[x]

blue sluicecast off care like blue
snowfields into rigid water,
and wash with mud the thrust
of earth, our skin soft as salt mines.
built you are
of bitch and buttercream,
of soured elements in the blue
dot of a pin-prick spotlight
and windowed skull.

we can watch the fire fade
into a black rat canvas,
into blue gates that tumble up
and loose finger grooves,
smear eyes across your face like warpaint,
faster and faster,
momentum in the race to nowhere.

and once done, we turn,
we go aground and push
up the lines of blue backs
orbiting the moons of that
rising ass, around corners,
a shattered life in starshine,
the masks
beneath the

HousewarmingShe opens windows
in their wintery home, hopes
to let the cold out

when it doesn't work
she scratches matches to life
and burns the house down.

The Witching HourFreshmen don't get to choose their dorm rooms.  There are a few that are set aside specifically for freshmen: the small rooms, the ones with awkward angles, the ones farthest from the Dining Hall.  But when the entering class is larger than usual, some of the rooms usually reserved for upperclassmen are opened up.  If you're lucky, you could get one of the best rooms available.

I had a large class.  And I got lucky.

My room wasn't huge, especially for sharing with a roommate, but it was on the top floor, right by the Bell Tower.  It had a soaring ceiling, with windows nearly as tall. &#

immolatethe first step
to sadness is to
have.

[3]

poseidon
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shattered abelone
shell fragments.
sometimes the
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
us, taking
what's his.

[5]

the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
me sometimes,
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
oscillate
through an ether storm.

the person i am now is
not compatible
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
fingernails?

[7]

we caught the
moon

Even ThoughThere will be no caged fingers,
no tendons finely tuned to A from tension.

There will be no clenched teeth, gritting rosin,
to make the final singing note growl.

There will be unwinding bed-sheets,
hands slowly releasing the tuning pegs.

There will be slowly sliding scales
as the four limbs loosen past playing.

There will be a simple, quiet exit,
not to ovation, but to a hushed audience
who anticipate an encore,
even though it is uncertain.

a hat made of bricksLet me plot it out for you

in the moment that I will wipe off this cake smear from my eyebrow, pull the warm cookie dough out of my nostrils I will

I mean

I will change something!

in the moment that I blow the feathery feathers from the pillow I like to chew on for days and nights

and nights that are in fact only

transvestites of pure sharp daylight bodies in dark glittery flowing gowns

as soon as I

get all these feathers down and out and down

I will change something!

I have already planned a certain number of possible attempts and

would be quite pleased if you could

stand next to me and

cross them off the list

with this

pen th

FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower"Dora speaking."

"Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..."

"Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice."

"That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing."

"You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is."

"Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...."

"Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or an

WingsIcarus eats his breakfast in front of the TV.
Balances his Wheaties on a butter knife –
Big and strong on jagged silver cliffs.
On cloudy days, he watches fireflies
Blinking in Morse Code,
Hollering help to the tree sap they're trapped in.
He scoops ladybugs up in the crook of his elbow
To count their spots backwards,
To ask them where they've been.

He doesn't understand the morning news.
He feels it like a nosebleed,
Like a thick intrusion,
And when the worry clots on his lip, he trembles.
He says, "Papa, I wanna paint the world for you,
But it just won't sit still"

Icarus doesn't want to be in charge of hiding the unive

exhibit.Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage

and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we

are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the

zookeeper.
Get us more milk.'

She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)

Roar. We are learni

BirdcageNothing ever happens the way you read in the history books. In war there are never two armies, there is only a field of men. Never a number of dead; but individual lives snuffed out. That is what the subject of history is, years shelved and decimalized. Birth and death, graphed to the simplicity of lines. Great wars a footnote to the next great war. The achievements of men and women plotted out against the bookmark of day, month and year.

And somewhere amongst this, my mother breathed. Somewhere danced in now long-closed nightclubs, laughed at jokes told by a younger version of my Father. And then the unpin-able moment she fell in love with

petrichorNiobe weeps.

gold scattered rough across
cracked earth and the last
remains of summer - they fell
like leaves in the arms of the wind.

some scents cannot be captured.
the gods bleed onto rock,
and the stone sends her prayers
in return: petrichor.

listen - the heavy thud of
rain on parched ground;
the monsoon sealing life back in;
the sky bows and kisses earth.

Niobe weeps.

BrackishAfter the wet season, before
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.

During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.

