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How Laura met her HusbandHey kids!
“Yes, Aunt AdriAnna?”
Do you want to know the story of how your mommy and daddy first met and fell in love?
“Shut up, Tone-tone. You don’t count.”
Be nice, mini-me. So here’s the story:
I knew your Mommy Laura for a few years, and so I happened to be there when she and your Daddy met. Actually, it was partly because of me that they met at all.
It was during my boxing days, and the alter-reality days, when Laura and I were gallivanting across the country selling clothes, jewelry and other handmade things. Good times. While in New York she was showing me the family property. This led to an impromptu skinny-dipping session and…
Shut up, Tone-tone. So we were swimming, and splashing, and all-around just having fun when suddenly we heard a man’s voice. ‘Doth mine eyes deceive me? Yon maidenly nymphs cavorting as free s
Becoming Someone Else"How," she asked, "Could I be anyone else?"
So honestly puzzled,
I didn't have the heart to break
To the ease of switching personas
like parasitic plants.
Each lashing its roots into the skin
until bare nudity
as well as impossible.
What is Blood?Acrid copper coats my senses
with a hint of iron for flavor.
Once again my white skin
is awash with my red flowing blood.
It spreads like a stain,
an unwashable blot
forming an 'I' on my face
rather than a scarlet 'A'.
My blood must hate me.
It's so eager to escape
that it bursts out at every opportunity,
even flooding my throat at night,
until I awake choking and gasping -
spreading red droplets everywhere.
Unless this is a birth?
My drops like seeds or fish eggs
sent out into the cruel world?
Life and death in crimson flows
and it alone knows the difference.
Mrs Mcrady and Mr PeabodyMrs. Mcrady was secretly a murderer. "As you are in your heart, so you are in truth," and nothing enthralled her grandmotherly heart so much as the notion of doing off with Mr. Peabody, the family chicken.
Mr. Peabody was, technically, a Miss, but just try to convince a set of four-year olds to change a name. Little minds can be the most determined. And once they become a set of five-year olds and continue to seven-year olds...old habits die harder than a smugly vengeful red hen.
From the moment Mrs. Mcrady stole Mr. Peabody's first egg, enmity flourished. Unlike other chickens who drop their eggs thither and yon with no more thought than molting, Mr. Peabody took a certain pride in ownership. The eggs would never hatch - there being no rooster to coax things together - but that did not matter. Those eggs did NOT belong to Mrs. Mcrady!
So it was not quite the innocent mistake it seemed when Mrs. Mcrady's best shawl was f
Healthy DichotomyMy new favorite visual poem
also my definition of 'dichotomy'
My mother walking in the night field
service poodle in one hand
guiding her careful steps
Right hand holding
the skinning knife and
the fresh and bleeding heart
All the quarter-mile home.
The Moose is LooseSo this moose walks into a bar in the middle December and just before opening time. The front door had been left open for carrying boxes in, and then with customers walking up there was no point closing it in their faces. The bartender figured shoveling the back door would have prevented the whole problem, but not even customers cared what he thought.
Since he was the one plugging in the ancient jukebox by the doorway, he was the one the moose saw when it sauntered in. It looked at him with big brown eyes, like those of his dog or first girlfriend.
He stepped aside and with dainty steps it declared itself a patron. It looked around, bemusedly, like any other first-time customer without friends. There was something appropriate about the brown fuzzy animal and the stained wooden boards.
"What's that thing doing here?" His boss tried to whisper but from across the room it became more of a loud croak.
Larimara and PrincipeThe third night, after she finished her dance, he lay her down flat on the mattress and gently covered her with the sleeping bag. He lay down beside her on top of the overhang and smiled.
It was a surprisingly gentle smile.
His face was scrawny, his beard was straggly and there was a gap where a front tooth should have been, but he looked like a little boy on Christmas morning hoping against hope that somebody remembered him.
"Do you like stories, Larimara? I bet you know lots after being around so long. But you can't talk." This made him frown a little. He stroked her hair wistfully. "No new stories." He repeated this, then suddenly loomed over her. "But you can listen! I'll tell you a new story. And you'll always remember it."
He settled back down, with his right arm under her neck and his left resting on the sleeping bag above her stomach.
"There was a little bab
Captured AngelHe sat her upon the unsupported mattress and faced her cross-legged on the bare floor. The zealous reverence in his eyes made the dingy bed with its sleeping-bag blankets on par with alabaster pedestals carved with angels.
She sat still and silent, hands clasped in her lap and eyes staring into the unfocused distance. Even when he got up and arranged dresses and frills around her, tributes spread like flowers, she did not move.
He sat again to stare at her like a miner seeing the sun; hesitant, wondering, pained yet pleased. "You're my angel," he said. "I've always wanted one, so I could leave. You're going to take me out of here, and you'll never leave me, just like I'll never leave you. Right?"
He paused and then continued as if she had spoken.
"The other angels left me. I wasn't good enough. Or they weren't strong enough. Just like mother. She didn't want to leave but she di
The Crane's DaughterThe crane's daughter loved to dance. She would step lightly, fanning her sandy-white wings counterpoint to her slender legs and red-tipped crown. In the fields and upon the marshes, she stepped and stretched and danced.
In the fall the flock decided to leave for the winter grounds. But the crane's daughter swayed among the frosting grass and refused to leave.
Set after set departed, but the crane's daughter stepped through crinkling water and would not fly.
Her mother and father pleaded, red feathered crowns bent in supplication, but their daughter would not stop dancing.
The flock leader came and heard them. He told the daughter to fly. She danced.
