The most bleached pure lilies
dancing in the spinning winds,
weaving colorless silly
tapestries for nearby friends.
Bleeding, staggering roses
brandishing green stained swords.
Warring nature though none notice
their limbs littering floors
The sad grieving violets
hiding their tears in the rains.
They know well the world's violence,
often picked to share pain.
Pain, joy, and sadness paint such beautiful hues,
They own this land we stand on these reds, whites, and blues.
There is an oasis where I take refuge.
It is brimming with intricate foliage
Whose leaves secrete comfort in hearty drops.
I was fed the wild orchids to give me courage
And had oleander petals laid over my eyes
To make me dangerous.
I was collecting vigor in shallow bowls
And humming songs with forgotten words to clear my mind
When I noticed you there.
I caught your eyes stealing glances
From behind the verdant banks of the lake.
You had the same expression on your face
As the first night I saw you in candlelight.
A smiling grimace,
An ecstasy of caustic delectation and lust
With lambent cheeks and a parched mouth.
As I appr
"A Tail of Two Prongs"
We've talked once or twice.
Me and her labia.
Or should i say her labia and i.
"Play me a tune on your fork maestro!"
She knows, yes she knows.
Two prongs too long to tune wrong.
Perfect pitch hero harmonizing her swoon song.
She writes poetry and prose.
Well, she tries to.
Take her paragraph, tear in half
And a few lines slide through.
Her oceans aren't deep
But At least the sky is bright blue.
She is a Professional bitch.
And still cant pay the rent.
Perhaps she is in the wrong line of work.
Yet,
She's thoroughly dug.
Men with spades, jacks over aces.
"This may hurt," sifting the pay dirt
Grinning
I could repent my dissent and prevent my descent
but I meant to pretend in the end, it made sense.
But the end should have come a long time ago,
we both just held on, although we both know
that we are no longer two peas in a pod,
two bees with a job, you see it's just wrong.
I can't be the guy who just cheers from the yard,
invite me inside, you'll see it's not hard.
My love was a gift, I gave it to you,
my hopes and my dreams, betrayed them for you.
Yes we are different, from two separate worlds,
with you being highbrow and me being poor.
You told me "no matter, I could care less",
now three years gone, it's all a fair mess.
It
Its last call, spread the word up must come down town ship recognize me from that bar code name tag your it and no backsies...
im sorry, my names jesse jackson five star hotel me whats your sign your name on the dotted line of sightseer over there, yeah the one with the tight tube top spin out of control... ok now brace yourself
Can i buy you a beer keg stand up for your rights dont make a wrong and vice versa
vs a vice grip on reality bites the bulletin bored out of my mind field of view
So whats your perfect drug ring on your finger four leg lock the door bell curves on that female man always rings twice... no wait, thats the milky way
Fifteen -- The Waters of... by jkastran, literature
Literature
Fifteen -- The Waters of...
have you ever swam
in the waters on
Bourbon Street?
the waters are green
on st. patrick's day
and you think that
the locals dye the
filth as an inside
joke, teasing chicago's
great green lake
on lake shore drive.
there are just so many
drunks there you'd
think it was just
the fire hoses
and Hurricanes
blasted away
with Hand Grenades
and fragmented
shot tube shrapnel
until you
initiate yourself
with the place
by marking your territory
on a building
with white masonry
and green shutters.
suddenly, you have
the brightest insight
of your night.
Your eyes, serrated blades, cut into the back of my skull, where I know your gaze rests. They can see my thoughts; they know the striptease playing through my mind on repeat. A loop of obscenities and vulgarities that would terrify most, but not you. A wink and a grin and a pat on the head.
Stalking behind me with long, slinking steps, I know your gaze slips lower. Down to where my jeans do not quite cover my hips and my tiny red shirt ends at my navel. You could fit your hands around my waist, or very nearly, long hands with alien fingers. Exquisite hands, for all that your nails are bitten off and your cuticles are ragged. I can picture yo
Backdoors lead to backyards where
they feel a baptism,
and hang costly curtains to drape
candy shelves and simple spinning wheels
in a dime store.
Seven chairs hold seven seats
for women to make a fuss.
Their words leak dandelions and
lacey undercoats once bought in fog-
until their wallets moan.
The first ever "Be a Critic Contest" ended at 12am CST this morning! Thank you to all of the participants for going out into the community and offering your help and criticism. The response from the community seemed generally very accepting, except for a couple of people who I saw haven't read the guide on accepting critique yet! But you guys did an excellent job as ambassadors for the literary community and I'm proud of you all.
So, here are the winners:
~mode-de-vie (https://www.deviantart.com/mode-de-vie)
First place goes to mode-de-vie (https://www.deviantart.com/mode-de-vie), with the largest number of critiques (A whopping 36! IN ONE WEEK!) That's about five critiques per day, well read pieces, her criti
I hope I'm doing this correctly, SparrowSong (https://www.deviantart.com/sparrowsong) asked me to make a news article concerning a contest I'm doing, so please follow the link!
[http://forum.deviantart.com/galleries/writers/1256803/]
It's been a while and you probably don't remember me, but I hope that you're doing well and that life is good. I miss reading your stuff. Are you posting elsewhere?