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Keep your verse terse
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Literature
the daughter universe
Lonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little houses
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother.  Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
here.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 32 26
Literature
Alchemy
Inside these walls, I wait past dark.
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 13 13
Literature
workshop
The hearth in your denim pocket,
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 20 19
Literature
working
I wake
in mourning
working
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
brittles
in their
marrow
the eyes
become
dimensionless
never weep
from their sleep
years
digress
between
sun salutations
the gut
grows
tempestuous
with a cruel child’s
shame
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
deity
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
deadnettle
for regret
in the early grave
of March.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 28 11
Literature
The Meaning of Bearing Life

Experience
may not last.
It
is impractical to
continue to evolve and become
the collective
experience of
bearing life,
for such
internal hardening and
the effects of
material
fatigue, going further
can be called
failure.
Life is the
life of bearing before it fails;
the so-called life
experience.
Life should peak,
oscillate, or remain
extremely short
and compromise
known or calculable external forces
or inertia.  When
free,
ignore deformations in the
frame
and act on a bearing, on a
direction,
for only light
applies to
pure
acts.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 15 8
Literature
60 Inch Samsung TV
The vagabond
at its hilt
in its infant neural twist
before meandering
80 years
in feral knots
and vanishing in a lurch
prior to weeping
into knees
for uninvited gods
in the cold behind the grocery
despite a lack
of all the trappings
articulating
personhood
I’m sure he had it:
a smoke of a dream
a million heaving cigarettes
blazing in the unborn stem.
I took his air
and animation
but in this new configuration
the atoms speak only to his faithful ghost.
In my stolen host
my wiry beard
I never leave my final place
reclining
in the aftermath
and never knowing.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 19
Literature
Elsewhere
I do not cede your life to you.
All things begin in my aching bed.
Baristas, starmen, nothing has survived the light.
The living lose their space to me.
The last fond ritual before the ghosts will be allowed their speech
is the moment that I really live, when I breed all neurotic wants at once:
to king, to beggar, to whore out every figure
yet to be betrayed by gross approximation
and dumbly muddled by these dumb fingers.
The all important touch is just a disillusioned brute
hanging like an ugly halo around an arbitrary mass
that hosts your hidden magic.
And I kill the world to have it.
What bizarre and dissolute intelligence births itself in a hot smear of thought,
infests the throbbing slums of my sentience with ideas,
hungers and machinates for a free and unkempt soul,
reams into the deep darknet to damn my lazy search for hell,
or no, but to illuminate this damning of my design
and uncouple me from centuries of tiresome ontologies?
I’ve waited for the searing sign to emblaze
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 23 6
Literature
Retirement
The pecan tree looms like a ghast above the trail
waiting to collapse and crush someone’s skull.
It’s fruitless and frozen in the throes of a last hurrah,
unmoved and unmoving, a fitting bride for fire.  
I wonder when they’ll cut it down?
I am a wretched effigy
pining for the arborist to cull me from the path.
I’m still leftover from the bloom
frankly splayed upon the bosom
of this great interminable happening.
All that is animate is my nonnecessity.
I can no longer rise above the level of my eyes.
The tendons are frayed and salt-encrusted
sail boat lines brittling in the Gulf.
The bones grow blond and discontented.
Tell me, why should I ever move again?
The wind will list southward and find its way
to cool the cracks in this rainless mud.
The planet will bring news of the coming brood,
drench the veins with a violent pace
and I will finally be replaced.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 13 12
Literature
Business Trip
I’ll never make the drive west to San Fran
like a psychedelic troubadour
a zealous eremite on a mad mad dash
a pilgrimage through the Sonoran holy desert
those hipsters lounging outside City Light Books
