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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.
Streak Of Light In the NightShooting star,
Look up and pray.
And beaming through the sky.
Make a wish,
Before it closes it's eyes
And forgets you all together.
Since that is the moral,
Quick and forgotten.
Just like we all will be,
Once we close our eyes.
So be fast with your choice,
Since once it comes round
Again, we shall
All be fertilizer for the
Grass to consume.
...of a blissful HeavenEver dreamed of what heaven was like?
Maybe it's a wide field of evergreen grass
surrounded by the lurking forest trees,
where all you could inhale was the damp leaves on the ground
and pines from the trees above, an intoxicating smell
that leaves you high after the rainstorm
Maybe it's in an oasis located within a desert,
however, it is not scorching ablaze,
but it's warm and you feel your skin tingling
a whole new sensation is evolving inside of you
and the warmth wraps you up in a blanket of sunshine
Or maybe it's at the peak of a mountain
where you reign over the world on your solid throne of boulders
the invisible wind is your invitation of escape
and while the slight breeze passes by
you begin to shiver with an adrenaline rush
I could be wrong and you might be right, but tell me dear, what is heaven like?
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th), BI enter the trees.
Between the dozing leaves,
hugging canopy and soothing shade
I awe at a swan bathe.
Cruiseliner, white, pure, naked
graceful, living china.
Seven others chat by the hidden soil shore.
They see me, spread out ornamentally,
politely move away
and then fly
with curved ceramic blades
ready to pierce gravity’s oppression.
I've found Peace.
Owl CabaretIn bright dawn,
hold a daily meeting
among dew soaked daisies.
Their colours speckle
The hum of cicadas,
with white noise.
The colours shift,
humid air fading
to the melodies
of late night owl cabarets.
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th)Prehistory’s iPad.
When light hit the water
a supernova dance of
scurrying dust swayed
in their amber infinite.
When the wind tapped,
the waves flapped their feathers
and spread into
a migration of curly black lines
on a child’s drawing,
choppy pattern after choppy pattern,
wave conforming to wave
into a wallpaper covering
algae, flotsam, dead bricks, dead stone,
until the irregular birds changed the flow.
Be it the duck that draped a dress
behind in a V-shaped groove,
or the pudding-plump coots
who gently honked, imprinting
flat bubbles on water.
They live in the reflection of Life.
Fringed by feathers like icy mountaintops
and dead fish bloated on pollution,
an Irn Bru bottle imitates the nature it killed.
An orange bread packet is ignored by the mallard
for the tragedy it brought to town.
It’s a flat town, a houseless town,
but still a moving community of
twig islets and breadcrumb empires.
Fringing on their utopia is us,
us standing still from dry grey pavement
Theme Prompt - AirIt's a study in duality
Like so many other things.
Calm, gentle, soft, kind
Feathering over my skin.
Rough, wild, sharp, angry
Destroying all in its path.
Air is all of these things
And so many, many more.
Its the pulse of my lungs,
The storm lashing my home,
The thing I need to live,
Though it slowly kills me.
To harness it takes skill,
To use it takes vision.
Take the invisible and
Make it completely tangible.
That is the basis of me,
The core of who I am.
How Smiles Were Born"How Smiles Were Born"
By: Ulrich J Edelstein
Deep underneath the crystals lies beautiful gems of starlight.
The temptations to capture them are beyond imagining.
Only few have been able to reach into the jaws of the creature to possess these magnificent stones.
Underneath the blue swirls
And the reflection of moonlight's grace,
Are the pearls of time.
They have been sprung up onto those who are fortunate.
They have been formed to create a crescent moon of happiness.
If not taken care, they grow weary and decay.
They crackle and shatter
And no one admires them any longer.
It is important for them to be handled with gentleness.
For the future can be presented by gleaming smiles.
For all to admire, for all pearls to aspire to be.
That is why it's important to smile everyday and take care of your teeth.
Citron SunriseDimples accompany her smile,
like children opening their first birthday present
or wise women reminiscing.
Morning fog, sighing over the hills,
calling a lost friend.
Soft, unrelenting voice,
tart like lemon cheesecake,
softened by cream ravines
and crumbling mountains.
Canary wings in flight,
yellow haze seducing fireflies,
taking us away to
beginning and end.
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.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More