So he plunged his beak into her heart and freed her parents to at last take wing to the winter grounds, leaving their red-tipped daughter posed flat in the summer lands.
Slivers of light(French version below)
The most dreadful winter of my life came.
I abandoned the idea of a blossoming future,
Fled the misery of my own motherland,
For a woman I have far too often dreamt of.
Among the singing buds of the Shinto shrine
A white plum caresses my back,
Its petals lull me, my eyes are sealed, sweet reverie,
A convent of grass
The junk of my thoughts
Send me to Amaterasu.
Blushing Lotus, enticing Lilacs, panting Azaleas,
So many mistresses!
Enough perfumes to be drunk from them.
Why, my promise, have I been waiting so long to join you?
Your hair like Sakura flowers
Your laughters sound like Shamisen.
Over the pond, a dragonfly sits down and begins to dream
FireThe fiery warmth.
The sparks of red and orange.
Destructive, passionate, yet mesmerizing.
In an instant, it can take away a life through its destructive ways.
But yet, it can save a life with its warm embrace.
The fire spreads.
The tongues of flame licking at the fuel,
Its light throwing shadows dancing across your face.
Dangerous, yet safe.
Angry, but calm.
Harmless, until one spark lets loose.
Then the fire is free.
The master of chaos,
Hidden beneath a façade.
Wait until the veil crumbles,
To reveal its true power
Monarch MorningsMistress Monarch spreads
over white-capped mountains,
a new dawn seen through
thin antennae masks
and yellow-trimmed lace.
Two Second ShutterSun-rimmed glasses magnified hidden eyes,
the leopard's sleek fur a mosaic of leaves.
Tempting irises with an earthly fury
shift as forest shadows dance and writhe,
breathing so close, you can't believe
the trees haven't fallen silent yet.
Sunlight spirals twinkle down to fireflies,
tiny flares lighting on quivering whiskers.
The stage is set for unrequited desire;
you pack up your camera as she stirs, languid.
Some things aren't meant to be captured
and out here, your camera is a cage.
In a momentary fall
Prodding the air
Crushed with the rest
Melt like your brethren
I never liked you anyway
with spotted tomato wings,
I wonder what you think
when others threaten to devour
Nature's thriving crop.
Do you yearn to stand up,
break each sector of your shell,
and reveal the monster within?
Or would you rather find solace
among verdant green foliage
until there's nothing left?
Not even a single carrot
or dandelion to savor.
they'll mock your existence,
The Blue CurseIn the fit of rage,
At the stupidity of mankind,
The rain was fiercely angry,
And in her anger,
Long ago, in the storm,
The rain cursed mankind.
The curse burned deeper
Than the brightest red,
Not bringing about senseless anger,
But instead a heartbreaking sadness
That broke them,
But left them alive.
It was blue tears,
And those blue feelings,
That ruined them.
From blue gave birth to the other colors.
For what comes from sadness but change?
So blue became sadness.
Each generation of mankind,
Turned bluer, and with each lifetime
The sky turned grayer.
Until it was but a pitch black.
And the rain was satisfied
With her work.
And the Blue Curse
A New Babylonia?I see machines gutted
and with their intestines exiled
from their choked motors,
Silk Road cables stretching over
and halls mangled with plaform
like a robotic Pompeii,
the setting sun being in
the shade of fallen pillars.
The computers are Atlantis', damp.
The rooms are
The walls are the papyrus
for weed-comatose prophets,
spray-painting the word of Cock
in the name of Lexxy's Library,
and the hanging gardens
are of squished moss,
the rainwater lakes
copper as Hephaestus' automatons.
We are tourists to Gizan pyramids of rubble,
watching in awe at these mummified metal corpses
of the 9-till-5 work line.
Both Sides of Her HeartI didn't ask for this to be thrown at me
I didn't ask for this role.
I was chosen to lead a pack,
But I can't lead myself.
I didn't ask to fall in love with two
And be torn apart by both.
I could never kill either,
Yet I know I must.
I didn't ask for pups
Or the life that I live.
I don't know if I would've chosen it
If I had the choice to.
I didn't ask for this,
But I have it none the less;
So I should spend what little time I have
Joyously with those I love.
For I love two males,
And I know both are great;
For I am told
From both sides of my heart.
How I was BornTake a muddy handful of dreams
and mold them into bones.
Tie them together with sinews of love
taken from roots underground.
For nerves take fine spider-silk
and lay it with the muscles
which were formed out of tireless hope.
Cover them all with heartwood
letting the inside of trees
be the outside of me.
Robin's eggs make fine eyes
full of hopeful happy light blue skies
And river reeds for tangled hair.
Color my lips with cranberries
And lastly: a breath of poetry
to awaken me and serve as my soul.
Hath No FearGiving yourself completely up to fear is kinda like falling in love: You can't pin point exactly when it started and by the time you realize that you are surrounded by that sensation it's already game over. Just like the image of the person you are in love with starts creeping out from every unexpected corner, fear never leaves your side when you give it a welcome stay. After a restless sleep, it starts beating anxiously in your heart the moment you wake up in the morning and commands all your thoughts and actions throughout the day. It is nothing short of a prison, except you are the only inmate and the warden never takes a break. Ever.
I do not exactly remember when I let fear occupy my being but I remember the exact moment when I realized I was ruled by it. It was late in the afternoon, everybody was out there 'getting busy living' and I had locked myself inside my bed half awake, not particularly finding any valid reason to get out of it. Then I was awakened from a nightmare by my
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More