This is my Pang

O Dan Rot.Dan Rot, a man
of considerable comic timing
who came on rackety wings around the globe
in thirty days or so,
visiting once again with a night on his heels
copping feels on innocent ladies pillowed in bathtubs,

i.

i was black like night
and i was ringed in rainfall
i was so glorious

a spiraling psyche led me to one thing
and this town never could have contained me
a spinning science to my insanity

bends in the system and curves of the power lines
a beauty to plywood and splinter breaks that cannot be defined
bends in the path, a northward slide

strand you in a parking lot
i was vicious and viscous
and i was perfect

as i die

Retraction of ChlorophyllLonger nights,
                 and shorter days,

Sinking towards the horizon,
the sun stretches itself against
pulsating veins – retracting
from margins to petiole
to stems –
           unmasking
                     green

Girl in the War It did get easier, once I started to imagine things were moving fast, too fast to fathom, too fast to see the stars but only feel them intrinsically on my skin—little pinpricks, little bubbles of air to touch my cheeks or take my breath. Or, you know. The sort of rambling things I was letting myself think, so long as it kept me distracted and living.

The window was damp with me leaning against it, and in that position the teeth-rattling rumble of the ol' greyhound's engines was churning my stomach much the same way a headache had been thrashing behind my eyes for the past month. I rubbed my ragged sleeve into a patch of fogged glass a

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 857 bytes more ▶

More from ~ndris970

NeurosisQualms transcend Xanax bereft
facetious jackasses...

Fulminate Fall                               A burst, so quick, the fulminate fall
                          From luscious jade - gold sickens all
                        Radiant crimsons trace their veins

Midsummer's Dream           Merry flashes roll and cry
          Beguiling force of Heaven's wry
          The crackling wind, shifts and sways
          Speckled silver flakes its rays
                                    Wanderer of brilliant shuttered shade

Cafe NoirLuxurious
soothing
bitter aroma

....so repulsive

AscendingAlone and
Arbitrary
Approbation ablaze
afar

Precipice             I rise
                    where
              prickling grass
        meet crumbling
                rock.
And peruse

       The mountain cliff
whistles
  and jagged edges

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Writers--club
A group for all writers!

#theWrittenRevolution
The words are the spark.

#DD-Catalogue
The Home of Daily Deviations

#TalentedWritersGuild
Talented writers, quality lit!

#Poets-N-Prose

#GrimGloomTale
hiding under the ash bark

#Love-Literature
For The Love Of Literature!

Details

Submitted: June 3, 2009
File Size: 857 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 39
Favourites: 173 [who?]
Views: 7,371 (4 today)
Downloads: 63 (0 today)

[x]

Raw

by ~ndris970, Jun 3, 2009, 8:11:54 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

           Hailed as the weeper
                    that cries in your stead
  Those Albatross claws ruptured my redd
              Gone is my hollow
                            of prickly twine
             Leaving its chill-
                       burrowed 'gainst spine

        I'll be the lost one
               seeped in the ground
   Sniff up my ashes with Baskerville hound

Keep me the dreamer,
               Please,
          keep me so sane
    Rolled, pricked, and marked
                    as meat to your grain

       Hear my heart beat;
                      forever I'll rest
             A thump and a moment
   -with clichés at best

Rawby ~ndris970

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Written May 16, 2009. Major edit August 25 2011 & August 2011.
This is an all-time favorite of mine, so frequently ends up on my front features.

The poem examines the inner turmoil one feels when a person walks away from them: a deep-wrenched sorrow as your life turns over & a martyrdom- begging them to return even at sacrifice to yourself. (The actual inspiration is a the ending of an long and devote relationship)

There area also a few literature/cultural references allusions: The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Pat-a-Cake, Tell Tale Heart, Sweeney Todd, and Sherlock Holmes.

See if you can collect all 5!

_______________________________________________
For the Written Revolution: [link]
1. Did this piece transfer you to the emotions I was trying to emcompass?

2. Was it clear to you? If not, any ways you can think to clarify it?

3. Is the rhythm and flow good?

4. What do you think if the title? It's changed a lot, and I think I'm happy with it, but always room for improvement. (Changes have included"Against Pure Emotion" - "Artless Devotion" - "Raw")
5. What do you think of the format and floating lines? Does it make the piece more compelling?

Daily Deviation

Given 2011-11-02

Raw by ~ndris970 Suggester Writes: Although capturing so many allusions in a short poem is something very challenging, ~ndris970 managed to do that— and more— very well. This also showcases great use of rhyme and pace. ( Suggested by =angelStained and Featured by ^Beccalicious )

love 2 2

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 26, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

Keep writing and keep creating.

~ndris970 Jan 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much!

=DailyLitDeviations Feb 2, 2012

You are quite welcome!

!Bayonaloveart Nov 13, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I can almost taste the words.

~ndris970 Nov 15, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much!

!Bayonaloveart Nov 15, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you for putting this up.
You have to think when you read. Now that's wholesome poetry.

!pixieplay Nov 2, 2011

Oh, this is lovely.

Hidden by Owner

~Eziotehwomanizer Nov 2, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

I like the allusions, and I can't believe you actually got so many in there. I can never do that. This poem hit home, it made me think of all my past relationships and how this is exactly how I felt.

Hidden by Owner

More from ~ndris970

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Raw

Rawby ~ndris970

Daily Deviation

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style