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Imagination: Apparition of an Artist.
Imagination: Apparition of an Artist.
When it calls to me, I attend to it with the aids of unseen entities which although are not corporeal have a consciousness just beyond my own, which I cannot touch. I know them, they are familiar, the fragmented spirits of my soul; there is no animosity between us only understanding and intransigence in pursuit of our consuming goal. The gates of action are warm, and glow, we are through them before I am aware as hands, busily, attend to weaving, stroking and ordering, calculating and directing all that hands may do.
The feeling as finger tips slick down wet paint is warming and nurtures me almost more than the artwork on which it ends. All is pleasure, the eye of my mind watching me, creating - the flow, the froufrou, of imagined silks and lace, ladies with long unbound hair in the dressing room giggling; as the air crackles with humour in whispers beside my ear. Head kicks back in ecstasy over the height of flamingos stalkin
Stylised Cliche: not a love poem
(not a love poem)
Punctuality; the thief of time.
I'm a conserver of moments,
The couture in fashions of late.
a stitch in time is for knits.
I should know;
I've been late all my life.
What you've been told,
It's all been lies.
Five past instead of five to, is no crime.
Why call today when tomorrow there'll be more to tell?
It's a talent, my trademark - can't stop now.
Dream to the song of birds.
Awake with the sun in its full term.
Work till the eleventh hour
But party till ten.
No, proficiency my friend.
You call it disrespect
But am I not worth the wait?
In the nick of time to fashionably late?
My heart has its own beat.
My arms refuse to tock.
My life will be measured by more than the ticks of a clock.
Sorry I'm late (I'll say traffic this time)
The world, always waiting for me to arrive.
So, like any performer I have rehearsed my lines:
Happy belated Birthday,
Oh really - It's daylight s
Page 248Miss Mallory was in the library as usual
The ghostly silence of the library was musical
Again and again she searched for a new book
A black tattered novel was what Mallory took
"I don't recall reading this one" she said
There was no title, but a red symbol instead
As she opened it, dust exploded in her face
And the black book landed on a random page
Page 248 was blank, not a single word to be seen
"What's this? How odd. Whatever does it mean?"
She placed her palm onto page 248, very curious
In Mallory went as the book snapped shut, victorious
Falling, falling, and falling, into some unknown void
Her mind was losing it, her precious memories, destroyed
Swiftly and silently, poor Mallory disappeared in a wink
And onto page 248 was her life, written out with black ink
The black book flew back to its dusty home, the top shelf
Where one day, a curious soul would grab to read for oneself
An advice for the readers: "Beware of page 248! You ought to!"
"Don't be hungry for a book, for this book
PortalThe birds are about
The clouds are out
So let's go and find
Some sort of mind
That does not care
But to where we want to go
And golden sunshine
Paint the way for us
Let's see where it takes us
To a faerie field
Full of daytime wheels
We can spin to wherever
Acrid blossom bells
Wave goodbye our cells
So let's not disappoint
And in their bright wave join
As our minds overflow with chance
Our feet are lively
Our smiles are wide
Do not hesitate
But to smell and taste
Like children's memories
Cruel mares can slumber
With all the other
But far aflutter
That picks at our aspirations
Storm fronts behind
Their intent unkind
So let's keep running
And never stop shunning
The past for all its pain
Our purpose so delayed
Become battle calls
To challenge in our midst
The devil's wrist
Nipping at our heels
To try and peel
The veil from our pictured
Suddenly SPIDER!Big hairy scary spider just ran at my naked feet.
I screamed and lifted my toes and now it's under my seat!
And now I'm scared to move
And now I'm scared to stay
Where did that hairy scary
Emerge from anyway?
Memory LossMemories... my soulful melody
Intertwined within a grand symphony
Though the experiences remained ever-lasting
I neglected to reflect upon their meaning
As I continued on, living in irony.
Nonchalantly, I continue the journey
Unaware of the terrifying reality
Truth begets hate, then understanding
Abolished of my stupidity
I will come to terms with my destiny
Clinging not to fear of dying
Yet regretting what I am becoming
Something fading into obscurity...
Mister FoxA gentleman, Reynard, they say,
Is quiet where he walks,
His silent smile will change your day,
That’s why he’s “Mister Fox.”
And should you listen for his pace,
His quiet, sooty socks,
Are soundless, still, or in his race,
The feet of Mister Fox.
Coming to the wedding door,
With timid glee, he knocks.
Who hasn’t invited him before,
That charming Mister Fox?
A cunning lad, always so mellow,
I know to knave who mocks,
The kind and somewhat silly fellow
They know as Mister Fox
Some afternoons with tea and bread,
He sits down at the docks.
Admirable, his coat of red,
And red is Mister Fox.
