|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Green Zone at MidnightLike human teeth, the boots crunch
the throat-clear truck revving
to ship the soldiers completely elsewhere;
beyond the stucco sheet concrete
of the barricade, the dead heft
of ordnance underwater sound
scattering stars like dark shoals.
Searchlights detonate in the hot gloom.
They spill through the cobwebs of wires
and lie white on the sand, in pieces.
Dead NoteI slipped and wrote a poem
soft as old playing cards
the plastic snapped from the keyboard,
my finger pocking rubber like
a dead piano note; dust-breath.
Missing key, lone and ridiculous
as a Scrabble tile.
I slipped and wrote a poem
blunt as a hollowpoint.
The soft silt of flour on the keys,
globes of oil left jointed sinews
spelling sharp advice from the sweating
chocolate block, the slim kitkat
of the spacebar.
I slipped and wrote a poem
dead as stardust.
The thrum of typing through the letter mist,
insect clouds of occasional undressed
punctuation, crowded like yet-to-be-formed
letters failing to imagine the quiet indignity
of their shapes.
The CometWe stood shivering, my Dad and I, shrunk
under enormous arctic air, watching
the source of all tears spin silk into the stars.
Homeward bound, this mote-borne traveller;
pilgrim after warmth and light, a shattered vase
with nothing to end its fall, spilling glass dust
into a darkness larger than the fever-dreams of God.
Four thousand years ago, it lit the night
and saw the Akkadians scattered like dolls,
a forest of flags tattered in the chalk of moonlight;
urus turning the pages of the ocean;
the hundred-year pharaoh narrowing
rheumatic eyes at the first clear gleam of bronze.
You fall back into those millennia of night;
our planet turns, tilts us into darkness and dust.
Soweto StringsTremolo dusk. Sunlight rills cast
nets along the tigerstripe waist
dusted by ringlets of rosin smoke.
Protea's loose purple shade
sediments the honeyed brazilwood,
the heartache of acacia down in Soweto;
liquid boléro of heat. Zephyrs trill the aloe's
luthier curves, the purfling of matchbox houses.
Strings tuned to four crystal fifths, glazed
by the vibrato breeze.
RuinThis sluice of swamp,
weed-throttled and starred
by lilies mossed benches
lit by lichen like a night of fireworks
and the dregs of forgotten picnics
lost to sleep crumbs.
The gunfire of a diesel ticking over,
heaping sods of dry earth teeth
polished to a gleam of blue steel
by sparked stones.
Engines row against the earth,
snarling it with mesh and acetate,
pestling stone to powder under tangerine totems
riddled like the sides of bullet-flecked tanks
straining at their hydraulic sinew.
In the ruins where we
cricked our necks,
lost in the tent of shadows
where we strung candles and
the brambles still search
over sheaves of broken bricks.
But it won't Come OffHe is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
His doe eyes are shallow pools black with bloom,
nodding from the glasses in his hand to the
bench's arpeggio score of faces.
The courtroom light cuts gems from the lenses
they squeal at the silk; he blinks deep as a frog,
huffing beads of breath on the cold glass.
A mote of dust caught from the cracked earth,
baked dry by how many summers cemented
by hot spit whipped in the oven air.
There is a cough, and he fumbles like a man
catching his dreams; his glasses lurch
like splinted birds and he clips them with a breath.
He is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
They flash for an instant like rain-glazed windows:
a school filled with skulls, lined up like a jury,
teeth falling into their mouths like nuts.
This Day Is...
A day to love,
Someone up above.
A day to commemorate;
A day to appreciate.
A day to reminisce;
A day when someone special is missed.
A day that’s too good to be true,
A day filled with many memories of you.
A day just to say,
I wish you a happy birthday.
What s in a name.What´s in a name?
It´s just a word that we call,
Everything and everyone
has a name,
does it make us a better person?
No... what a shame
Does it define our characters?
No... it´s not to blame
Does it have any financial status?
No .... but maybe fame
So if you´re a rockafella, a Gates,
a Trump or even the Queen
It doesn´t matter
shout your name
I am who I am
and I have a name
cos deep down inside
we´re all just the same.
by Suzanne Karbach August 2014
ParthenopeTurn your head from distant island,
from sandy shore and crystal sea.
Resist the call of the lonely siren
singing death on the horizon.
Beware her song; listen to me;
turn your head from distant island,
where dwells a daughter of Poseidon
yearning, singing a magical decree;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Rest your eyes up Orion,
the stars will guard your constancy.
