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An Animal PlanetA shrewdness of apes
An unkindness of ravens
A kaleidoscope of butterflies
A parliament of owls
A pandemonium of parrots
A congregation of alligators
A conspiracy of lemurs
A cackle of hyenas
A prickle of porcupines
I wonder what a family of me might be
In a monestary
In the mountains
The idea struck him like a pebble
Might bounce off a bedroom window
If that ever actually happened.
It became a smooth stone
That skipped across his ribs,
Rippled his reflection,
Cloudied the calm waters in his head.
The stone grew into a geode,
Cracked open to reveal a crystal
Colored like pomegranate,
More porous than pumice.
Blasphemy, blowing bubbles in the blood of Christ
His breath produced a profane foam
From which he feared
Some pagan sex goddess might be born.
Badly shaken, the young monk
Put it back in the bottle
Stuck a cork in and forgot it.
Except in times of celebration
Or in silent meditation,
From time to time,
He could feel a fizz rise up.
Scratch and DentThis body’s no temple.
It is not my home,
But I still have to live there,
So I will drive it like the rental it is.
I will try not to total it,
But I do not want my deposit back.
No stranger to the scratch and dent section,
Some days my skin starts to feel
Like the plastic on old people’s furniture,
And I start to feel
Like the world’s finest dust collection.
Somebody call Guinness.
I’ve never taken ski lessons,
But I’ve been told
If you never fall down,
Then you’re not trying hard enough.
I don’t know how to play guitar,
But I know this:
If your fingers aren’t bleeding,
‘cause tattoos are so boring.
Good stories so rarely written in ink.
I’m not saying scars are sexy.
Scars are stories,
And like all stories,
Some are better than others.
It is not the scar itself.
It is not the story.
It is the portrait of the artist,
The sound and the fury.
It is so much better than scrapbooking.
Memoirs of mosh pits, food fight
Earthquake CafeIt’s hard to believe
It’s been six years since the Earthquake Café.
Since the Science Center froze our shadows on the wall.
I wonder if they’re still there.
Six years since we made people double-take,
Look crooked at us and issue back-hand compliments,
And I’d say, thanks? I think.
Since we were that pair of people.
Six years and still not comfortable
Calling it a couple, “it’s complicated”
That status on Facebook was made for us then.
Seventy-two moons since the solstice
Where you were the first
And the last
Person to ever make me blush.
You’ll have to forgive the nostalgia.
This is how I get closure,
And writing is so much cheaper than therapy.
A lost generation unto our selves,
Not quite Jay and Daisy
Maybe more F. Scott and Zelda
Maybe more than a little crazy,
And now you have this baby cutting teeth.
You have this something stable,
This foundation not built on fault lines.
This life not given to blackouts and tremors.
This Machine Kills FascistsHave you ever seen the movie
About the signing of the peace treaty?
So thank you, Mr. Reyes
For reminding us why in war
Drums and fifes always came before
Guns and knives
Because hearts and minds mattered in the days
Before drone strikes.
Because even weapons would rather not kill people.
Even guns would rather be guitars.
So gracias, Senor Reyes, for liberating the oppressors.
My friend is a French and Indian war re-enactor.
A few times a summer,
He and his friends dress up in period clothing,
Ride around on horses
And shoot muskets at each other.
Let’s be peace re-enactors,
And let’s make it authentic.
Let’s make music and remember
There will always be at least this one thing
We do better than machines.
Remember why every bomb whistles on its way to the ground.
Let’s remember that a song is a start,
That a call to arms is cool,
But a farewell to them is the real revolution.
Remember that all poems are petitions.
This one will not end the politicians
This Is Just A DrillWhen I called you a trick,
I meant you were magic.
Scarves up your sleeves
Pigeons in your pants,
I saw you in half.
I saw you.
Now I don’t.
We are some escape artists.
Handcuffs our canvas.
We keep applause in a can.
Keep our audience captive,
It’s obvious that
Some movies you see for the writing,
Some for the acting,
Some for the air conditioning.
I am that last class.
That forgettable feel good hit of the summer,
That Ebert and Roeper say the end was the best part.
I am that book that you don’t buy for its binding
The one that isn’t smart furniture.
I am no conversation piece.
I want you to crease my spine
To underline your favorite parts.
Our love would be like tourism in Pittsburgh.
Apparently it exists,
But I’ve never seen it.
Let me be your dress rehearsal,
Your penny dreadful,
That vacation where it rained the whole time
And you stayed inside.
