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Literature
Odds and Ends
A cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.
A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.
An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.
A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a familiar figure and
a warm embrace,
but when you can no longer detect it's fragrance,
it becomes a mystery
impossible to solve,
a memory lost to time
like the ghost of a kiss
lost somewhere among the rest.
A name is just a name
until it's torn from the tongue and carved
into the stone,
and a dream
is a just a thing between the nigh
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 203 69
Literature
A Samurai's Dream
Bent bamboo stalks,
a single bead of rain shivers,
slithers down,
a serpent of green and blue.
Dusty skies tremble,
a storm threatens the orange sun
in the voice
of whispering phantom winds.
Emerald blades quake,
footfalls light as a feather treading forward,
the ghost of a wolf
howls
behind cloudy eyes.
Two figures,
shapeless and unmoved
but for the billow
of cloth,
the breath of the wild.
Steel pierces stillness,
a blur of silver slices swathes of sky,
gray and blue ribbons
smeared in red.
A sunset veiled in shadow,
one silhouette
stands stalwart in the vacancy of two.
A stifled gasp,
iron hands clutch the hilt,
a figure bows
and the other ceases.
Branches flutter and become calm,
the earth turns once more
beneath footsteps without sound.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 10 3
Literature
Aphelion
I sealed my doors,
bolted tight the windows and locked
the shutters.
The wind screams,
a banshee cries upon the hill,
some vague swathe of white
billowing against the night.
I wrapped myself in burlap,
packed my ribs
with leaves and moss
but still
my candle has blown out.
In darkness
I spark the wick but only sticky ash
stains my fingertips.
Waiting
for the cold, dry revelation of morning,
no light dares traverse
my shivering horizon.
She shrieks a lamentation,
I unfurl my bones
and surrender to her vengeful sky.
Asphyxiating on dying stars,
coughing up only blackness from the hearth
of my chest,
long bereft of light.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 10 9
Literature
Stone Walls
Innocent eyes
take me into the cradle of their warmth
and I can breathe
in the amber warmth
of their gaze.
My heart burns
in the red Autumn of dying leaves
speckled
in their mirrored stare,
allowed to feel
only in the darkened solitude
of a pupil.
A warm breeze
becomes visible in a flutter of lashes,
still chocolate seas
skipping stones
over my white hot skin.
Fire simmers in my veins,
a silent seething sense of soul
ghosting in my flesh,
exorcised
by a single, glazing glance.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 8 0
Literature
Contortionist
This skin doesn't fit anymore,
pulled taut
over bent and jutting bone,
sinched
at the back and pinned
tight to the spine.
Bent and broken,
yet
unbowed,
flat, shapeless images pass
before unfocused eyes
unwilling
to accept the light.
Squeezed tight within
this box,
the dirt keeps pouring down,
a dark rain hourglass
filling deflated lungs.
Unsolved riddles
tattooed to the plain of my tongue,
I can taste them
but their flavor goes unidentified --
spoken words
signifying nothing
for lack
of translation.
A tombstone etching,
lost to time,
torn pages and smeared chalk,
black hands
brush clean the cover
of my story
untitled
and unpublished --
A forgotten verse
in an unfinished poem,
and I,
I am less than
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 11 3
Literature
Yesteryear
I keep reaching back for the illusion,
the dream
I dreamed that never was,
the life I lived
but was never born into,
the breath I took,
so real,
never taken nor tasted
by a liars tongue.
The skies were bluer than,
a shade I haven't seen
since teenage eyes turned upward
and basked
in a memory of blue so blue
it buzzed in black,
gilded by a hidden sun I cannot quite recall,
a tender light
stuck between my bronze skin
and the ashy pavement.
Future fantasy imprisoned in a memory,
as flawed and dusty
as an out of print book
shelved in a moist cellar,
the print is smeared
and pages torn,
I squint to read the lines
but I'm filling in the blanks
of a story
that no one will ever write.
The night she screamed,
I fucked her right,
but her body wasn't there,
all limbs and white
and red silk,
a mirage whirling in my brain,
the scars of her nails
raking ditches in my back
have healed
and she is no more nude beneath
than I
was ever thrust inside her.
There was
a flickering glimmer of hope,
like a can
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 9 0
Literature
Palpable
Piano stirs the storm beneath my skin,
fingertips ascend the scale,
roll slowly from a bleached bone
to the scorched ones
and I am moved.
Poetry pours into my head,
silver sparks scintillate between the synapses,
color flashes in darkness
as sound explodes
in bottle rocket blasts
and I am discovered.
Panavision lenses depict my dreams,
grainy green grass
cuts an emerald swathe at magic hour,
and I am borrow their memories
to fill the blank spaces I occupy
and I am reborn.
God dwells in possibility -- impossibly
a ghost of supposed truth,
this voiceless phantom
I can no more hear than the hush
of a broken promise
I made to myself,
and I am deceived.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 16 8
Literature
Silent
I wish I could tell you,
but secrets die on the tongue
when lips
cannot carve thought
into speech.
Some dreams are trapped,
lumping in the throat
where each breath
is another second closer
to suffocation.
My mouth has rusted,
unpolished phrases
jaggedly jut against the pallet,
a secret kept silent
tastes metallic and sweet.
....and yet
the heart quakes,
as the truth is swallowed whole
I am lost,
a hollow shell
with a redacted soul.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 25 13
Literature
Together
The last day,
