[x]

rootslike drowned men who have lost their
clothes and faces, they lay suspended
facing the sun and grinning without
eyes through the ripples of the water.

those passing by wonder how they got here,
these homeless men without fingers or toes
long spindly stumps twisting into lost roots:

reaching to the east, to the south,
to the homes they have forgotten.

tree, fiddler crabIt took days to hollow out the soft parts
of the trunk, dig out the tree-flesh and sap,
polish the raw wood so that when he sat,
there would be no splinters. He carved his name
into the side, like a blessing, a declaration
of good fortune, and stowed his forest inside.

The SculptorBefore he would have harvested a tree,
hacked off its limbs,
skinned it,
torn it from the earth,
shaved one by one its cells - its outer core,
until it was what he believed it was,

no more a tree.

Wiser, he walks deep in to the wood,
underneath a forest giant he stops,
looks up in to the leafy branches, sighs,
climbs and sheds his tears upon its boughs.

Boylan BooksI first see Neal across the open sparkle mall floor, paused in serious contemplation thought speaking solely to self, whispers not for ears or voices only thoughts, shining thoughts, open thoughts thinking marvelous wonders of books and dust and corporate-but-not bookstores. His hair is green not really but blue and green pirate green, red bandanna is he a pirate? asks the little girl with pigtails and chocolate snot embarrassed mother shoo be nice that's rude tugging hand with look of so sorry, she's five, not smart enough yet, please forgive and Neal with open half-grin smiling not really there but almost, not speaking but almost, not acce

SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.

You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribs—and then against each other's.

November became solstice, and

the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseI find it
disconcerting
that
you are the King
of my own Head
& that I am
subjugated
by my own
temptation

My bones, your
welcome mats,
cushioned
to your insatiable
satisfaction

--

I find this
discomforting,
your constant
rebirths in my
libido, despite
three years of
silent therapy,
false recovery
& worshipping
the wrong gods

you are the best muse
for struggling artists
everywhere & worst
case of the bubonic plague
since the bubonic plague

--

I find you
disenchanted
in the middle
of any where,
peeling flesh,
lulling sullen
sirensongs at
3AM

I shot a flock
of phoenixes
& ate Adam's
poison apple

red leaves and Robert Frost.When I was young, my virginity was sacred. Entire religions pray over it and my father bought a gun so long as it meant protecting it.

We throw away half of our refrigerator each week – meanwhile, 24,000 people die of starvation every day.

Hardest part is, sometimes wasting things can't be helped.

At the bus stop, before I could drive, boys would ask for my phone number while I tugged up the neck of my shirt. Asked me how old I was while I crossed my legs under my skirt.

I told them I had a boyfriend even when it wasn't true, because they'll always respect another man more than my disinterest.

Hearing "I love you" for the first time

RosesYou love too much, I am told by a man with a briar heart, thorny sinews and collapsed ventricles bearing down on him, hardly beating in his tight chest. He looks at me with flat, slate eyes, chipping and eroding. His hands are dark with cigarette burns and rough with calluses; I feel them on my shoulders as he looks down at me, face collapsing in at his eyes like a dead man's.

For the first time, I realize he is dead. His briar heart dried up when winter killed his rose; my father, he is all thorns.

He squeezes my shoulders, too tight. You look like your mother, you know, he whispers, eyes shifting to the garden, to the yellow rose I plante

for onceCold

blackempty

like the cavern where crimson vellum once resided

Drenched in reticence,
your empty blue eyes do nothing
but freeze the blood in these veins

surrounded by phantoms,
i lie in the dark next to your fading silhouette
between sheets that hold so many memories,
they are empty,

like the chestnut eyes that bore into yours

And as the rain falls harder
as it falls faster

washing down the streets
through deep alleys,
down endless roads,

for

once

just

once

i pray it takes me with

RatsWhen I was a little girl, I went to church. Our church was an illegal one: the building was unregistered.

We would sit on the benches made from stolen floorboards and listen to a man dressed in black as he read us tales of angels coming to save righteous men from evil, their swords clean and their trumpets blaring.

The man dressed in black was old. He was sick. His Bible was missing pages.

One day in March, my mother turned to me and said clearly, "Masha, I want you to remember something for when you grow up." Maybe she knew she was dying. "God loves murderers."