DogstarI’m not one for writing hate-mail,
But I’m going to go postal
If one more person asks me
What I’m doing with my life.
I have aces and eights emblazed on my chest.
I have never worn a vest,
But if I did,
That’s where I would keep my cards.
Go ahead and tell me again
How smart I am,
How I can do anything.
That’s precisely the problem.
The reason I’ve spent two semesters at community college,
And changed my major four fucking times.
Ask me again,
Don’t you like math?
I’ll tell you again,
Yeah, I do, sometimes.
Know what else I like sometimes?
English, science, art, music, silence, business, pleasure, pain, the rain, the sun, the moon, the earth, helping people, hurting people, Buddhism, BDSM, feminism, comic books, poetry, punk rock, rock climbing, roller coasters, rocket science, astronomy, amateur phlebotomy, philosophy, psychology, psychopathy, serenity, cigarettes, chaos theory, coffee, canis vulpis, and carnivorous plants.
To the Poet Who's Always Angry:Please stop yelling.
Seriously, settle down.
I’m not saying you’re anger is unjustified.
I’m just saying that being justified
Does not make it healthy.
I’m worried about you, dude.
This is an intervention.
I know there’s a lot of social injustice.
I’ve heard it said if you’re not pissed off,
You’re not paying attention.
The Dalai Lama begs to differ,
And I’m inclined to agree with that guy.
He seems to know his shit.
I know that outrage is an aesthetic.
I know that red looks good on you.
I know your work sounds better louder,
But just hear me out.
Angry people die so much sooner.
Your blood pressure must be ridiculous.
What does your doctor say about that shit?
Also, I’d like to remind you
Angry people make more messes than they fix.
Angry people hurt people,
And hurt people hurt people.
And I heard something somewhere
About an eye for an eye.
I don’t quite remember how it goes,
But I don’t think it ends well.
Last LongerWe are all naked under our clothes,
And just below that
We are mostly meat and mucous.
A little ocean of iron and oxygen,
We are rusting.
We are bleach of bone and birds nests of raw nerve.
Nothing sexy about that.
So take lots of pictures,
Not too many x-rays.
There’s a story that says
The Buddha was tempted to walk away from the path
By these three pretty girls but
The Buddha remembered that
Soon they would be old
And not too long after that,
They would be fertilizer.
I don’t know if I share his restraint.
Yes, I know this will pass,
I just don’t know if I want it to.
I might want to feel this frustrated forever.
Make me immortal.
Embalm me in silver nitrate.
Fill my arms with ichor so when I bleed,
I bleed in sepia.
Just one thing.
I never liked pictures.
I roll my eyes when I pose for photos,
And I’m really bad at forcing smiles.
I have to force them less these days
With that Midwest way you turn your ohs into ahs.
And that face that you make when you’
What if GodWhat if God…
…cares about what you care about?
…was proud of your every achievement?
…actually wanted to thank you?
…is excited for you?
…believes in you?
...keeps His end of the deal even when you don’t?
…sympathizes with you?
…is on your side every time, whether you’re right or wrong?
…encourages your crazy goals that others say are stupid?
…is your biggest fan?
…is still rooting for you?
…won’t forget you, even long after you die?
…understands you better than your own parents?
…loves you more than your own partner does?
…loves you more than you love yourself?
What if God was everything we are looking for in other people, and ten times that?
Would we approach Him then?
Prayer to Wodenwisdom, guile and ecstasy
these things I pray You give to me
poet’s share – sweet Mead from Heaven
another drink of inspiration
Runes are cut from ancient trees
sigils, signs now come with ease
flowing blood and gushing soul
we move along in Frija’s web
the God will teach
as the Goddess shapes us
a union born of polarity
blessed hearthfire’s duality
Wōden, Wotan; Father God
I seek craft and witching words
teach me gifts of sweet seduction
and so catharsis of noble Will
Lord of Gallows, wandering bard
countless dead and so reborn
bring me now to wit’s sweet end
and teach me how to walk again
ending, ending, never-ending
it has no start to take away
born in Aegis, shaped by Aeons
given wit by Odin’s brethren
oh my soul, my life, my mind
I pledge them all to wisdom’s God
to seek and eke, to strive and conquer
and so to rise above the mindful now
I will seek the Overman
the promise of sweet Wisdom throned
a life beyond the bold horizon
Connecting StarsThere are arbitrary lines between the stars
In triangles and rectangles
But everything’s circular
Cyclical, rotating, transforming into
and out of shape.
I am connected to the cycles
I am circular in my essence
Transforming in cycles
The stars cannot be observed without me,
I am stars and the lines in between.
