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Deviant for 5 Years
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Literature
a haiku about the horrors of english class
Poem picked apart
Coldly, surgically by
The rigid reader
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Literature
I Wouldn't Sell the Rain
For all the sunshine in the world,
I wouldn't sell the rain.
No matter how hard life can be,
I'd never trade the pain
For happiness that's sculpted clay,
Artificial in my fingers curled.
Without the downpours,
The gardens cannot grow,
And if not for the pain
We could never know
The value of a smile, of a hug,
Of a red balloon kissing the summer sky.
If I know one thing, it's that
Happiness you can never buy.
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Literature
The Dappled Stallion -- A Sestina Poem
Silhouetted there's a stallion
The fire in his eyes untamed and wild
He's wilder than any horse in his little herd
These four-legged shadows swimming through dawn
They are gypsies, mustangs errant
Equine conquistadors of this ancient land
Watercolor pools across the planar land
Buckskins, blacks, chestnuts, the dapple of my stallion
He is a traveller, errant
He is free, the master of this wilderness
Pulling the chariot of dawn
Lighting the horizon with the myriad hues of his herd
He is knight, protector--he herds
His intrepid drove to lusher land
In the orange haze of September dawn
And they trust him, for he leads, my stallion
He leads his loved ones into the wild
Seeking, roving, eternally errant
He is a swan, migratory, errant
His arched silver neck carrying his proud eyes above the herd,
Knowing eyes that seek danger in the wild
For his land is a pitiless land
And many a man would hunt such a stallion
To rope him away in the light of dawn
His shadow looms imperial in dawn
In step w
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Literature
The Sun Loved a Dandelion
The sun from his lonely sky
Could see
All the finest blossoms
There ever would be
But though the roses and tulips
Reached for his light
They couldn't bear his loving heat
Or his absence e'ry night.
For this he adored a certain
Flower fair,
And though she was nor pedigreed
Nor delicate nor rare,
He most loved the dandelion
Because she was strong;
She was patient with him and
Always was there.
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Literature
a reichenbach poem {john watson's pov}
falling isn't flying
sherlock,
it's dying.
you stupid man,
you took the plunge
and sank beneath
waters black
to the point
where there is no
coming back,
not even for you,
the genius, the sociopath
sherlock holmes.
i watched you there
beautifully suspended
for a moment
like a raven
in the air,
your wings unable
to carry you anywhere
but down
to the unforgiving,
cold, hard ground.
feathers plucked,
a bird unplumed,
you were finally
consumed
by forces greater
and stronger than you,
by a world that is
scathingly cruel.
my friend,
i'd always had my fears
that you would break,
but today you
turned those fears
to tears,
salty, warm, and unrelenting
in your memory,
the memory of a man
i held so dear.
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Literature
do you remember?
i sat curled in the windowsill
digits cradling a mug
that steamed the scent of toddy
while you leaned in the doorframe
as the wall slowly shed its paint
in chips like leaves.
do you remember?
i talked for a little while,
my throat paper-dry
even after my chocolate concotion
and you bit your lip
in silence until
you bled.
do you remember?
you coaxed the toddy from
my hands and said we'd never
work because you wanted
what i couldn't give—
beauty and grace and
a fortune in silken skin.
do you remember?
you turned your back
and stepped away,
setting the mug on the table
next to the wilting azaleas
before hefting your weightless
backpack and fading into
the morning light.
do you remember?
of course not,
because it never happened.
without a word or a note
you vanished in the night
and when i came downstairs
i discovered
your featherlight backpack
gone from the hanger
and the mug of toddy you
didn't bother to wash
perched underneath the
wilting azaleas.
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Literature
somehow right
you see with this clarity
while i seek the discrepancies
and flicker between the lines
you take the picture for what it is
while i struggle in vain
to read the signs
and discern a truth with
brown eyes somewhat blind
you're somehow right
and somehow patient
enough to wait for me
to catch up
and begin to see.
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Literature
someday
the townhouses end at the road.
the road ends far away.
i'll get to the end of it
someday.
behind me the city will fade
and the urban noise
will cascade away
someday.
little by little the stars
peek out from under the blanket
and like drops of dew
they're vanquished by the sunrise.
we spend our lives belabored
but when i'm free i will surmise
and the truth will be in my palm
with the pavement behind me
where things are simple
and life is calm.
