[x]

earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.

Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.

On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechle

to myself: past/present/future/fourth dimensionto the girl before speech:

you are not a prodigy,
despite talent for taking care of yourself.
understanding politics by grade school isn't worth much
being loved is.

having your hand gripped when stumbling.
playful laugh coaxed from your lungs.

bounce as much as you can.
cherish your days of knowing how to land.

to the girl with my fingers:

they aren't as beautiful as they are lost.

shaking; nerves over taken by demons
screaming in the night.
struggling to tear needle away from skin

too crooked to be melodic
not articulate enough to move masses
hoping to find north; seeking direction.

to the girl after healing:

don't get tired of elephants yetI've had my crippling moments.
They'd either start in my stomach
with an ache like broken glass
or stab me right in the catharsis,
somewhere near my heart or breath
or maybe my left foot.

I wouldn't know how it feels
to hurt to walk, but I imagine
with a destination like farther,
it's no pilgrimage.
So take the burden off your back.
Life is not a sandstorm
and your lungs are only a mirage
if you expect to see your breath
every time you breathe.
So take a breath

back, just one step

and listen with your smoke signals.
Help is on the way.
I just can't promise
it knows much about this lifetime.
It's the same way I could never promise
elephan

Souls and SparklesTo write something that is meaningful to someone else, you must first write something that is meaningful to yourself.

There are a thousand rooms in each person's mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.

We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us "bad", unequal, or imperfect. Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words. Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we d

if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the

Newspaper SuitI am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.

chromaWe were merely children when the stars came.

They rained down from the sky in a burst of light, like shards of glass pouring down from the heavens. Supernovas blooming in the night sky, petals raining down onto the barren earth - angels, falling with their wings sheathed, glowing, as they glided down. We watched, starstruck, as the glow overtook us - we were mesmerized. We waited with bated breath as the meteors landed, the celestial light subsiding as dark forms started to pick themselves up from the dust.

They moved towards us with an otherworldly grace, their steps leaving no marks on the earth as they descended upon us. Frozen to our sp

grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th

Under DreadThe winter, the whole winter
is sitting on my head, nesting its fingers
in the little hairs over my ears.
Its friend, the great and unnamed doubt,
is leaning against my collarbone
in a most familiar fashion,
and I fall in and out of balance

irregularly irregularly.

I have a beauty waiting, warm, willing
on speed dial, but the phone--
where did I leave the phone again?
Beauty is as elusive as
the car keys, which, I swear,
were just in that pocket. I

had my hand on them. The whole winter
keeps coursing its little nails
up and down my neck and taking
all my breath away.
There was a dream I had that
I almost remember, almost r

The SleeperIt was strange.

Surreal, she realized, as she turned the repetitive thoughts of earlier over again in her mind.

How normal everything seemed in light of what was about to come.

Her candle was burning low. Even the longer one she'd requested of the bar maid and paid the excess coin for didn't seem long enough.

But then, she told herself ruefully, the candlemaker couldn't have likely made one long enough to be suitable, even if he labored a century's worth of days and nights over it. She watched beads of wax slide down the sides to pool in the middle of the wooden tabletop, the smell of charring wick ripe in her nose.

If, she then reminded

the trouble isi'd like life to be
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.

Wonderland Syndrome Ch.1Chapter 1

----

"Cheshire-Puss," she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

----

Rain was getting through the window of the motor car. Auntie didn't bother to do it up. She just kept urging the cabby man on.

Her daughter was possessed by the Devil himself if ever she saw it. Oh her poor sister Jessamine. If only she could have seen the way that girl cried and begged them not to take her baby sister away. Bless the girl.

B

London Bridge is Falling DownIt is one o'clock

And I have been playing Jenga

For two years, eight months

Twenty-three days, four hours

And approximately fifteen

Minutes.

I slide books from their slots

One by one, the teetering tower

Becoming more teetering

And less towering.

All the poetry books are gone,

Stored underneath my bed,

Because I love reading them at

Three thirty in the afternoon,

When everyone is doing something

But me.

One day the wall of books

Will topple to the ground,

Onto my ashen carpet, for yesterday

The apocalypse had taken place

While I was washing dishes.

I guess I missed it, but luckily

The book tower is still standing,

And i

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More from ~silvernium

Heart MRI ScanEvery time you speak it: my name
I re-invent the image
you have of me.

