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A Loneliest Way 6 a.m., a time where I belong cocooned, caped in a bed comforter amidst vacancy. The home is quite aged for the neighborhood. Morning fog, the cloud farce. Visible proximity is twenty meters. Farther out is an artist’s favorite flavor of canvas: blankness. The sun is but a luminous speck of white, like a flashlight under covers.
A rat ahead scurries from a rusty gutter, and if were me, that rat, the world would be comfortable among darkness and scrap. The streetlight bronze measures my shadow meters longer than factual, my ears under an in-town railroad bridge; I am further from a lamp now. This neighborhood is made of brick and, rising from untilled grass, appears as nether-squares. Shaken are the doors of elder homes. The paint had peeled like the boils of smallpox, their porches creaking and missing planks.
While my heels are aching damp, clapping the beige sidewalk, I muse over my steps. Clapping soles. S
A Library ShouldHelp support the price tag.
A telepath’s wish kindles in bone.
Sale the Dragon kindred reads a story all alone.
The aisles, misty forlorn
aisles--shelve they forgotten tome--grow
their own economy on a coin currency stone.
The printing press of paper
spruces up the orphan wood.
Books never adopted, a library should.
nestled upon bed peaches tinctured
with feather fleece cover; aroused her charmingly
the swan youth who dove.
Do covet lightning hair-streams a feminine kiss,
zipping electric neon blue strands charging fleece.
Oral pearls’ luster elucidates forth
in service to gaiety.
The bed-ship sways, lady navigating an atlas female.
Brunette in repose dips her brow to vanilla neck,
source of blueberry skin aroma.
Her braids swivel caressed by the ingenious
touch of her mate.
Vision fields finally interlock;
unified eyes frolic iris meadows.
As lilac buds blossom also lips gentle brush,
casting a cerise flair of blush.
Felicity, as well a sapphic love.
I Tie Love to a Lion's BalloonI tie love to a lion’s balloon.
A salon rinses curls that soak and shake away the
scents of other girls.
Wrung-out bonnet of acacia shampoo.
A boutique is our zeitgeist.
Thalia ItaliaWhy, audience, throw tomatoes at tragic plays for being tragedies?
Life is tragic; eat them during a comedy.
To tragedy she tends to tease.
Talented intrinsic comedy release.
Acts antecedent made lacrimal the coterie
underneath such secretion manifest vineal priests.
Such vineal priests.
At branches’ ends tomatoes worship pendulous
swaying neatly neat.
Cleavers axe their thorny stems.
The atheist coterie, now above their seats
aim savagely tomatoes to the sad stage beneath.
There then seen is Thalia, comic masque in hand,
playing her funny bugle! The ivy, a fragrant snake at her command,
slithers about her feet as they skip,
leaping to actors dead.
She knows them dead;
with laughter-filled persuasion she causes them to stand!
Holding hands in merriment the cast in circles leap
like the muse of idylls delights.
Frowns into smiles form and keep;
Death atop his darkest horse removed.
The audience, although jubilant, continues to weep.
Lovers out of script reuni
Before Partisan StepsHungarian Jew Alexander White
witnessed plights antisemitic, doom’s insult chaperoned handily under Hitler’s
His heartbeat resolute,
below White watched a Budapest cinema
SS officers flittered boots, flooded the movie house as would bewildered
animals, arresting age fifteen Alexander;
as Fuhrer claims, “The problem at its root.”
A Serbian copper mine to White sent work,
awarded no serenity in time.
He told another prisoner, “For food, my coat is yours,”
afterward flying from the fences!
Sooner gunfire heard his task to endure.
There down a daedalian river
parallel to a chapeau cap
besieged by water’s curtsy: a cap diversion onto stalker dogs.
Halt, you canine Nazi!
Into mountains White escaped,
trekking aimlessly dirt distances.
Dead leaves would not bind his movement.
And at last, when tired knees he grew
stifled every step,
Yugoslavian Partisans were to adopt another suffering man’s
nearly deceased st
The Flamingo PoetEveryone uses spoons in the morning.
I’ve a fork stirrin’ my tea
served with worry in a pink cup
Flamingo porcelain aviate
my tea in crooked wing.
Feathers rattle & quiver. Wrist riots,
I shiver, spill tea on fingers
fashionin’ four searing rings.
Invited calm sips incinerate lips,
my tongue tolerates a singe.
Steam pinkish pipes a voiceless misery binge;
poetry, a flamingo by the fringe.
Acta Diurna VIIMorning, stilled in a grey photo.
I am a mineral speck in slate mountains flanked by the salmon halo of Lady Gaia.
I left and pondered all the pictures I could capture.
Camera remained on the dresser.
Why do we share photographs?
Memory mustn't be pleasing seemingly.
Humans share photographs likely to convey messages of emotion,
or to detail without word.
Some share only to express their ability to steal the moment like a firefly in a jar
when the flash is on.
And some want for others to know where they were.
“Glory to the setting of man.”
Indeed, glory to the setting of man.
it perches on my rounded lips
as a bird prepared for flight.
I will fill it with my soul
until it's bulging - days stretched
so thin they hardly separate
and butterfly mornings blur
into strawberry eves.
