glen

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Growing Up by glen, literature

Literature

Growing Up

The woods are gone now. Decimated and paved to winding roads and large homes adorned with grotesques on pedestals in the front of reaching driveways. But at one time, it was, and in my memory, still succeeds to be, a home where brush and trees swooned and it keeps within the overhanging branches around it's perimeter, fiercely, a portion of my still beating heart. I used to walk there with my grandparents, and my Father, I'm told, used to roam the trail between here and there with his friends. We built forts, all of us, out of fallen wood and open oak hollows, and sometimes boards from the community when they could be found, though all at

Spirit Construction by glen, literature

Literature

Spirit Construction

I crawled from out the ether to a home in medieval mortar and tragic, Roman Vestals praying; daring darkness 'round a hearth. A long and voiceless elegy carried me far into perdition, as I gazed upon the firestones, and they dug me down to death. Beyond the thread accosted, dreaming through an ivory gate, I saw the terror of the Vestibule, the despairing plight of my ghost-to-be. I lifted off my knees, removed the religion from my soul, and walked, and walked, and walked, on a trail of asphodels; straight into a wood. Enchanted in fractured moon-glow, Artemis cracked the birch to speak, called a sleeping thrush to hum, and

Romance in Metaphor by glen, literature

Literature

Romance in Metaphor

As we sat in silence, child small, we made shadow puppets on the wall; and with our right hands, fingers arched, good lord! We made a heart. But as soon as our fingers touched, as though preconceived, all at once, our hands gave a jerking start; and we each tore it half apart. So many times it's come undone and I've fought for love and hardly won, but it's never, ever been much fun, at least not half as much as breaking fingers on a wall, sitting in a silent hallway, waving candles, child small.

Making a Doll in Hell by glen, literature

Literature

Making a Doll in Hell

From hands wrought with decay, I sculpted you from the deepest, red clay and shaped your form in funeral pyres; raised you up with damaged hands, out the dead-man's fire. I sutured your sides with my own hair, bound your limbs and threaded together tears, and I beat you so you would soften up then pulled over the clay; filled it, with my own skin; with my own blood. And as we sat below amorphous skies, I poured sand into your empty eyes, until they overflowed into building dunes, turned to glass, and shone like diamonds; like stars from out a darkened room. And I built your soul from memories, sought out from days so heavenl

I Dreamt of the Wood and You by glen, literature

Literature

I Dreamt of the Wood and You

I dreamt of the wood and you dying in darkness, entombed by laced up, matted moss, surrounded by snow-broken limbs, and swaying tree-tops. I buried you beneath the peaks for you to seek some semblance of peace in growing, restless tides moving on through salt and silence and trailing moon light. Years inside this porous dream I stayed; not content to leave, Praying upon your extempore tomb, every day, until from the dirt you were exhumed. (Then) I dreamt you to an emerald bloom, bathed you in light from amiable moons placed you within a field of empyrean clouds, made your arms thin birch, your eyes hazel boughs.

Rain Bucket by glen, literature

Literature

Rain Bucket

The child shurked the clothed claws, chin up. Her eyes blown up, broken eggs, her hands high kites - and they soar, swaying and crashing into power-lines. Her smile broad, her Mother thunder-scared. The world is melting into wire frames, changing seasons in color photo moments, but Mother fears for that shaking sickness; tells the girl to drop her gaze, fly her feet, and make her way inside. Tiny steps turn melodies and wet windows write glass harmony, the monster halo flipped it's wire - called the wind within it's arms, broke out her finger prison and flew miles and miles and miles; to the lightning tip, to sky teeth, to that

Dreams and Heights by glen, literature

Literature

Dreams and Heights

If you've heard of me you've sifted through trees and twine, crawled into paper hollows and followed a whisper on an empty night - Sailed to me by waning candle-light in the midst of a growing storm; followed that call into exodus to a far off, foreign shore. See, I have spent my life bending ink and rigged this thing to blow, built the cannons, aimed real high and I've filled my words to float - but my one true dream relies on you; you, and you alone, to pick apart all I ever wrote and let me live, forever, as a quote.

Church Mouth by glen, literature

Literature

Church Mouth

I am as advantageous as a wishing well, as stoic as a dream in Hell; festered up with love and metal faces, an aspiring child's hope and silver pieces, but though they bar themselves from speaking secrets I will always let them down. My lost affection was chained to an angel disguised; A prophet who fell from an open, hallowed sky remaining upon the beach in throes with the swells, her heart beating in time with those majestic bells, and from out her lips, spinning stories, she tells of Arcadia. Long she stayed on the blazing, sand knolls speaking sometimes in old, stone, cathedral tones, and I asked her on what principle a

There is Always Time by glen, literature

Literature

There is Always Time

I want you to be my Judas, my plague; my hollow wind. I want your subtle madness inked upon roads; dragged upon skin. I want such haunted beauty, it aspires; it transcends, the forms we lay in open ground, shallow graves; plots of men. I want such bloody love, such devastation; such devotion, to never regret the cogs we turned in life, that we designed; we set in motion. Finally, I want a tortured soul, to repair; to piece together, to tread upon a lake of fire that never quells; that flows and burns (forever)

Bound Up Tight by glen, literature

Literature

Bound Up Tight

I often feel like candle wax; like water treading in a lake. I am the pumping, noxious heart of all empty things carrying time and dwelling in the folds of its constant flow and in that I exist, but barely. Ink is my brooding malice and paper my dying mirth and at times they whisper to fill one up with bad poetry and malformed verse. Tonight, they say, I am vicarious coffin weight, decaying social grace, and the lungs of a monster, breathing shallow just before it screams.