frost melts from broken lips,
rusted shut
in the shape of wishes
unfulfilled.
A blessing
and a curse,
all moments lead to one,
a thousand greetings
buried
within a single
goodbye.
Rain taps a metal lid,
the sun
cannot warm the cold
sealed within
and we
commit our hearts
back
to the dirt.
Tomorrow is promised,
but we
are not all going
to see it…
    Not together.
    again.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 13 4
Literature
Slush
Dusty chalk sidewalks slant,
slithering beside the serpentine stretch
of an ashen avenue.
Clotted clouds loom,
smeared blots sludging through
the gloom
of a monochrome sky,
long deprived of pigment.
Evening light attenuates,
pale beams gush
from the dying cinders
of the charcoal sun.
Steel strands intersect,
a wire web of tangled knots,
signals lost
in the sizzle of static snow.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 11 2
Literature
Assuage
The dirge
drumming beneath my ribs,
a tepid drizzle
flooding the hollow cask,
each drop
muffles speech,
seeps into languid lungs
too tired to sleep and
too broken to breathe.
I stand fallen
for lack of gravity's caress
as she lies dreaming,
if indeed,
her solemn slumber
can conceive the flame
long after
the candle has whispered
goodnight.
The eager morning
blooms
in vibrant shades of gold and green
as I am withering
in billowy swathes of black
and blue,
a phantom formed of memory
no more a thought
than a drifting shadow
beneath
a blossoming sun.
She,
a once florid garden
now encased within fourteen letters
etched into rose stone,
a name
whose weight I carry alone
into the unknown
on such a wretched
and unwanted journey
into a still born future.
The broken promise of tomorrow
I concede
my bones into the dust
swept upon the breeze
unto her
shimmering shade
amidst a field of stars
I can never see
but somehow
will forever feel.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 21 16
Literature
Haptic Stance
Inhaling soldered breath,
synthetic dreams
flickering
behind the digital screens
of electric eyes --
high definition visuals
in low resolution minds.
Fractured language
spit
from tablet tongues,
flesh craves haptic feedback,
retracting
from the warmth
of a human touch.
Corroding circuit cells
lose their signal,
bluetooth beats
confuse the current
coarsing
through the smoking circuitry
of unshielded cables
jacked
straight into the skin.
Low flow wifi
fails,
fiber optic fantasies
luring
digitized souls,
captured in the cloud
they cannot
beam through the sky
without
plugging in the pulse.
Near field communication
from the muted,
metal mouths
of future men
building stronger firewalls
between their bodies,
divided by broadbands
from competing providers,
extinction
shivers in the static
beneath
the Googled eye of God.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 6 7
Literature
His
A stone heart
smeared vermilion,
wreathed
in fading shards of light
does not beat,
cannot cry
for the subjugated summer sun
kneeling in submission
to the scythe
of an Autumnal equinox.
Lifeless eyes,
brushed a blazing shade of blue,
endless skies
unmarred by storm clouds,
stare back
with the vacancy
of a frozen King,
a motionless marble memory
sculpted
by flesh and blood,
a man
as meaningless to the stone
as the brush
may be to the canvas.
Fragile fingers fold,
dry lips spilling pain
from
the growing void
beneath the ribs,
weak whispers
beg
for absolution from the agony,
but cannot conceive
blood from the stone,
finding only
macculated silence.
A sculptor swings a sledge,
crushing hope,
flakes of dust and stone,
all red and blue,
reveal
an empty chamber,
a dead space
haunted
by the fracture
of faith.
Your name
etched in a single stone
amongst the many
can no more
reveal the awful face of God
than the flightless bird-men
carved
of cracked, white stone
standing guard,
yet unmoved
by the
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 12 0
Literature
Muted
She sings
symphonies of sweet surrender
from the smooth stretch
of her slender neck.
Bent beneath the bow,
she bows and begs for freedom
in stinging, staccato screams.
Weeping beneath his chin,
whaling moans,
requiems roaring
from her purfling breast.
Her fine gauge veins tremble
beneath a tender touch,
stoking the flame within her belly,
heavy, heated breaths
heaving from her ribs.
She sparkles in the spotlight,
the rhythm rippling
from back to bridge,
aching to set her sound free.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 71 39
Literature
In Search Of
"You're doomed."  His voice was of the thunder on the horizon, a storm brewing; unseen and without warning.  The gray sunlight highlighted each year carved into the worn leather of his skin, a dense fog rising in eyes of indistinguishable color.  His large figure was a lone shadow against the dirt, growing taller with each passing minute and I could feel it begin to eclipse me.  I began to wonder if finding him was the biggest mistake of my life, if my savior, my God, was more man than deity, more dream than flesh, more my mind than his.  
It was an unseasonably warm Autumn evening on Long Island.  The Atlantic whirled cold against the North Shore, what we called "The Sound," and teased the early warmth back with the cold breath of an unforgiving ocean.  I crumpled the manila envelope between my fingers, rolled it into a cylinder and tossed it into the pile with the other rejection letters.  It was growing every day.  "Everybody gets rejecte
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 3 3
Literature
Catcher
I make love like Salinger,
mourning
the loss of innocence
that I murdered
in my all consuming hunger
for purity.
Blue eyes
are less attractive the hundredth time,
and slim thighs
only taste so sweet
until lips thirst for wide hips
and curve.
Hopelessness on a string,
spin the reel
and catch the white whale
only to discover
you've never caught a trout,
and the sea
is slowly drying out.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 12 1