cream in their wares about.
No, it’ll be this lonely business
pragmatically jetting over grave errors
of character and wind wrinkled hillsides
everyone circling the same 25K miles
half-dead asleep on these very wings!
All the while, trying to forget
what the world remembers to forget;
this is what you wanted.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 14 16
Literature
language
I see her
foraging
for joy
in the tiniest of things
and pretend
I know the world
as well.
Somewhere
on her lips and cheeks -
a myriad of flights
and plumes,
the sweet
dichotomies
between
her muscle
cantering
the pace
of summer
and lounging
with the artless peace
of willows
guarding
waters’ edge,
I find
what she is
looking for -
a pair
of shadows
in her eyes.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 23 24
Literature
loathe
Curious, how he ages past his origins
a rage unfurrowed by the planet's touch
by the girl who held him like a furnace bides the coals
by the women who survive him as a coat of arms
by the man whose imperative is sowing seeds in space
on the mind within the mind where ancient troubles fall on lips
and regrets' subdermal cultivation
in the bodice of his erroneous twin
bloom in these terrific wires
‘till they turn up into the skin;
recalcitrant sores of a leper god
see them worship and abhor!
What tribe, these scars
dark medicine art
and who will bear his animus
when now he's old and new again?
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 7
Mature content
The God Of Landscape Timbers Says Not To Worry :iconspoems:spoems 14 13
Literature
caesura
Today, impermanence is 5 weeks of rain
and pine limbs spindling clear above the house
and things I’ve left underground:
a cavity in the storm
misplaced regality
a stark white coat.
How do we perish yet
still lounge eminently
sharpening the catalpa
pacing the gutters
impaling midnight
in our wanton monotone?
My jealous imperia do not ruin.
Innocence is never lost.
It grows back like phantom vertebrae
and rebuilds the animal.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 23 15
Literature
the lesson
Following the last communique
of any order
of anything,
we'll not find a posteriori death
no grand apocalypse
carried off in bits by ants
or hurtling beside us
like dark matter twins
nestled in our bullet blue capsules
fighting us for singular dimension.
Under stones, behind the clouds
sleeping in fire, circling in bodies
we'll turn over nothing in nothing
that doesn't lead the way to these:
Pioneering blossoms
of my judas tree;
unabashed
unrepentant
Mexican pink.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 26 27
Literature
I would have you do this
Here.
this is your prayer
your mantra, your news.
I leave it as I found it, papering in the streets.
as godless a truth as you will know
it’s still a ghost of a dream
smaller than theories of infinite resolution.  
you will believe it because it has no industry
no acolytes or storefronts.
it’s not an embezzlement of fascination
or confabulation of missing histories.
you will not doubt its truth because your design is hollow
    the space inside your car
    the adventitious spine that vials through the weeds
    the ice of march on adam’s needle
    the ants, crickets, beetles under sandstone
    waiting in a music box for the catalysts to wake
    and split them out into the breen.
you will speak of your awareness
without knowing what inhabits it
    like a colour that doesn't hum
    or passing through a future forest
    of apparitions in bald park meadows
    a
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 27 14
Literature
While Driving in the Suburbs on Valentine's Day
I’m sure of nothing, no one;
we’ll never be ourselves.
Our lone device is left to searching
through bins and vessels
on drives and circles
one by one, houses upon houses
secreting pills and thoughts and air
behind their stealthy doors and bellies.
I stab into each of their ugly little anthems.
What is mine?
What is mine.
Windows caught on Christmas trees
pathologically white
the pale hypnosis of television
bleeding through curtains drawn to a slit.
What dares to go on living in there?
Dawn comes drunk and begging
shrill and shameless, undiscerning
‘till the string breaks high above the plains
‘till it’s engorged on everything
the hairline crack in a potted blue sage
the lip of the gutters haunted by cats.
Houses are holding things close to their lungs
moistened in darkness, a glorious sadness
that no one's allowed.  Left out!  We're left out
of unholy communions, distensions of time.
I've only the rumors to cradle my demons
and only your face, sw
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 25

