|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
April5 TrystYour beautiful back
Billowing like summer clouds
Throws me in a trance.
I'm in love, but we
Have never met, and never
Will. Forget about me, I
April3 HeavyI am but
A heavy oil
That will never dry.
The paint is thick
But my mouth
April1 What Is This Dream? Qué es este sueño?
That I cannot
Awake from nor
A cat laying
Breath15 a minute, 900 an hour, 21,600 a day, 7,884,000 a year
This is how I breath.
In my 15 breaths, 20 children die.
And in a year I waste 7,884,00 breaths
Breaths that could save a life or a love or the world but instead I waste them.
I don't understand.
Because I don't stop there
I waste your breath as well.
And so I don't object when you take the breath from my lungs in a rush of passion
Neither of us comprehends, because it belongs to you anyways.
In my wasted 126,144,000 breaths, I have done nothing worthwhile,
But the future is a big place (supposedly)
StarsI found stars of tea this eve. They were almost beautiful.
I realized these stars held my future, and
Try as I might to arrange them into my desired constillations
They move no more than the dead.
My belly becomes the holder of my
Future, now that I've sipped half the tea away,
and all the stars are gone and because I took so long the tea is cold and I wonder, Like the night I sat with a girl I wasn't sure I loved by the river
I wasn't sure existed; I wonder
If this is what G-d feels like.
Does s/he stare into rivers of tea and stars and wonder about the future?
Does she want to catch a body whilst coming through the rye,
Or would she prefer to just meet and talk instead?
I've reached the pinnacle of my journey; the bottom of the cup.
I found the stars again, in tight-knit nebula emitting a
Kind of pure radiance only I can see.
Which is probably what love is like.
Unable to reach any conclusion I pour the last bit of tea out.
I find no answers to the questions I pose.
Tonight, I though
J'eris en FrancaisJ'ai écrit dans français aujourd' hui,
Parce que quand je fais, je sentis
Je sais ça moi ne suis pas,
Mais tu je laisses j'ai mon amusant.
Sempiternal George Proulx awoke to a banausic morning. This particular Tuesday morning, George dreaded getting out of bed; not to say that he didn’t dread getting out of bed every morning he had to work. Thus is the life of a cubicle worker.
While dragging himself into the shower, George decided he would go out for breakfast that morning, since he was out of artificially fruit flavored cereal. (He never really understood why “fruit” was included in the name of such cereals, since the cereal tastes nothing like fruit, but he didn’t bother to ask.) George was the sort of man that did the majority of his day’s pondering in the shower, since his job required tedious attention to small percentiles.
Once out of the shower (and dressed, mind you) Geor
Rock GardenBoulders float darkly
In a bright, white pebble sea
Pondering raked waves
Wind raises her voice.
Trees rattle leaves in reply,
Drowning out the brook
Moonlight floods the path,
Betraying my lamplessness,
Showing me decay
Mossy boulders scorn
Intruding leaves in pebbles,
Flat for want of rake
I once had hope, a
Cheerful face smiling at Dawn,
Not scowling at Night
Wind speaks through the chimes,
"Body fading frees Spirit.
Move forward, not back."
I pause, close my eyes,
And probe beyond with my soul.
Farewell my garden...
collabapollooza 3.0as i look back on my life i see the patterns i've created. most, but by no means all,
of them have been detrimental to myself and others. the inconsistency of of my consistencies,
the consistency of my inconsistencies; my short-sightedness, my abscent-mindedness,
the apathy of my empathy...
but now and then i catch a glimpse of the changes time, work and prayer are making.
in the window
reflection of a cat
startles the cat
Sharp silver bristles...
An owl, on her down-swoop,
Glares at the the close pines...
the mouse, sped by her fear,
finds refuge 'neath those boughs.
when there is no moon above, no light unto my life's path:
I am beside myself as a stranger in the crowd -
my center has gone and i am pulled into the void.
we, once again, are living in those proverbial 'interesting times'.
not that there is e
Tu-ye khak khab ya ruye abr parvazتوی خاک خواب یا روی ابر پرواز / خوندن سخن مرد ز شیراز
کی راجع به می و ایزد حرف زد / انجامه که دلش با ماه انباز
Tu-ye khak khab ya ruye abr parvaz / khundan-e sokhan-e mard ze Shiraz
Ki raje' be mei ou Izad harf zad / anjameh keh delesh ba mah anbaz
Sleeping in the ground or flying over clouds
Reading the words of the man from Shiraz
Who spoke of wine and God
Makes your heart one with the moon
Keep in Touch!
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