Turn your head from distant island
as our ship sets sail to widen
ourselves from that mermaid key;
resist the call of the lonely siren,
her seaweed hair fraught with diamond
treasures stolen from that deadly reef.
Turn your head from distant island;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Keys of the PassengerImposing figure
Why do you linger with me here?
A gestured feature
As soft as flowers by
While on my way to reach her
The tarnished silver
Green like the finger I lost
That let my colours
Grow like the flutters in my heart
But take to flight
Out of a viewing standpoint
Breeze by to keep her in sight
A whirring wheel
Below the heel I have down
Does not derail
Wherever hail your address
Ignore and follow
Until my feet fall under
The tears that match my sorrow
With quiet clatter that drowns me
The lanes are melting
My path respecting none a plea
I hear her calling
But over that your silence
A weight's abjection falling
Why do you torture this road?
I travel worried
Because you stay at my right
...I will fight
A desperate race to pry free
The glass is speckled
From threats and heckled terms met
No word is spoken
An air unbroken but intense
A rider chauffeured
The holder of the key ring
So deals I
Darkening SkiesCrystal blue skies was once visible
In a world without anything formidable.
Opponents were partners and villains weren’t wicked;
No crimes had been committed.
But through the years the blue skies began dimming;
The end was now the beginning.
The skies had darkened by malevolence
As the crystal pieces broke away the benevolence.
Shards of glass rained from these falling skies.
Lives were easily taken and it was sounded by cries.
Battles were fought; blood was shed.
What was once peaceful had become dead —
Innocence was no longer carried;
They had a shovel and it was buried.
Tyranny exiled happiness.
War left people defenseless,
Stranded to fight alone without anything.
Cruelty had killed them before the ending.
Their worst fears had crippled them.
Breathless, lying still, eyes toward the sky: they’re condemned.
Forced to watch the ashes of loved one fill the clouds
With embers cascading down as the sirens grew loud;
Souls flickering within the dust.
From the pressure o
ShorelineBetrothed to flaw
To the choice before choice
Where there is only emotion
And a half-remembered voice
Telling what one saw
First line of foamy wake
Loud and churned from behind
There sent upon a seething land
What comes before the blind
As action without mistake
Parts of the watch
A spring or gear or hand
Drowning in responsive steps
Their time is harried by swirling sand
Its face imperfect lie staunch
As islands shape the water
It sends providence unchecked
The first passage of philosophy
Contained of following specks
That grow until all is overturned
Conjoined by the timepiece
Fixed into a broken state
They suffer in each other
First blows harsh to take
Fueled from accosted belief
Let Me OutHeart and mind racing,
still pacing my cage.
each step just to gauge
the odds that I might
get through this in one piece.
Too tired to fight,
yet unable to cease.
I stared at her, as she stared at me,
She wasn't quite what I expected her to be.
I imagined she would be pretty,
I dreamt that she was smart,
I thought she would be popular
And have a golden heart.
I thought she would be tall
And that she would be cool,
I hoped that she would be talkative
And that she'd fit in at school.
Instead she is clumsy
And really quite plain,
She's a little on the short side
And much prefers the rain.
She only has a few close friends
And is otherwise quite shy.
Her golden heart is more like brass
And it's easy to make her cry.
But despite my expectations, I really have to say
That I really wouldn't have myself be any other way.
TnM - Un BrindisThomas Pov
Era el día más feliz de mi vida, me había casado con el amor de mi vida, aun con las dificultades, con los miedos, por la sociedad y demás cosas que nos podía separarnos, con mí ahora esposa Marie estaba en el punto del brindis, su padre entre lágrimas y sollozos de felicidad nos dijo lo que nos deseaba a mí y a Marie, siguieron Jazz, Xavier, Fred, Amanda e incluso Dezz quien es muy tímida, la hora del brindis se acababa
- ¿Puedo hacer un brindis? – comento de pronto la pelinegra caminando a la mesa en donde se encontraban todos
- Claro que si Am, puedes hacerlo – respondí feliz ante mi amiga
La que había aparecido en un sueño aún antes de conocerla, se veía bien con un vestido azul con brillos largo con escote muy sensual propio de ella
- Bueno – empezó cogiendo una copa de vino tinto – Estamos aquí celebrando la boda de unos de mis mejores amigos, quienes lucharon m
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
Keep in Touch!
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