|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Yellow MaskBroken in the vents of ageless phosphour,
cast adrift with the gold of ages; always.
There it lies, and there it remains,
And there it has always been,
This horrid yellow mask.
This horrible pallid monstrosity!
It calls to me, you see. Day and Night.
A vibrant horn erupts from the sea,
and sounds to call me away forever,
to the murky depths of the Aegean.
And if I walk to it, to see the source,
the sound stops, as if to mock me.
But the crabs and the cockles,
and the cowries in the sands,
they are the worst of actors.
This silence, save for the piping,
of the wind, and of the gulls,
cannot make me forget the blasphemy
that was the sounding horn.
Sounding in notes unheard before,
and unimaginably awful.
And that yellow mask,
broken in the vents of ageless phosphour,
and cast adrift with the gold of ages;
Barrelstow and DalstonFriday Morning. It was the month called May, and I'd never enjoyed the Sun as much as I did then, sitting on my veranda. My sister had just been born; Silvia, in all her glory. She's since grown, but I can remember how she looked that day as if nothing had changed. Mother was shivering, I remember. I was only eight at the time, but I was aware, and I asked her if she was alright. She said she had had the same shivering after I was born, and that, then, it had gone away after a week or two, and it would probably do the same this time. I smiled. A bee flew by me and attached itself to a coneflower maybe six feet away. I watched it take up the pollen and fly away again, newly burdened. Mother called to me to tell me I'd be late if I didn't get going.
I grabbed my book, pencil, and coat and started walking. I lived about three miles from the Schultz-Herod Memorial School in Dalston. It was named for two war heroes, they told us. Peter Schultz was th
The Cotton Tree I do not expect you to believe me— I can scarcely condone even myself believing; but if this is untruth, it stems from my own ignorance; for I believe it wholly. And how should I not? I shall explain my account of the story as I remember it—
This day we had been sent to buy bread from a baker who makes his home in a nearby town; we had made short work of the trip and had, at length, decided it far more interesting to stray from the familiar path on the walk home. On a length of trail where we would normally take the left of the fork, we instead took the right, and so became separate from any previous knowledge of the area that we may have had; and, realizing that we had no reason to stay on a trail that meant so little to us, we quickly walked an hundred meters perpendicular to the trail, and began to navigate by intuition through the noon-time forest.
After an hour, which would normall
The Modern PrometheusTo my frozen jaw, his hands reached,
they molded from clay that which has killed me,
But it is too cold for blood to run,
and for what purpose would it?
And to what end, and by what means?
For that which he does not mold
cannot take form-
He is the creator,
and his hands the carpenter's compass.
And as I lie before him now,
like a stone sculpture from the Tripoli of old,
I cannot help but elate in the life he has given,
he and his mistress whom we call the mind.
For had he not come to me this day,
(or I, come to him)
Then I shan't have discovered
this so fleeting thing called life-
in any form, save for that shaded box
in which one sits before creation.
WinterHer heart spills the freshest of evening blood,
warming her hands in the winter air-
but her finger-nails have long fallen to the cold.
Her limbs have grown pallor-
She now blends with the snow-
save for the red upon her hands,
staining the landscape with a pinprick of the deepest ruby.
And a swan swooped down anon, as if to mourn
for the death of such a beautiful thing-
and it leaned to her cheek, and so showed its respect,
and left- being sure to leave enough time for the crows,
for they do so love to watch the other spirits arrive.
OceanaThe captain threw his haughty voice through the night sky,
as the crow's nest began to topple down,
and a cry was heard from the ocean-
a sudden, explosive cry- as from a child in despair.
The cry grew louder- more devilish.
It became something entirely new-
something of a shriek- a cacodaemonic shroud of sound.
It coated the air, and every surface there-in,
it burst the ears of sailors and cooks,
and left them stunned to drown
as the ships planks gave way
to that horrid sound.
And as the hull found it proper,
it collapsed upon the crew
who had forgotten their loves,
their lives, and their mothers-
and a crack was heard
by the ocean-
such a fair maiden, she is.
And as the last cry was wont to fade,
her hand shot up
to grasp it by its heart
and pull it back
to it's salt-kept grave
just naughts below the captain's feet.
A Sudden War"I'm…Afraid."
Drops hit her head.
Lightning crashed as beckoned wails from wounded dogs.
Her face grew paler than it had in years,
since her last fit-
and she yelled to the sky
as freezing drops blanketed her nightgown,
yelling in their own right,
to show her that
she is once, and for all,
In Praise of MorningWith the rise of the golden sun,
the leaves come to life.
They shimmer and billow in the breeze,
and make the sounds which only insects hear.
The birds shake the dew from their wings;
And the Rabbit, in his pomposity, just sits,
taking in the Morning.
O requiem! the Night has gone;
"And it may never return," said the Rabbit.
But the trees did not wish this.
Nor did the birds, who find refreshing
the morning dew, and sunless rest.
But the Rabbit insisted:
"I have never seen the sun so bright,
and it is clear it shall never dim again!"
The birds prayed for Night once more,
to their nameless Gods, with faces bizarre.
And the Leaves and trees called to the Sun
himself, to let the Night Return.
But the Sun answers not.
Nor do the Bird-Gods with Armoured wings
and satin coats upon their backs.