I was swimming somewhere
between the rainbows
and the clouds

You call me back and
I am gutted to a silence
beyond a name:

returned to slouched shoulders
and what I cannot face up to.
What I call myself is a shield
and a cloud of my face.

they say my words are
beautiful, powerful

In two weeks I will remove
the metal from my ears
to go into a womb of chaos.

They will call on my real
name and ask me to come forward.
I cannot refuse. I am carrying
my heart and they will see
right through it.

After the chaos I will put that
metal back in my ears.
Even jewellery is an

so you have a cab waiting so you have a cab waiting
you always do
and again we go back to dreams
but what if I ask you
to drive on without me?
you look at me, somewhat quizzically
from under your driver's hat
get in you say, in that silent way
you have.

*

somewhere there is a bar
and a piano
and I am reading a newspaper
or having a drink
and time is lost.

*

first I was tired from the medication
so I rang the doctor -
new medication, and
I am not that kind of exhausted any more
but now I wake up at 2am
and all day, I am still exhausted.

*

piano keys. every story is a tinkering

can I - a tanka?can I - a tanka?
great emotional depth?
well, when a heart breaks
it goes to depths you can't go
trust me, my heart broke, I know

here going beyond
bodies and
underlying bones
love? yes, love

blotter paper blotches of ink
where my art
should be

------------------------------------------------------------------------

my paints are untouched,
canvases unprepared stare

I want to hide
back here in words

shielded in the markings
of a spidery hand

splotching the nib
into a blackness

each mark pooling
into a small void

and then connecting them
with an unsteady grip

oh what pre-tense
as if I could ever

have a canvas filled
without words

five leaves left taking last
steps out of autumn
goodbye in this leaf

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Triptych Sixesby ~silvernium

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Visual & Found Poetry

Poetry written to a piece of triptych art [link] by ~monguz for #transliterations prompt #2 - the idea here being that with the three written verses you could arrange them in any order - six possible combinations.

My "artwork" (haha) here is FAR from perfect, but I'm a poet not an artist - I needed some visual representation to separate the six sets. It was all I could come up with tonight with materials on hand.

They are best read as three separate verses, but one can also read them 1st sentence across all three, 2nd sentence and so forth. It is something I have wanted to try for a while and #transliterations provided the perfect prompt (lovely picture too).

Apologies for the blurry results - I used the work scanner.

----

Interpretation of the original artwork [link] Although done in three pieces, I felt that each piece was divided in two, hence that gave me some idea for reading it six ways. I felt there were two people walking? dreaming? conversing?, maybe through art?, images?, ideas?, dreams?, and that each triptych piece felt reflected within itself. It is a very abstract surreal piece, and so my words are also abstract. My words were written in about 5mins, no edits (always interesting to write this way).

----

Example of two ways the 1st triptych can be read:

either:

somewhere in the haze
you conceptualised
was it a dream
a memory
re-embered

we walked together
against the backdrop
of frames
underneath you saw
a camera view

did you capture the moment
when we realised
everything is
pieces of now
and then ..

or

somewhere in the haze -- we walked together -- did you capture the moment

you conceptualised -- against the backdrop -- when we realised

was it a dream -- of frames -- everything is

a memory -- underneath you saw -- pieces of now

re-embered -- a camera view -- and then ..

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-10-17

Triptych Sixes by *silvernium ( Featured by ^Beccalicious )

*Incross Oct 18, 2012 Student Digital Artist

I almost cried :'D this is beautiful-- the combinations and possibilities form various abstract images and feelings, at least in my head.
Great job

~silvernium Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm really glad you enjoyed it, and experienced the combinations in the way they are intended

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Oct 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Infinite possibilities for the form here. Astounding!

~silvernium Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Try it out if you want to!

~Sargon-the-first Oct 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This reminds me a lot of a pantoum, which are really fun to make, too. ; w;

But it's utterly amazing and bluh, even without it resembling my favorite poem structure.

~silvernium Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh pantoum's are fun, come up with a few lines, and then they write themselves don't they

~Sargon-the-first Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Indeed. ; w;

`lintu47 Oct 17, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{Congrats on the well deserved DD!}

~silvernium Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

`lintu47 Oct 19, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{My pleasure}

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Triptych Sixesby ~silvernium

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