Random from Poetry

Literature
tank over, 3
mad mendacity
manufactured: mutually
assured destruction
moribund monstrosity,
malfeasance made manifest.
:iconhaijinik:haijinik
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 5 10
Literature
Tank Over, 3
mad mendacity
manufactured: mutually
assured destruction
moribund monstrosity,
malfeasance made manifest.
:iconAlecBell:AlecBell
:iconalecbell:AlecBell 9 28
Literature
unbearable lightness of being
the pressure builds;
my arm becomes strange, sensational
as confused blue worms
emerge for this rain.
sleeve displaced by my belt;
the colors,
this rainbow cranny,
practical, hand lifting,
lain down.
gentle with my instruments,
my cooking done;
the only recipe i care to know.
i can only bear the present
for the promise;
we live entirely
for the approach,
the presence;
the immediacy barters
in eternity.
the brace,
a contained warpath,
down in my favorite corner
with the windows;
the sun is about to explode.
my hands are beautiful:
the patient and the doctor,
both practiced, incurable;
birds are flying in my eyes.
the oasis, the inner elbow,
the pressure is everything;
just a prick,
the smallest cost
for passage between space
and void;
tease the plunger, manipulate my own eternity;
the sharpness so easily broken, man and machine now,
so clear, this water from another world's river;
all the pressure, the axis of earth
on my thumb;
the dawns and oceans
echo in me;
the memories,
life has a
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 5 9
Literature
i'm still here
i have had enough.
and never enough.
i am both twins
who hate each other.
this old fatigue, burning water.
the threshold of an escape,
elevating further away;
or a sense of sinking.
i never left,
am still here.
where you've gone
is the question,
and why
happiness evades
those like you
with the greatest capacity
for it,
those most deserving of it.
i see you
surrounded by distance,
the corners of your eyes
holding in another kind
of expanse;
i see you
and realize
the largest hearts
are the emptiest,
the strongest
saved for the largest assaults.
passion eludes
our decayed corners;
but evasion
never lasts.
the passages
resume in their serial,
their marmoreal coil;
up, and down
every dimension;
we turn into them,
filling with what is there,
light and water,
bread of sound,
an abundance.
some
never give,
even to themselves,
never knowing
what is there
to be understood.
the rise and fall;
i hate my ruins.
this antiquity,
obsolete, in my eyes.
there is no use,
an absent utility of all this lov
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 6 12
Literature
spring
the birdsong,
its invisible body;
the notation of treebark,
the rough gestures
of wind.
the water conducts
sound
off the horizon
and the iron shelves
of dawn;
growth of spring,
the green conduit,
sight upon sight
electrified
by the consent of line,
the allowance
of light
in shadow.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 7 7
Literature
bed of red flowers
black-earth bed, blanket
of red--bleeding through the wind;
scent up to my eyes.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 4 10
Literature
What Dreams Are
a falling light,
all the stars, permanent maps,
tangling, incoming
bright deaths.
the circular elements,
abolishing corners in expanse.
the descent jolts our joints,
the dry dispersing fingers of return on our eyes.
the bed rears, kicking its hoofs
in a small room with corners repeating their adjoining anthems
into infinity.
we fall into sleep
like tragedy into the dusk of centuries;
dreams are histories
that never happened;
proxies haywired
between day and death;
ladles dipped
into rainbow-slicked wells;
interpreted thirsts
leaving our throats
every time we swallow in our sleep.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 7 11
Literature
Epoch
ghostly scatterings of blackbirds-
hallucinations in their wake,
like the low-lying fog
below the clouds
just before rain comes
and plays blues in the streets,
filling the gutters
where uranium fish glow,
while in blows the sweet scent
of new grass and sage, secreted
in the alleys of abandoned chaos
that cover bygone seasons
of attempt and loss-
the baritone of wind through
the nostrils of the old tree
where I stand under its limbs
of sparse buds
(perhaps the last year)
to a chorus of knuckles cracking
from the slow heavy drips on  
the hood of my Mackintosh;
a yellow jacket flying amidst
the gray morning
of an empty Sunday,
waiting in the eye of
the epoch of our spring
with its audacious need
to be born, even if by breech
to the sound of racing footsteps,
the scree of lightning,
and the clank of forceps
:iconJade-Pandora:Jade-Pandora
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 35 66
Literature
Spring Reminiscence
snow melts-
bones of Winter
grin from the grass
       >:<
scalloped leaves-
a caterpillar's
overbite
       >:<
dream catchers
at dawn's first light-
cocoon remnants
       >:<
morning dew-
ladybug
reflections
       >:<
sun bonnets in vogue-
a bee attends
high tea
       >:<
a tabby preens
on the porch-
ant queue
       >:<
wasp nest
in my mailbox-
unpaid bills
       >:<
a brief life
serenades from the reeds-
eternal Spring
       >:
:iconJade-Pandora:Jade-Pandora
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 18 34
Literature
darkside
                        a moon full in shadow
                                    it's not alone
                    i'm there gravely dressed in stone
               harbouring doubts within roses
                                             entwined blessings of kindness
    
:iconblue-roses-to-dust:blue-roses-to-dust
:iconblue-roses-to-dust:blue-roses-to-dust 5 12
Literature
Raubtier
Your name
has become synonymous with
shadow, and everything
I desire.
I am like
some mythic undead drawn
forward by your presence.
I digress.
Your name
is a haunting incantation
upon the vacuum of me,
accessible
for all your wanting.
Devour me,
and I will secret away
the best parts of you
along the rungvertebrae
of my spine.
I will stitch you into my skin,
and tattoo you with the ash
and ink of our combined eyes,
the sacrifice of our flesh
upon night's threshold.
You are a cold wind in the fog,
and I am an oily flame,
together
we will make embers
of the countryside.
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w 2 19
Mature content
We Were Justice 3 :iconindiana-w:indiana-w 59 52
my favorite dA poetry

Critiques

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critiques to do

Critiques I Promised To Do

I'm open for requested critiques - mainly free verse poetry, but I'll consider other forms. Please note me with a link or links to pieces you would like critiqued, and I will add them to the list.

