|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
What is PoetryIs poetry writing out a sentence and
separating it into different lines with
some vague thoughts to
stanzas and some consideration to rhyme?
Is having some emotional advocative message what
we consider to be the key in
what determines if it's garbage
or whether it's true poetry?
Arabesque Cold earth, dripping grass, illuminates the breath. White against black...white against black and
is gone. The blackened sky, ravenous, engulfs everything. No wind to distract, no winged calls
made and answered, no feelings to penetrate the skin. Stillness in peace that only the stars violate
with feverish dances. Amidst it all, they sit, fingers entangled, lips frozen to the words that stir within.
The warmth of romance
PavaneFog tiptoes across the water's face
Trees bow solemn, holding their breath
While the lake shivers, lonely
Waking, I see her form
Waltzing, twirling down
The banks where she
Once and still
The End-December 20, 2012-
Death travels lightly through the spaces between galaxies. He stops off briefly at a few stars and leaves bursts of misty lingering light in his wake. Normally he would stay a bit and watch the halo of the supernova expand before moving on, but tonight he has somewhere to be.
Tonight, Death dodges the planets and the meteors and weaves in and out of the space debris until he comes to a small blue planet. He takes it in his hand and cradles the little thing, letting the white wisps swirl around the sphere, gathering and thickening.
Such a young thing; younger by eons and eons than so many others. As always, Death feels sorry for the young ones who will never come to know understand what they could have been. He stands still feeling the planet pulse in his hands. He feels the hum of the earth, the undulations of the waters and most of all, he hears the ceaseless buzz of the inhabitants. Within the din of chirps, bleats, honks, roars and snorts, he can pick out
I would make you immortalI would make you immortal, my dear
I’d lace your morning tea
With crystallized droplets of
My life’s breath, and make it sweet
I would have you drink the cup,
Our only wedding vow
For us to be forever,
Nothing left to part us now
I would, for you, my dear
Break the oldest most sacred command
I would have you for myself,
Never to fear jealousy by Death’s hand
I would, my love, I would
But you would lose so much, I fear
Much more than I have to gain
And I’d never take away your smile, my dear
Even if it means I must one day share it with Death
Numbers7 was no ordinary number. He was born with a purpose. He, and not any one else had been chosen. As he lay on the clean white floor just moments after his birth, he knew that he would one day amount to something great.
7 looked around and saw that he was alone. "I wish there was someone else to share this great wide whiteness with.." As if on cue, another number appeared before him, fresh and new. "Who are you?" 7 asked.
The new number looked up at him and answered with a giggle, "Silly 7, can't you see? I'm 9!"
"Oh! 9! Right " said 7, feeling a warm and fuzzy, "We're awfully close, aren't we?"
9 giggled some more. "Yes, we are," she snuggled up closer to him. "We're meant to be, don't you think? You and me? 7 and 9 together?"
"Yeah!" said 7, "You and me. We'd be 79!"
"No, silly!" 9 laughed, "I don't mean together like that! I mean...you and me, I was thinking we could .multiply "
7 smiled giddily, "That would be nice "
"Well, you can count me in!" said another voice
Situations"Then tell me, hon. What is normal?" She said softly, letting her fingertips slide gently along the curve of his thumb.
He swallow hard, enough to feel a catch in his throat. His right hand was frozen stiff under hers and his eyes were caught by the lustrous coral red of the lipstick on her lips. He thought he knew the answer but for the life of him, he could not remember what it was.
He caught her hand as she was about to run and pulled her back to him.
She turned around to face him and looked at him inquisitively.
"I believe in you." he told her firmly, sincerity in his expression.
She gave him a quick smile, her trademark mocking leer. "Your belief ain't enough to get us out of this mess." she answered before turning again and rushing into the gunfire.
"Big puppy!" the toddler babbled in his mother's arms as they strolled by the fenced in pastures.
"No, honey. Those are sheep." the mother told him.
"Big puppy! Look!" the boy insisted gesturing in the
Do you even knowLuke yanked the blow dryer away from the girl. She had been holding it muzzle pointed straight at her face, both hands on the handle, looking quite dangerous.
"Do you even know how to use this thing?" he scowled and said partly with mild irritation, part tauntingly.
She stared up at him with huge unearthly eyes just as when he had found her in the middle of the light beam surrounded by headlight orbs in the sky.
He no longer found her threatening and felt like a good Samaritan for caring for her like a lost kitten. She didn't speak his tongue and he hoped to teach her how.
"Here, I'll help you," he said as he searched for the on switch. He flicked on the knobbed black switch and a jet of piercing blue-white light shot from the end of the muzzle. A hole that extended into the adjacent bedroom now graced the spot where his diploma had hung in his living room.