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© 2007-2017 dreamsinstatic. All rights reserved. All work displayed here are of my own creation and may not be used in any way shape or form without my direct written consent. My work is deeply personal and my greatest treasure and I will not permit it to be plagiarized, edited or outright stolen from me.

DD

Journal Entry: Fri Dec 2, 2016, 1:06 PM
I woke up this morning to find out that I'd received a Daily Deviation.  It's funny, as DD's seem to come along at times when I'm questioning my writing abilities.  Some may have noticed, or not, but my posts have become less frequent.  It's not out of a lack of interest, more so a lack of time, but is also part of my need to take a small break from writing.  I'm not doing it due to a lack of things to write, but because I feel like I need gaps in my writing to refresh it sometimes.  Have you ever just felt like things blur together and your message is getting lost?  When I feel that way, I take a small break.

For the past few days I've been thinking about writing a lot and wondering what I'm doing with it, where its going to go, where it will take me or I will take it.  Receiving a DD is such a nice reminder that the things I write can carry power, and that the people reading them can share in the emotion and even be moved by them.  For those of you who have been reading them and commenting and feature, I am truly grateful.  You're the best and I am always incredibly thankful for the support of this community.


Any gamers around?  I've been looking to add people to my friends list on Xbox One and PS4.  Drop me a note if you're interested.

  • Listening to: Unnecessary Podcast
  • Watching: AGDQ
  • Playing: Star Wars Battlefront (Xbox One)

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dreamsinstatic
Steven
United States
Bio:

I can't stand the idea of never knowing an answer. This feeds into my fascinations with history, criminology, philosophy and psychology. I have a need to know, to get down to the core of something or someone and understand the reasons why. I tend to view the world through analytical eyes and while most are losing themselves in the moment, I am memorizing it. My mind has so many topics to focus on that often times I have difficulty dedicating myself to a single one because they are all arguing for my attention.

I started writing as a child, making little books about cartoon characters, including creating my own. I grew serious about writing in high school where I joined the literary magazine and won several awards. All told, I began writing 28 years ago, wrote my first poem 19 years ago. Often times I write a piece, I am not sure where it is going or why, but upon completion I find myself looking into my own mind and discovering what it is that I am feeling or thinking. A subliminal glimpse into the essence of who I am lies somewhere between the lines I scribe.

My interest in history is extremely broad, with favorite historical figures ranging from Alexander the Great to George Washington. I am also hung up on unsolved historical crimes, the Zodiac Killer and Jack the Ripper, for example. I am an extremely picky reader. Many classical authors fail to catch my attention though I love the works of Edgar Allan Poe, J.D. Salinger and Emily Dickinson. Philosophically I am drawn to Baudrillard and Kant.

I am always open to discussion or random conversation. You can feel free to contact me either through deviantart or on one of the various instant messaging programs I use, my usernames for which are listed below. I have been a member of deviantart for over 8 years and love being a part of the vastly talented literature community. I hope in the future to take a bigger part in that community and to contribute and promote it in whatever ways I can.

Location: Western North Carolina

Quotes:
"I like a look of agony / because I know it's true."

"Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies."

"Better that we die on our feet than live on our knees."

"In a world of global deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act."

"No target on earth and no purpose in Heaven."

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."

Twitter: KillingPoetry
Facebook: Facebook
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:iconultimate-psycho:
Ultimate-Psycho Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
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:iconserendiipitii:
Serendiipitii Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2017  Student General Artist
The great Baguette bids you warm greetings, and waves you into the crispy temple of enlightenment ...


Thank you for the support! <3 Please feel free to click on the stamp above and ask the most pressing of questions
to the Benevolent Baguette. He will ensure you receive a response most worthy of the question.
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:iconlarathain:
Larathain Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2016
Happy birthday! May it be a day of perfect weather and joyful bliss! One you'll enjoy to often offer reminisce.
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:icondreamsinstatic:
dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2016
Thanks!
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:iconkay-march:
Kay-March Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2016
Hope that you'll have a good day on your birthday full of inspiration and poetry.
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