Walking along a dirt path with a bag on my back
Everything I need is on my back
Days and days of preparing; just a simple hike
All of a sudden, a mountain blocking my path
The road goes up; all the way up
The only way to make it over is to climb
Shouldn't be too hard but it won't be easy
The road gets more narrow, the climb gets dangerous
Easy steps to make the climb are now impossible
The rocks are getting slippery, and the rocks are falling apart
Higher and higher I go, the danger increases
One wrong step, I tumble off the side of the mountain
Rolling down the side of the mountain
Hitting my heads on the rocks and breaking my bones
I don't know if I can climb this, I don't know if I ever will
It feels endless and having to climb from the bottom again; I will never reach the top
O Lord, please give me the strength to overcome this mountain
Give me the strength to even see the horizon
O Lord, You reign in the highest and did the impossible for me
There is nothing You can't do
O Lord, h
An Embrace in the DarkAn Embrace in the Dark
Your reasoning is true, you logic right
My flaw is forgiven by ethereal light
Make our scarlet sins bleed anew
Make them crystal as morning dew
And though I sin, I still understand
That all I want is to be part of your plan
Blood so crimson, akin to twilit sky
At last I am free, on angel’s wings I fly
EnlightenmentWaking from your dreams
You see life as a gleam of light
Not knowing which way it will reflect
from the mirrors of reality
You struggle with your faith
Your soul has been torn
As you get up, disbelieving in fate and trudging on
You feel a guiding force that mends your soul
and takes you to a world of bliss
Where dreams are anything but dreams
here one minute...this seems now
to be what's true:
do not dread death
toward end of life
because there is
no There anywhere
you'll not Be dead
you'll just be gone
an absent one
no longer here
the mortal throng
to Be no more
where you've not bought
nor caught the fear
from those who claim
to know one thing...
or too much other
you surely see
you cannot mourn
your selfish self
nor must you run
behind your loved one
to your lord
just let them go
and whisper "Yes"
prepare to miss
as you should
the one whom has now
come up missing
there'll be a day
when you'll be gone
though you won't know
so - mute the souls
who go before
[more truly need]
but likely sense
there's no beyond...
beyond death's door
one shall not see
one shall not hear
nor feel the calm
nor wonder "Why?"
at all... anymore
llp - dA - aug2014
ReconstructionRibcage turns to lead and thick and iron,
a bastardised alloy
that grips your lungs like a vice
and patterns welts on to your heart
if it starts to flutter.
Skull turns to flint and gasoline and matchstick,
a raging fire against your brain,
that makes you sweat electricity
and blow smoke from between your teeth,
and your eyes roll back to watch the light show.
Stomach turns to cement and grit and earth,
churning and setting,
half-formed rock scraping your insides
and carrying you with the slow
rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall.
Body tightens and shudders and curls in on itself,
literally breaking your heart,
setting fire to your insides,
churning your stomach just for the rush.
Crescendo blazes in tumultuous turmoil,
rhythm crawling inside of you,
volume increasing, increasing, increasing,
you drop with a scream
and all is quiet and nothing hurts.
Flower Meanings TranslationFlower Meanings Translation
Yes, Come down to me,
I attach myself to you,
I desire a return in affection,
I cling to you, You are my divinity,
You please all, I am your captive,
Anxious and trembling, Bonds ,
Resolved to win, I am worthy of you,
Think of me,
Fate, I feel your kindness,
I will never forget you,
Abuse not, The Heart’s mystery,
Pleasures of memory,
Incorruptible, Joys to come.
I share your sentiments, I will think of it,
Do me justice,
Bravery and Humanity,
A spell, The witching soul of music,
May you be happy.
I have a message for you,
Thoughts of absent friends,
Let me go, Snare,
I declare war against you,
Your looks freeze me,
I change but in death,
My regrets follow you to the grave,
My happiest days are past,
My best days are past,
I have lost all,
I will not survive you,
You will be my death,
Pray to the RainWe're exchanging goodbyes,
But we're still standing together.
And there's so much to say,
We still talk about the weather.
But the sky is really fascinating,
This silence incapacitating.
The windows down,
Wind drowns out our wishes.
I'd pray to a star,
But tonight they're non-existent
I'd pray to the moon,
But it's so damn inconsistent.
So I'll pray to the rain,
I trust things that fall.
I pray to the rain,
To break this brick wall.
I try to take away your pain,
But I'm no narcotic.
And I might be insane,
But I'm no damn psychotic.
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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