She took the machine gingerly from his shaking hands and switched it off. She looked at him with a look of pity and almost sadisti
A Fairytale AgainA Fairy Tale of a Gold Basin
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, there lived a witch locked in a tower. For the longest time, she waited. She waited until her long black hair became dusty until her clothes became moth-eaten. For a long long time, she waited.
You see, the witch did not always live in the tower. Once she lived in the town amongst the civilians. People paid her for her cures and charms and she was quite content.
The mayor of the town did not like her at all. He hated witches, he hated their magic and their potions, claiming that doctors and scientists could do far better. Most of all, he hated the fact that she was prettier than his own daughter and that his daughter's betrothed was completely taken by her.
The witch loved the young man and though they courted in secret, she came to trust him.
One day the mayor went to the young man and asked him with a heavy sigh, "Do you really prefer that witch to my lovely daughter?"
The young man was a bit vain by nature and he d
The Black CatNew York in July can at times be rightly described as a hell hole, the heat so oppressive that your utility bills have to soar or you bake even at night. In the old days, the trade in ice blocks to cool the air was immense, but these days air conditioning has taken that place.
Even with that, however, some people prefer to sleep with the window open, and on this particular July night Cissy Barker had the window of her apartment open and the air conditioning going full blast. Even with that, however, she slept restlessly, as she kicked the covers off and lay in her grey silk top and shorts.
She mumbled something in her sleep, reflecting the dreams she was having – unaware of the shadow that passed her window, or the rustle of the curtains as they were moved to the side and a figure came in.
The woman wore a black leather jacket zipped up to her neck, tight black leggings and mid-length suede boots. Soft leather gloves covered her hand, and a stocking was pulled
Awaiting the StormShe awaited the storm. She’d been waiting all winter for a good storm. Bring on the thunder, she thought, bring on the lightning. She craved the crash and boom of thunder, the electric streaks of lightning. She’d heard a roll of thunder. Not a crash or boom as she craved, but a rolling across the sky, deep and long, but not shocking or loud. The lightning was just a brief flash of light, no distinct bolt.
It seemed the storm would disappoint her. It was silent; the moon peeked out of dark clouds, its silver light diluted. She sighed, it seemed she’d have to wait longer for a proper storm. Still, she watched the sky, nose pressed to the glass of her window, her blankets spread around her.
She should be sleeping, she had work to do tomorrow and it was after midnight. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from the ever shifting clouds. It wasn’t raining, and, save for a few gusts, the wind seemed calm. The thunder and lightning must have just been a tease. Mother Na
Artyom (1)The crack of metal on wood split the heavy silence of midday as Artyom’s fist pounded the door, protected by a half-inch of brass. He grunted and punched the door again, splintering the wood. He punched one more time, gritting his teeth with the effort, and the door gave way, sliding an inch or two forward and opening a gap wide enough to push his arm into. The first thing the Russian did, however, was pull the combat knife off of his hand, flip the safety off of the G3 he was carrying, and scan the wasteland of a neighborhood behind him. Sharp, blue-grey eyes picked out details from behind the red visor of his pre-war helmet: the dust blowing through the skeletons of houses, the click of the Geiger counter attached to his belt, the massive, limping tracks of some poor bastard, too mutated to even call natural, let alone human, who’d passed though maybe a week ago. Artyom sighed, still alert but at least no longer uneasy. He turned back to the library and pushed his hand in
Dragonfly DreamsTiger cub, dozy and playful, adventured to the water's edge, chasing a dragonfly's laughter.
But dragonfly danced a little too far, spiralling up and over the blue of the water to the blue of the sky, away through the canopy beyond.
Tiger cub stopped, a little forlorn, and sat at the bank, jostled by the reeds to wait for the dragonfly there.
Because, for all of his stripes, cub couldn't cross the river.
So he sat, and he waited, and he watched the sunlight scatter across his dreams.
And he sat, and he waited, but the water kept on flowing. The sun set. And rose. And set again. And the aching of his stomach matched the aching of his heart.
Whispering river, dancing skies; blurring and grey at the edges. Too tired to stand, too hopeless to mewl, tiger cub curls into a ball and fades away.
Because no-one ever showed him. No-one thought to say. And for all of his need to chase happiness, cub didn't know tigers could swim.
Jolly Old Saint NIckAfter he had slashed open the millionth letter from some present grubbing child demanding a certain media fuelled toy, he snapped. The gears inside him must have given way because he seemed no different. He hoisted himself into the sled, and waded down every chimney just as always.
But then he saw the child gazing up at him, and he asked "Have you been good?"
"Lies," he drew out the huge inexhaustible bag of coals and let it drop on the child's head.
Suddenly he felt lighter. Nearly free. A smile stretched across his face.
Ho ho ho.
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More