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Growing Up by glen, literature

Literature

Growing Up

Spirit Construction by glen, literature

Literature

Spirit Construction

Romance in Metaphor by glen, literature

Literature

Romance in Metaphor

Making a Doll in Hell by glen, literature

Literature

Making a Doll in Hell

I Dreamt of the Wood and You by glen, literature

Literature

I Dreamt of the Wood and You

Rain Bucket by glen, literature

Literature

Rain Bucket

Dreams and Heights by glen, literature

Literature

Dreams and Heights

Church Mouth by glen, literature

Literature

Church Mouth

There is Always Time by glen, literature

Literature

There is Always Time

Bound Up Tight by glen, literature

Literature

Bound Up Tight

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loop. by mwanadongo, literature

Of Laurel by lebatte, literature

Literature

Of Laurel

Were we split or shaken by qualms and quarrels, Quaked from boughs in bushels no longer cherished; Were we rocked from resting upon our laurels, Laureates perished, Sense would part from substance, go unattended, Try to sense itself, but not sensing ever; Substance lacking sense would be left unmended, Parted forever: Blue apart from sky, for the air was looted; Red not rock nor flame nor a beating bloodline; Grassless green, the sod and the seed uprooted; Light without sunshine; Heat without the sun's heavy tide of summer; Sweet without a tongue nor a licking lapping; Beat without the blow of the drum, nor drummer Steadily clapping. Coul

To Feel It Pound by lebatte, literature

Literature

To Feel It Pound

I hold my heart when thunder claps, I hold it when the courier raps Upon my door — to feel the beat It often hides — it drums so sweet And then subsides to tender taps. My heart is shy when only maps Can dare expound what hungry gaps Consume the ground between our feet. I hold my heart And tear the envelope that wraps The lifeblood printed on your scraps And feed my veins like summer heat Is supped by rains. Until we meet At last again when storms collapse, I hold my heart.

Deviation Spotlight

Swallow by glen, literature

Literature

Swallow

I swallowed stones for a girl once, tethered a daughter to my arm, raised her with my own hands, and pulsed so much blood through the wire it became a vein. Eventually I fell, slammed to the floor, like a marionette savagely thrown against a wall. My guts were full, of sediment and my stomach swelled too much. I breathed dust and ants, swallowed as much as I was able, and tried to get up with my daughter in tow. Clumsily falling back over, with bruised hands and forced, rough, breathing, I felt tension from the other side. The line pulled taut and hard and dragged me from its end across so many splintering boards I

Swallow

glen

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About glen

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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Oct 28
United States
Deviant for 21 years
glen.deviantart.com
He / Him

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Current Residence: United States
Favourite genre of music: Really anything.

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glen

Dec 20, 2012

Thank You!

0 min read

My poem "Swallow", as suggested by Storyteller21 (https://www.deviantart.com/storyteller21) was featured by thorns (https://www.deviantart.com/thorns) for a Daily Deviation. I couldn't be more grateful to the two of them and I encourage anyone reading to go check out their work. As far as all the comments go, they've been overwhelmingly positive and it's been a great inspiration. I promise I'll get to responding to them all but it will take some time. Again, I thank you. Literally just last night I very much considered giving up on writing entirely. I know that others have had a horrible time this year and I would just like you to know that I'm right there with you. With any spare chance I've had I have purs

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glen

Dec 10, 2012

The Search

0 min read

We all would like recognition right? I'm working on it.

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glen

Nov 30, 2012

10 years

0 min read

It was my tenth anniversary on DeviantART the other day. Which means I've been here for just over a decade. Initially I started out just doing whatever - and then I found my calling in writing and continued to hone that until present day. So, if you look hard enough, you can find rather embarrassing early work in my gallery. This includes drawings, graphic art, and really angsty, teen writing. I also remember what it was like to create groups before this new system where the pages were designed specifically for group use. I'm proud to say that throughout my decade on dA, I've successfully helped several unknown artists become known and even

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Profile Comments 250

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andreea-oana

Sep 20, 2013

Please vote for me for this contest by liking this picture:

www.facebook.com/media/set/?se…

It's my first contest and I really really wanna win!

Thank you <3

spooky1014u

Mar 3, 2013

making a doll in hell is awesome!!!

UrDeadlyDesire

Jan 7, 2013

Hey your poem "Making a doll in hell" has been featured in

glen

Jan 10, 2013

That's excellent! Thank you very much

StarkindlerStudio

Dec 18, 2012

I often find snippets and poems that I enjoy from various folks here... but your work is very thought-provoking. It's very powerful, and as a visual artist, I am inspired by your work. Your writing is absolutely beautiful, and I am looking forward to the chance to read more of it.

glen

Dec 20, 2012

That's a great compliment to hear and I look forward to hopefully inspiring you and everyone as much as I can. I realize that you went out of your way to tell me how much my work meant to you and that, in and of itself, makes it worth it for me.

Thank you very, very much.

StarkindlerStudio

Dec 20, 2012

You're absolutely welcome!