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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.
100mg of nature.the clouds are lost today,
like unsung lullabies
stuck in the throat of a strangled sky.
the flowers levitate today,
their tissue paper wings
pink sertraline dreams that the bees cannot sting.
the trees bob their heads today,
like tired old men
falling asleep in church, disillusioned again.
the white thistles are stuck today,
entrapped by their names.
hissing popcorn on stilts, or rupturing brains.
the sun mottles the grass today,
in psoriasis patches,
like liver spots on ivy in the window sashes.
the wind kisses sick patients today,
tucking them in,
and then flees in a rustling dress while she sings.
Kidnapped Eevee! What do you do!?You were walking through the woods minding your own business until you heard some muffled cries. You were curious about the sound and followed it. You came to an abandoned warehouse and went in and saw two figure’s. One of them was a male Gurdurr and the other was a female Eevee tied up.
You went to hide behind some crates and listened closely to what the Gurdurr said. He said something about getting excited to sell her as a sex slave, but the Eevee didn’t like the idea and cried inside of the ball-gag.
He went out of the warehouse and was there for some long minutes. You felt sad for her and you…
A: Untie the Eevee and let her free.
B: Take her as a slave.
C: Take her as a pet.
D: Submit to the Gurdurr.
E: Teach the Gurdurr a lesson.
F: Leave like nothing happened.
G: Anything else you want.
AutumnReds and Golds;
there are pumpkins everywhere.
fall off the golden trees.
The smell of rain;
fills the air.
Frost covers the land,
leaving behind a crystal wonderland.
In the pumpkin fields,
getting lost in the corn maze.
for Trick or Treaters.
to the rain drops,
patter on the roof top.
While the smell,
fill the room.
It is autumn,
and soon winter will come.
Plunder straggly timber
above frosty mists
implore the heavens
PremonitionsBehold as the sky
Cries its tears,
Shatter like glass
Against cold &
As every spite
Of thunder sounds,
Blinding with the
Shocks of lightning.
Behold the scene,
For tonight's sky
Is our future.
FallAs the leaves turn
So too do the pages of a new chapter
A blank book
Or perhaps a page with some notes on it
When the leaves fall
They are not ending
They are beginning
They are pausing for a second, a minute
Maybe you should, too
Maybe you look at the trees
Because maybe there is a little bit of hope
Left to be had in this world
Or maybe you look at the trees
Because maybe everybody comments
On how beautiful they are
And nobody comments
On how beautiful you are
But you are beautiful
And so are they
And so are we
And so is this
And maybe you have to wait
A few more seasons
Maybe today isn’t your day
But one day you will be able to
Let yourself go
Prayer of the Peaceful oneQuiet contemplation.
See with closed eyes,
But with opened mind.
Cold wind and rain,
Whisper in my ear.
Meditation of soul...
Give me stillness of heart,
Grant me calming sublimity,
And oneness with the earth.
SerenitySit below, down upon the great green rock
And watch, as the water tumbles soars down
High from the mountains above
Gaze at how it disappears, in the starry sunset
And how the trees dance, with the golden wind
And I sit, there at the edge of the river
I wonder, what it would be like to exist
There, at the top, close to heaven
Would there ever be true peace, that high up there?
In the end, I prefer to sit here
Next to the river, because, here and now
It is just so much more peaceful.
As I opened my eyes, the only thing I saw was the sky. With its azure-colored background, fluffy clouds were splashed all over, the sky looked as if it was in a good mood. Sailing through them were a flock of birds, spreading their wings as if they were a kite. The gentle winds blew the leaves of the trees, making them dance in excitement. As I looked at the dark-blue lake beneath the hill, swans were seen, peacefully floating on the waters like buoys on the seas. Alongside them were their offspring, clinging together as close as possible like a thread in a cloth.
As I turned to my right, I saw field, filled with grass and trees. The scenery was like a painting of a masterpiece that was made once in blue moon. The plains the filled with children, playing tag, not realizing that they could play something much more fun. Right beside me were my siblings, sleeping soundly, locked away in dreamland.
As I stood up, I realized that this
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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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More