I just looked up at her, thumb in my mouth. My mother was still a beautiful w

Continental DriftI suppose you call this time fall.
It’s always autumn to me. Your alien mind
likes to speak in a distorted tongue.
And when we see the spinning leaves
drifting down an eggshell sky
I catch oak, and your hands are empty.
There half the houses stand empty,
you say as you watch rain fall.
There the world is bigger than the sky,
with room for my restless mind.
I know you pine for maple leaves,
for bittersweet syrup on your tongue.
The words are waiting to leave your tongue.
This land is small and your heart is empty.
That’s why everyone ups and leaves.
This place is paradise after the fall,
There you can be naked. No one would mind,
no one would see you bare yourself to the sky.
Through the window is my perfect sky,
the places that come easy to my tongue,
If we left maybe no one would mind
but me, I say. But if your land is empty
who would catch me in your wondrous fall?
If your land is perfect, wha

starspunobserving the romanticism
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.

you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
you watched
all my pick up lines
drop things.

we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
of starlight,

pretended
that two teens at the park
at midnight
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)

your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
in thoughtful
paths.

i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.

i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
stars

YellowMy parents bought a little two-bedroom house when they first got married. It was run down, falling apart, but most importantly: cheap.

Two years later, my mother fell pregnant with me. She immediately abandoned her job for some plaster and paint and set about decorating the untouched spare room. She splashed pastel yellow across the walls, replaced the dingy carpet and kitted out the room with furniture.

Sixteen years after my birth, and the yellow paint is flaking off the walls revealing the kiwi green beneath. I can peel back the corners of the carpet to reveal the worn underlay and half rotten floorboards. I can examine the fringe of my

if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

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just try and make me go awayAll these truths I hold as such

I've watched my father die
I've watched my mother dig her grave
I've watched my family fall apart and seperate
I've watched my fathers love dragged away
I've watched a brother disappear
I've watched a brother die

I've been stabbed, I've been kidnapped
I've been beaten, I've been bruised
I've been raped, I've been hurt
I've drown and I've been a victim
of abuse, beer, stress, sadistic joy

I've felt pain, hate and love
I've felt fear

I've lived half a life
I've lived for an eternity
and wished that I hadn't

I've been questioned, I've been accused
I've been found unfit, I've been nothing

I've b

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Submitted: February 11, 2012
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Swallow

by ~glen, Feb 11, 2012, 9:24:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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 bled from my fingers trying
to fight it.

Until,
it frayed and snapped.
Admittedly, I cried for it
and I shoveled debris and carted blood
swearing the whole time
I'd never swallow stones for a girl
again.

Then I met you.

Swallowby ~glen

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

It was brought up and I think it holds some sway in maybe helping you all understand this poem a little better. About two months ago I lost my daughter.

Come on guys, give feedback!
Slap that fave button, post a comment, do something!
Don't just look n' leave

Support your community! If you should feel that this piece should be featured as a daily deviation, please note ^Beccalicious or $wreckling who are the acting literary deciders of Daily Deviations and let them know!

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-12-18

Swallow by ~glen ( Suggested by ~Storyteller21 and Featured by `thorns )

love 9 9

joy 2 2

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 5 5

fear 1 1

~~neutral 0 0~~

*NearlyInvisibleMind May 2, 2013 New member Hobbyist Writer

This is phenomenal!

~Storyteller21 Dec 28, 2012 Writer

Its been almost a year since I read this and faved it, now I wish I could fave it again. I love how each meticulously chosen word weaves seamlessly to make such a moving piece. Its been close to a year since I first read this and it's still touching. That is the mark of a brilliant writer

I'm so glad you got the DD and this whole wave of positive feedback

~CrazyLilAnnie Dec 22, 2012 Student General Artist

The line "pulsed so much blood through the wire it became a vein" was so powerful it made the hair on my arm stand up. This poem is so beautifully raw it nearly made me cry, then I read your artist statement and I realized why it got me so choked up. I am so sorry for your loss. You are a beautiful writer, and I am glad to hear that you decided not to give up on your dream.

~TygerTyger12 Dec 21, 2012

i would never leave without a comment this is truely amazing and well written it definatly gets a fav!!!

~KyuubiProxy Dec 20, 2012

Received a DD very deservedly. The flow is very nice, and it gives me the feel of literally feeling very "torn up" about the situation. I have not cried yet, but upon reading your comment, a lump of feeling within my throat has formed.

~Miyori999 Dec 20, 2012

At first, I didn't know what happened. I assumed it was a miscarriage, but after reading your comment, it makes me feel worse about what happened. I've never lost anyone, but the way you word this immerses the reader into it, and makes me feel very sad.

~NekoNekoGirl997 Dec 19, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

I'm so sorry for your daughter... And you show the most beautiful love towards her.

=RoyalBlackheart Dec 18, 2012 Writer

This was almost painful to read. It's not overly graphic, giving the reader the ability to draw it out for themselves.
Wonderful and so very deep. I am so very incredibly sorry for your loss.

~glen Dec 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much for your reply and I'm glad this moved you

It means a lot to me. I really enjoyed your poem Delicate Petals, especially the lines:

"I like to hide in your depths
Sink into despair
or softly rise up like a phoenix."

Keep it up!

~iNSaNiTY-Piano Dec 18, 2012

This is very emotional but very well done

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