| My Grandpa, Deb, Racism. So much wholesome radness. |
Brief History of 2006
Newest
BaptismBaptismBaptism
She draws the bow across the steel strings. The violin hums and mews while she twists the metal keys, tuning each string until all four cry in a perfect fifth. Every day she plays, alone, in this empty auditorium. The music fills the air. Electrostatic waves pulse through the halls, bending around corners, amplifying at each angle until finally they reach my ears.
She plays Handel and her name is Stefani. She speaks with a French accent and has long thick hair, bright like golden strands glimmering at the center of a spider’s web. She stays up late watching Woody Allen movies and eating Ben and Jerry
by ~YellowSkylark
A fever dream to burn the coldI watch the last Box Elder cling to the inside of my lamp for hours.A fever dream to burn the cold
He circles the incandescent bulb, gradually growing slower and slower. Then finally, he slips, falls twelve inches onto the desk and lays on his back. Six legs gently move above him until at last he gives up.
He dies and now I know Winter will be here soon with all of her harshness. She will paint the city bright white and she will blind me. She will frost the windows and freeze the lakes. I will spend four months miserable. tired. cold. wet.
dreaming of a home I once had, low in the Smokey Mountains, where winter never dared sho
by ~YellowSkylark
Favourites
Seeing Red?You play in your words, angrily like a child left in the cold once too often Words, forming legs, and arms, and claws, and eyes stand up, rise up to form a vicious dance You make daisy chains of the bodyparts of sentencesSeeing Red?
You write secret messages in storybooks, encoding-encasing your truest feelings in mere riddles
Every entry is an amalgam of word-sounds, piled dangerously in teeter-totter towers They climb in madman majestic spires towards your dusky sky
by ~charrlie
October 2009 Poetry Journal31 warming her ears with gentle kisses chilly afternoonOctober 2009 Poetry Journal
30 tree covered hills rise into the sunset dusk sighs softly
29 drifting across the blessed blue sky cloud snail
28 the world bathes in luxurious sunshine clouds departing
27 spinning leaves stream down the empty street autumn gale
26
by *saiun
Hangover with a ViewHe is the boy with clotheline extremes Skin tapered over peautifuk porcelean bone Potruding from tightended flesh, And a smile that overwhelms his presence-- La Luna's crecent sliding accross the Brith of the night, and Into the oblivion of a thousand tiny sunspeckled flecks Warring in ocean tide eyes. And lovely peals of laughter peirce the fog like Headlights rippling through the ground-cloouds Tethered to the earth As I am to you Unknowingly. Unknowingly we are unrequited Heros and heroins of parties and bars Beautifuk only under flickering lights. &nHangover with a View
by ~kairesdream
InsomniadeviantID
| I write I draw Mostly I sleep |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: St. Cloud, MN
- Interests: Few and far between
- Favourite movie: The Life Aquatic
- Favourite band or musician: Modest Mouse
- Favourite genre of music: Folk
- Favourite artist: Phillip Elliot
- Favourite poet or writer: Mark Z. Danielewski
- Favourite style of art: I hate art
- Email: alje0702@stcloudstate.edu
- MSN: jessie24@earthlink.net
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sabias que haveria de chegar
uma noite como esta
em que tudo parece estar vivido,
em que todos os corpos e todas as almas
não parecem ter nada para te ensinar.
xo
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i can show you the bright side of the dark side...
(This is Nessa.
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If any of my posts have made you "lol," then I've served my purpose.
welcome to dA. =]
and welcome to dA!
ps: modest mouse =
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we will fold and freeze together far away from here.Previous PageNext Page