In a blink it will be gone,
a breath too hard and
Autumn in My BloodLustrous morning jeweled with dew
Spirited brown sugar winds
Summer's haze is stripped away
The sky shines like crystal
Every tree a tapestry
A masterpiece of color
Lively air spices my lungs
And whips my hair around me
The earth is awake with every fiber
A festival of roguish splendor
Beauty, Concerning a Spider WebDew drops catch the first light
From the rising sun, still stretching
As it awakens for another day,
It’s routine tasks unchanged.
The shadows shrink as the new day dawns,
The heat of day lighting up everything.
Not much is hidden from its scorching rays
As the day burns on.
The web, now devoid of moisture,
Is hidden from view, remaining
Invisible to all who pass it by,
Its beauty unrecognized.
As the sun starts it's eventual descent,
The world becomes restless as the
Light it adjusted to for vision
Starts to fade.
Shadows stretch across the ground,
Darkness slowly taking over as
The moon graces the sky, taking watch
Over the world below.
Soft white light bathes the world,
Dancing along the surface and
Adding a sense of wonder.
And the spider web, forgotten during
The day, now catches the moonlight as it
Dances along it's threads, bringing it to life.
Nature then readies to repeat its melody.
Last Days of AutumnDays grow shorter, the air more chill and crisp
Sweaters will be replaced with coats in a matter of days
Awaiting the final leaf of autumn to fall
Cool breezes shift gears into frigid winds
Gray clouds blanket the once blue sky
The sun hiding its shy face behind the the dyed cotton puffs
Rakes and leaf blowers emerge from hibernation in their garage dens
Wildlife gather the last of their food for a three-month slumber
Soon rain will be substituted with snow
As the last days of autumn come and go
Opening welcome arms for Christmas, for school holidays, for New Year's
Bidding farewell to autumn and good day to winter
the creekilluminated green shivers
slender brown skeletons bear their life-giving factories
thick brown spines burrow deeper
water rolls and falls over ancient pressed earth
taking some with it on its journey
challenging the fish with its never ending agility
dainty aviators alight on tall grass
their iridescent bodies scatter sun
the light which makes the whole place glow
little skaters skate on melted, moving ice that bends to their will
they skate in groups, they scatter when approached
their long insect legs splayed
small birds whistle for attention
black-feathered scavengers boast about themselves
shrill cries come from birds of prey
bare-headed vultures are silent, only watchful and observant
New MoonI saw garish eyes of the skies
Sun and Moon in the ties
The husky east wind blew
Playing that dusky tune
The day effaced itself
Extinguishing it's hearth
The evening mourning time
When day and night combine
Then I saw springing stars
Blooming in nightly tars
Falling from their affixion
Burning out from the friction
Looking like fiery slashes
Turning out into ashes
I didn't make a wish
Not to feel too selfish
White clouds dyed black by night
Covered the sky ruining the sight
Lower and lower the moon went down
Behind the horizon to finally drown
Like into attar to bless a new morn
When Sun peeked afar, a new day was born
Halfassed Nature poemYou took my body
from the end
to the end.
You have become a parasite.
Bigger than the ones that ride
Tore me limb to limb.
Like the laws of nature
like a mother
I will set you to right.
shall be put to control.
Put to rest.
Like any other species
I will send a disease.
This epidemic will bring balance.
The loss will cut the numbers
just as you did to me.
And I shall claim myself back.
Unpleased with the creatures that have possessed me.
I cleans myself.
I will fight for myself.
My name is Earth.
ConstellationsInterconnections is quite intriguing
On one side you have brilliance
The other is dull to everyone else's view
The beauty of it all is the line...
The small line between amazing and wow
For what we hear is, "there's the silver lining!"
"The great dipper! I can see it!"
For the small diamonds are multiplying
They never leave and are our foundation
For we make a wish on a little light
We say please come true!
We rub our hands together and close our eyes tight
Tight enough to see the stars in our heart
We allow the light shine
And let the stars take us away
For everyone that wishes on a star builds something grand
They build a bridge that connects our hopes and dreams
And when we see it in the sky we build our little name
The name of infinity and beauty
Our little constellation in the sky
The SkyGo Outside and lay on the Grass
Look up toward the Sky
The Sky is like an Ocean,
And white Sea foam
Watch the Clouds shift slowly,
As they make their way across the Sky
As they travel,
spots of blue peak through the cracks
Nowhere to be seen
Hiding behind the misty Clouds
The Breeze blows gently
The Crickets chirp happily
Clouds form pictures to entertain
A silly face,
Or a mythical creature
One never gets bored,
Whilst watching the Sky
Be it Day,
To be free to move as a Cloud,
How wonderful it could be
Up above with deep blues,
And gentle whites
Take the time,
To go Outside,
And enjoy the Sky
DreiadesTo lash fuchsia
Is, to Future, stain a floral bed,
Whereby a billion butterflies
Embellished in a belle of white
Lay weary heads!
She's awoken with a morning
Tucked under a bang
All rise the hanging grapevines
And fruit veins
So compelling her to sing.
"A nymph of forest
Forfeiting her needles
Such am I,
Pining for a fire to keep me
Oh so warm.
If the cool is wavered
And I heed what fire warned,
I shall sleep on with the seasons
Until butterflies are adorned
With their own beds."
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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