7 Recent Deviations
Featured: Earth Tear
Winter DaydreamsSome dreams seem to be much more
I am ThreeI am Three.
Ballad for a Bushy BeardIt's time to trim
My Daily Deviation Highlights LXIHello everyone !
Latest Gallery Contributors
Some dreams seem to be much more
like little plays with two encores
like snowy days with sunshine rays
or something shiny at the store
Some dreams seem to never end
like birthday weekends with a friend
like bubbly suds in giant tubs
or blanket castles to pretend
Some dreams seem to linger there
like Grandma's perfume in the air
like sticky buns upon your tongue
or winter snowflakes in your hair
A daytime dream can sometimes spark
a springtime smell or meadowlark
I watch the snow just swirl and blow
and let the daydreams come and go.
Mature contentThe smell of the rain (Eng) R-R-Eco 6 10
I am Three
I am Three.
Split in half by the separation of my parents, I was broken.
In the lavish world in which my father resided, I was a pretty puppet.
Dresses of tulle and red-soled heels I could not remember names of tried to befriend me, the hollow fragrance of a thousand expensive perfumes combining in the four-floored mansion to emit an odor of ostracism.
It was a world of materials. Nothing was genuine. Yet it is the only thing my mother regrets leaving behind when filing those papers.
Then why am I not
When I’m here?
A Maybach Mercedes opens its doors to return me to the airport. I won’t see it again until next year, and I regret not having tried harder to be happy. If only I’d get one more day, I could turn into the daughter my father wanted, and maybe he would finally tell me he loved me
and mean it.
But did I
The airplane’s doors open on the grounds of my home city.
The warm aura of love and genuine hap
Ballad for a Bushy Beard
It's time to trim
this bushy beard.
Can't find my chin-
A grungy sheep
I never sheared.
grow like weeds.
"Tame that beast!"
the family pleads.
Finally, my sloth
I gathered scissors,
blades and combs.
I bought some Face-Nick's
I prep'd for paleface
With ninja blur
I sliced and chopped!
The whiskers snowed!
I swept and mopped,
before I stopped.
When the chin-fuzz
all had settled,
I felt so fit
so firm and fettled!
My nose was high
my rose was petaled!
I cleared my throat
and then announced
"Reduced the grunge
nearly an ounce!"
I bowed and basked
in loud applause!
My daughter's smile
then drooped and paused...
"I miss 'ol squishy Santa Claus."
i don’t want to write a poem
about you, or me,
even oceans -
vortices of brontebight sand
pull beneath our feet,
the crashing waves
of laughter &
bay wide smiles
lithe sea grass
is your role model
(neither of you could
really care for that)
& shoals of fish
have never had to write a single sentence
in analysis of foreign relations
i don’t even want to write
but i can’t paint
& social piroue
land of the envied.
there’s a cross inked down the flat plane of his back,
one thick line of black punctured by the jut of bone,
but a shrug of fabric later and that’s all gone –
was it ever really there in the first place?
the lone paper bag in the corner of the room
has wrinkles all over its front and back,
trademark symbols of wisdom and serenity –
gone through mass production and rough hands.
a still body of water slowly clouds over in the tub,
the temperature warm enough to fight away goosebumps
but cold enough for you to want to sink into it and never rise –
one slow trickle is all it takes for empty gaps to fill up over time.
a three-legged chair supporting its own lopsided weight on
a pile of ashes that will never feel fire ever again.
constellations reflect light down towards the masses and look pretty –
but that’s all they’ll ever be.
things are always beautiful when they’re doomed,
when they have an expiration date, when they’re sure t