"How is it," twitched the Rabbit,
"that you all so wish for the cold Night?
What has the night done but made you lonely?
Made you cold and scared?
And stolen away your closest company
until the Morning
The Lover's Feud with TuesdayBut with Friday,
in all of its precipitous glory,
so far away-
and without feelings;
how can one find it amorous?
How can one,
who is so much a cynic,
consider it anything
but the cruelest of all,
leaving you with but a taste
of this week's end,
with which so much joy is placed?
-But the lovers claim it theirs,
and so look forward
to its endless day,
and endless night,
that even the most neutral of days,
seem as a sadist to their love.
No Matter LoveI.
I'm the comet that appeared for the first time
that will never return
through the judgment of your life,
only to have you receive what I bring
as the love you long to take and return
before the ice dust from my departure
fades for all time.
Through the slender-necked sitar's silvery notes
pass the fragrance of our moonstruck limbs
surrendering to the breezes
that play off a river that honors
the generations of lovers we now embody.
You were the fallen angel that waited so long,
knowing I'd be found,
to resuscitate and raise you up;
Not from whence you toppled,
but to couple in a holy damnation
and welcome in celebration
and never regret, no matter.
you're the reason for my fraying edgesA piece of me snagged
on your fingertips, now
I'm spending the rest
of my life unraveling
Hello For The First TimeHello For The First Time
hello for the first time, stranger.
we didn’t meet with a passing glance,
but by unexpected discovery.
hearts once attached to others’,
i said we should’ve been best friends
because our wavelengths
were tied together by some cosmic thread
then, that was just a poetic thought.
the new year had just arrived
and i was feeling inspired
and hey, you caught me at the right time.
or i caught you,
or whatever it was.
hello for the first time, acquaintance.
our first interaction was met with appreciation
for a comment and a favorite.
i thanked you for the time you spent
reading whatever creation
i had shared in those moments
and it was nice to meet you again, miss.
The name’s Ricky,
I’m glad to make your acquaintance.
hello for the first time, my friend.
i first met you when discussing college,
what you wanted to be
and the enigma that was your future.
your plans were random currents
and mine were wrapped in static.
hello for the fir
bad habitsi chew up keratin claws
and spit out lead nails
like letters laced with
a twine of tawny truths
and the smack of gums
forming lewd lilac lies.
you bite your sodden
to the stem of bone,
peeling layers of
paint-stained skin with
i often wonder
how my fingertips
morph metaphors with
awry alliteration while
your palms paint
purpled pastels and
my fractured wrists creak
and porcelain ghost
lines stripe your
autumn brushed skin
yet somehow, together,
we still create beauty.
PicturesqueThe smell of the fire curls in my lungs, purring
like a tabby kitten. Roasting marshmallows
crisp on the ends of our sticks as I lean
against you, our heat mingling like the smoke
rising to the sky. Your eyes twinkle as you talk,
your hands gesturing widely, and the marshmallow
flies into the woods. We clutch our stomachs
as we laugh in harmony, our voices twining
together in the silence of the night.
About a girl(French version below)
Naiad, braving the tumultuous streams without risk
Your crystalline beauty illuminates these shabby, spineless and muddy reeds,
The softness of your skin like a caress that even the sea air couldn't bring me;
Oh My, I'd like to snatch this ivy leaf which covers you way too much!
I accomplished the most perilous labour just by staring at you;
My Hesperide, your breathtakingly high curves entice this pilgrim, blinded mortal,
And force naked and fool men to carry their own Iliad out to conquer you.
The singing of your voice shall guide us through this long, calm watercourse to the Elysium.
Your smile, forbidden sin, makes me break all my oathes.
For a brief moment, I vow to let myself be fooled by these pipe dreams of fantasy -
I want to dedicate this lyric song you've inspired me to the Gods, Polyhymnia,
You got me sailing on the river of dreams.
About a girl
Naïade, bravant sans péril les flots tumultueux
SanctuaryVines stretched between her fingertips
Flowered fields grew at her word
and I swore that the galaxies lived in her eyes.
Starlight was the laughter that she breathed,
A universe of its own
Framed by the graceful arc of her parted lips.
Her movements were the gentle ocean waves
and daylight played off her skin,
Even in the darkest corners of the night.
A lion's roar was found in the screech of her cry,
and waterfalls trickled from her delicate lashes.
Mountains settled on her sloping brow,
her arms became the atmosphere I couldn't believe I ever lived without,
and a new world built itself upon her beauty
each and every day.
And so when the realm around me became too small,
I found my sanctuary in her.
Those Petty Things"All those petty little things in life"
"are killing me."
I sat listening, and turned slightly to the left,
I bit my lip, and blinked.
"Without those petty things, life would be…
She winked as a small bug
presumably a fruit-fly,
impacted her eye,
and then she looked at me,
"those little things are so ugly!
I want big details;
I'll cast the rest aside!"
She moved her index finger so it covered a
discoloration on the wooden table in front of her,
"This is why this will not work.
You cannot notice anything but those petty things;
you are sick of them."
I crossed my left leg over my right and
straightened out a wrinkle in my pants.
she said, clearly upset,
"You are nothing but a mess
of petty details!
You straighten wrinkles,
and adjust the paper in your printer.
You pull loose threads from your linens,
you leave your bed undone, and your
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