dove hobbled across the road
And I wondered, "Why didn't it fly?"
Does the pleasure of crossing the pavement by foot
Outweigh the risks if it should die?
Maybe the bird remains ignorant
That a passing car could lead to his demise
Unsure of the dangers in the world of man
With no sense of fear in his eyes
Or perhaps he is simply cocky
As he struts across the road in pride
Knowing all vehicles will stop their procession
In order to let him pass by
But I, for one, think he enjoys it
In the way a human walks instead of drives
So the next time you see a bird walking
Maybe you should be the one he walks beside
ScrapVersion 2.0 is ready
The beta is complete
Its release date is tomorrow
And I've heard it will be l33t
This one's fully moddable
No need to deal with flaws
And it's piracy-protected
So you can't break the law
The calendar is built-in
You'll remember all your dates
And the autopilot feature
Will ensure you won't be late
It's compatible with everything
The computer, the tv, the phone
And it'll download all your contacts
So you'll never feel alone
But if you choose not to upgrade
You'll be alienated, at best
Your communication will be archaic
And your accuracy, second-guessed
This isn't really an option
Conform now, or be scrapped
Humanity is overrated
Believe me, the entire brain's been mapped
We've discovered all your problems
And fixed them, one by one
Even those pesky emotions
We've sparked the revolution
NephelaeToday is a sad day.
Why is the sun shining?
I thought the sky was supposed to reflect emotion
Like a heaven-mirror
Answering the prayers of the living
In the form of precipitation
Are the clouds our gods now?
They are notably absent
In this clear sky
An expanse filled with light
If Shakespeare Had a Facebook PageIf Shakespeare had a Facebook page
Would he “Like for Jesus” or “Ignore for Hell”?
How many likes would his sonnets catch,
And would “Macbeth” be received well?
Would the rose smell just as sweet
if no one read it in a tweet?
And would he come up with the truth after a year,
that “Hell is empty and the devils are here”?
Would he whore for likes and friend requests?
Share his results for every personality test?
And post a “Teen Quote” for every day?
Would he be caught up with his anime?
Do you think he'd enjoy RoosterTeeth's channel,
Post selfies in snapbacks and Nike’s and flanel?
Would his pants sag and his status read:
“#Yolo420, Legalize Weed?”
Maybe he'd dye his hair green and spike up the ends
Maybe him and Mark Twain would be #Bestfriends.
Would this 90's kids generation steal the show,
Or would he be the same Bill we used to know?
No More Snow!The snow is piled high this year,
And we’ve all run out of winter cheer.
The holidays have gone away,
But still the snow persists and stays.
February's gone and passed,
And the winter keeps its icy grasp.
I really wouldn’t mind that though,
If not for all the freaking snow!
I cannot number all the ways,
It manages to ruin my day,
And all the things that it wrecks,
From housetop roofs, to back porch decks.
And all the messes that it makes,
And all the work that cleaning takes.
And do you think we get help from snow,
I’ll give you hint the answers no.
It never cleans, or leaves us less,
But always stops to make a mess.
It’s never warm, and never nice,
It’s always cold and always ice.
It makes things slick, and makes us fall,
But doesn’t help us up at all.
It lays around a useless louse,
And when it melts it floods the house!
Now I don’t wish to cry or whine,
Or waste anymore of your precious time.
But the snow is driving me insane,
UntitledThere was a young girl named Clare,
Who styled her own pubic hair.
The statement was loud,
Of which she was proud.
And it disguised that a penis was there.
A Gentleman From FranceA Gentleman From France
I knew a gentleman from France
Who was fond of wine, women and dance
He would drink his fill
Love for a thrill
And not stand still
If he ever could get the chance
One eve in Bordeaux
He waited for an hour or so
Then a lady came by
Who caught his eye
She invited him to try
Then they let the evening go
Didn't I tell you though
He had two bottles of red Bordeaux
Bowser LimerickThere once was a big strong koopa,
He thought himself quite the trooper,
One day he was brave,
The princess he would cage,
but in the end he'd just be a loser.
Jhonny's World, Capitulo 3.Capitulo 3:
“EL REGRESO DE ELENA”
CUADRO DE TEXTO: 11:45 PM Haven Hills.
JHONNY (En c.d.t): Personalmente, no tengo ningún problema en que mis amigos lleven chicas a la casa. (Vemos a Bruce entrando al depa, enfrascado en un faje con una morra) pero carajo, ¿Por qué a mi casa si no viven con migo?, en fin, a la mañana siguiente…
(Vemos a Maru y a Jhonny desayunando en el comedor)
JHONNY: ¿Puedes creer que ese pingüino ingrato me quitó mi cuarto anoche?
MARU: ¿otra vez? Ayer me quitó el mío.
(Bruce sale del cuarto de Jhonny con su “amiga”)
CHICA DESCONOCIDA: anoche me la pase muy bien.
BRUCE: yo también linda.
(La chica se va, Bruce cierra tras ella y recarga la espalda contra la puerta)
BRUCE: no me la estoy pasando bien.
JHONNY: Pero, ¿Por qué compadre? ¿Qué no es tu 12
Gods Thunder~GODS THUNDER~
Thunder storm, thunder storm, let your sound be heard. Thunder storm oh thunder storm it's time to share Gods word. If I love you you'll be spared to live on and breed, but if you sinned I'll zap you now, of you I have no need. Let that flash and roaring noise be your lasting proof, that if you don't believe in me I'm gonna zap you're roof. Thunder storm, thunder storm dance and sing away, thunder storm oh thunder storm kill all sinners today.
An Ode To ZombiesYour eyes are pale as your granite tomb,
Your flesh, it gleams by light of moon
My blood drips from your jaws like rivers of roses,
Sweet fragrance as your body decomposes
Let me join you in your meditation,
Your soothing moans and contemplation,
Of simple thoughts and simple needs,
Like blood to drink and brains to eat
Oh what I'd give to reach enlightenment
On the level of the dead,
To conquer death itself
And come to life again
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More