NOTE: You do not need premium membership critique enabled on your piece.

matron by InkatMidnight

Little Submarines by ohara1901

Freediving by indiana-w

Name That Baby by xlntwtch

This, My Father Talk by TheGlassIris
Ghost by TheGlassIris
Portrait with Mourners and Childless Couple by TheGlassIris

remembering by ersatz-moon

Wasteland by Infractusgrace

Wings of Glass by Klei-Brandybear

space by Tomea

Rivalry by akkajess

House of Life Lessons by belcanto2

My sorrow by TheIcyGlaceon

A Year Spent With Delirious Wounds by Canis44

For Leyla by S1n7h

Human seasons by byronycal

Helpful Links

Holidays, DDs, and White Feature

Journal Entry: Sat Dec 19, 2015, 12:24 PM
For me, the holidays are always a time to reflect on the state of life and things.  I look on this past year, and in spite of whatever happenstance I might consider as negative, such as health issues or the general and seemingly unending malaise of the world, I am forced to conclude that it was, in fact, as good a year as I could want.  As joy often goes underreported, I’m here to say that good things did and do happen.  And they will continue to happen.

In the realm of DA, I received a DD feature on my poem Pertrichor spoems.deviantart.com/art/Petr… , thanks to LiliWrites .  Considering the recent changes to the site, I had hoped that DA would make daily deviations more prominent than they have been. My feedback to staff has always been that DDs are not an art filter or browse option, they are a feature. Don't make people dig for them, as that is really antithetical to the purpose of a feature.

I’m also closing in on 9 years on the site.  I look back at my art, the art of my DA friends and other artists I admire as well as the site as a whole, and I do notice the changes in all these aspects.  Here’s to the continuing evolution of our art and our spirits.

I hope everyone has a great holiday season.  If you prone to struggling emotionally during this time of year, Heidi has compiled a good list of hotlines that people can call to get help:
 




                                                                                             ~*~
                                                                     


And now for a white feature:




 
                                     
                                                       

 
 
088 by narva     11 by staceyclarkephoto



                                        
                                         


Victor 3 by NataliaCiobanu



White Lace by AgatkaAltModel   
                                                



 Dispersion by offermoord



K by RealKilroy   


Black and White Fluid Painting by Mark-Chadwick



                                          
                                          
     

his history by MartaSyrko



Pale by thefirebomb   



Sky Storm Sea by Senecal


                                                                                  



Marine by EmilySoto

     
                              
                                         




   golden river by KariLiimatainen



luna by ESPRIT-CONFUS



M by kakaoconad


Helena by EmilySoto




W-out 0392  '  spekker ' by W-out









Cheers.

shane

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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States


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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States

words cannot describe what i really am







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groups

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I'm the founder over at :iconword-smiths:.

Please join us there and share your literature with us.



I'm the founder at :iconthesimulacrum:

Dedicated to short verse.



I'm the founder at :iconmind-syndicate:.

Let's mesh.



I'm the founder at :iconvicious-verse:.

Integrate the shadow.



I'm the founder at :iconda-literature:.

All literature is welcome.



I'm an admin at :iconburdenedhearts:.

Uniting, supporting, surviving.



I'm an admin at :iconprosepoetry-elegance:.

For excellence in writing.

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Stamp: thetaoofchaos by PoetryODNobody Likes a Writer by wildoats
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Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconrensknight:
RensKnight Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Hi...I used the "Send a Note" feature on dA-Literature to inquire about something group-related, but I am not sure that was the right place to ask my question.  Please let me know if I need to re-send it to you, or to someone else.  Thanks!
Reply
:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2017
Whoa!  Belated, Shane!:iconblushesplz:
Reply
:iconcinnamoncandy:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday!
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:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Edited Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, darling. :heart:
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:iconjompie:
Jompie Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017
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:iconhaijinik:
haijinik Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2017  Student Writer
:cake:
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:iconwh0rem0ans:
wh0rem0ans Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2016
thanks for the fave :butterfly:
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:iconlarathain:
Larathain Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2016
You are very welcome for the watch and the llama! If you see my art, and enjoy what you perceive, mayhaps you'll offer me the favor of returning the watch! ^-^
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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2016   Writer
Thank you for the stars, alsoShane.
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:iconsoothenoo1959:
SootheNoo1959 Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for the watch, Shane! :hug: I really appreciate your support!  :happybounce:
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