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Literature
this hopeless hope of mine
a brilliant eclipse.
it doesn't last and i can't appreciate its beauty
fully while it does.
that's what you are.
an eclipse.
for a moment you shroud the rest of my world
and draw my attention.
but i cannot look directly.
my eyes sting when i try.
only when you're gone can i look back and,
in wistful retrospect, say,
'i wish it had lasted forever.'
for the time being,
i'll be savoring the eclipse
out of the corner of my eye,
quietly kindling this hopeless hope of mine,
a hope i know will only
hurt me when you go.
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Literature
candlelight love
candlelit, the journal flared orange,
the words strewn across it embers
that strove to ignite a certain something in the mind,
and your hand, soft and splotched
with the inky labours of your imagination,
set fire to the pages with poems
you wrote for me, poems that
professed a love as warm and
as ephemeral as the flickering wisp
on the end of the eroding candlestick.
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Literature
you're (im)perfect the way you are. don't change.
i love you for your
distortions because they put
you in proportion.
mine do me the same.
through the cracks in our hearts we
are able to shine.
virtue is beauty
but sin's what makes it matter.
no one is faultless.
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Literature
surreal poetry written on a plush leather chaise
on cold nights
i create the universe
skin taut and quivering
a new plane of existence
i exhale nebulae
of silver steam
i smile thirty-two
new stars
glistening ivory
against fields
of black
on cold nights
i dream the universe
and crawl into
the warmth of my bed
to explore its depths
in my dreams.
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Literature
life's cruel, darling. life's beautiful, darling.
we're born pure, we're born sure
life makes us flawed and insecure
perfection is not achieved, but
gradually lost over time
as we become more human
we commit ever more crimes
it's the imperfections that
make us who we are
we aren't judged by our refinements,
but rather by our scars
life's cruel, darling
life's beautiful, darling
and i wouldn't have it any other way.
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Literature
meaningless surreal poetry
to be free is to ride
on the back of a horse
without a care for
how long or to where
because the four legs beneath you
are stronger than your inhibitions
because the bond between
a steed and her rider
knows no conditions
and even on a cloudy night
the fireflies shed their flickering light
there's no need for stars
when you're galloping farther than far
can fathom
in the summer night
through fields of
gold-flecked blue
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Literature
untitled again
it's been years
since i believed
that monsters lived
under my bed.
now i'm starting
to see that they
only moved into
my head.
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Literature
untitled, too
don't
ever
stop
trying
not ever
because
we have
for
forever
until always
ceases
to be
until the
beats
of our
hearts
are beat
by the
incessant
ticks
of the
time
we
invented
to be
measured
by.
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Literature
Creativity (RvB)
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Andrea
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Well, hullo there, internet. ^^ My name is Andrea, though you may know me better as Apricity if you're from Rooster Teeth. I'm not a trained artist or poet. Ever since I could hold a crayon, I've just loved to draw, and an elementary school teacher introduced me to the wonders of creative writing. Since then I've been creating in some way or another, for better or for worse, and now you, the internet, are a platform on which I can share my work. I want desperately to improve, so if you have a shred of time to spare on a novice like myself, it would be lovely if you could critique me. (:
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:icontouchedvenus:
TouchedVenus Featured By Owner May 2, 2012  Professional Digital Artist
Hi there! Thank you so much for the fave on THIS IS OPERA! Your support is greatly appreciated, and I hope that you have a wonderfully blessed day. :thanks:
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:iconligechan:
Ligechan Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2012
Many thanks for the fav^^
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:iconthislovelymaelstrom:
thislovelymaelstrom Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
But of course. :3
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:iconmad42sam:
Mad42Sam Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2012   Digital Artist
Thank you for the fav )
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:iconthislovelymaelstrom:
thislovelymaelstrom Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
No problemo.
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:iconsapphire-cloud:
Sapphire-Cloud Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2012  Student Digital Artist
:iconthnxplz: :D
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:iconthislovelymaelstrom:
thislovelymaelstrom Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
De nada. :D
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:iconcliveblake:
CliveBlake Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2012  Professional Writer
Welcome to dA ... and ...
Thank you for Faving …
[link] “Through The Hole In The Glass” (Visual Poetry) …
It is much appreciated …
:)
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:iconthislovelymaelstrom:
thislovelymaelstrom Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Aw, thank you!
And you're welcome? xD
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:iconcliveblake:
CliveBlake Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2012  Professional Writer
:)
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