He has no need for petty things,
Like gold or diamonds or stocks.
More precious are the songs he sings,
The sociable Mister Fox.
After your feet slips off the stirrup,
And you fall on the rocks,
What friend comes by to help you up?
Who else but Mister Fox?
Sometimes his wolfish claws aren’t neat,
Or his grin has teeth of crocs;
But no-one’s words are soft and sw
A Message to HeavenDear Great Grandpa, I wonder how you are
How is heaven, do you remember me?
No matter how many stamps, you are too far
But at least my letter is for God to see
Its been years since you went away
But maybe you will read this somehow
Because it is too late for what I want to say
But back then I knew less than I do now
Dear Great Grandpa, I have to ask you
Because you never seemed to talk much
And I guess I was the same too
I want to know about your life and such
They say in November your first breath was took
How was it growing up in the changing past?
For that world is just black text in my school textbook
And I only know of the eight years that were your last
Is forever lost wealth depressing as the name?
Was it like an apocalypse when the whole world fought?
What joy you had when the chains wore out their fame?
Did the future fantasies come faster than thought?
How did it feel to live in new land?
Or when the colors splashed on the screen?
Were the sparkles and fashion beyond understa
The Nonlinear Steps of GriefHer legs kicked up on the arm of the couch
Swaying feet in neon socks dance to a tune
That no one else hears
As I watch over my book across the room
Pretending to read this dusty old tome
For a history class chronicling the fall of Rome
While she reads a novel by David Mitchell
And dreams of a world far from home.
The sunlight in her hair, the moonlight on her toes
As she gently sighs and snuggles up close
She’s a tactile creature – speaking by touch
When the use of words is too much.
I hate this timeline – I really do –
This timeline where the sunlight’s crooked slant
Only serves to remind me of all that I can’t
Hope to achieve here – the choices few
Leave me here all askew.
And all the while I still search for you
This timeline won’t do – it’s just not for me
There has to be one where we can still be
And not just be but thrive happily
The tree of time with branches all scrambled
With this one twiste
Romance del MalqueridoEra por el tres de mayo,
y apenas amanecía
era por el tres de mayo
cuando esto acaecía.
"¡Antonio, abre la puerta,
Antonio, córrela abrir
pudiese ser tu padre
el correo o la Guardia Civil!"
"Que no es correo, mi madre
Ni es mi padre querido
Es la imagen terrible
de tu yerno, el Malquerido"
"Calla, Antonio cállate
Cállate que no vá contigo
Retírate a tu habitación
Bien dices que soy malquerido
Me malquiso esa tu hermana
Mirándome con desprecio
Me quiso muy mal tu hermana
Que para mi no tenía precio.
Ahora deja que pase
Que he de teñir estas telas
Teñirlas de carmin profundo
Con la sangre de Manuela"
"Mira que dices, Felipe
que a mi no me lo dirías
Cura que dices Felipe
que tu foso te cavarías"
"Yo me cavaría mi pozo
Tal como estoy, con gran gozo
Mas te dejaría, Felipe
Tal como eres, envidioso"
Diciendo esto el Antonio
echó mano a la navaja
y de un golpe certero
hasta el corazón le taja
CrossroadsIf you came to a crossroad without signs, which one would you follow?
Would you walk to the left, where there are pretty flowers decorating the roadside,
To the right where you can glimpse little traces of glimmering gold in the cracks,
Or would you walk straight ahead on the dusty path full of pebbles and holes?
If I told you that things aren't always what they seem to be at first glance,
Would you think me superstitious, shrug if off and walk the path you like,
Pick the path that seems to be the most pleasant and entertaining to you,
Or would you stop and consider what I might be trying to tell you.
If I told you that a guide informed me of the roads you stand before,
Would you believe me if i said those pretty flowers on the first path are poisonous,
And the gold in the cracks will poke into your soles and tear up your feet,
Or would you believe if I said that the rocky road is not hard to walk on?
If you came to a crossroad without signs, which one would you follow?
Would you belie
The Hour of the Wolf
The Hour of the Wolf
3am, the Wolf's Hour - and I am lost.
Weaving shadows thread in an arachnids net,
Suspended before his eyes, my soul's tossed,
Inverting from within, meaning's silhouette.
The Wolf's rule is law - The arbiter of sleep:
Nothing is sacred- childhood hopes nor fear.
From a parliament of dreams no tyrant reaps,
Hallucinogenic leers serve to domineer.
Held in his grip by the abyss, I toss
I turn; yearning the end of the nocturne.
While most men lie with nature's nurse - Oh Loss
Feral hunt by Gabriel's Hounds; end my turn!
The thousand eyes of night, by day turn one,
While by stencilled stars, the wolf awaits in wanton.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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