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Keep your verse terse
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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,
:iconspoems:spoems 32 26
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 13 13
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 20 19
I wake
in mourning
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
in their
the eyes
never weep
from their sleep
sun salutations
the gut
with a cruel child’s
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
for regret
in the early grave
of March.
:iconspoems:spoems 28 11
The Meaning of Bearing Life

may not last.
is impractical to
continue to evolve and become
the collective
experience of
bearing life,
for such
internal hardening and
the effects of
fatigue, going further
can be called
Life is the
life of bearing before it fails;
the so-called life
Life should peak,
oscillate, or remain
extremely short
and compromise
known or calculable external forces
or inertia.  When
ignore deformations in the
and act on a bearing, on a
for only light
applies to
:iconspoems:spoems 15 8
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
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
in the aftermath
and never knowing.
:iconspoems:spoems 11 19
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 23 6
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 13 12
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 14 16
I see her
for joy
in the tiniest of things
and pretend
I know the world
as well.
on her lips and cheeks -
a myriad of flights
and plumes,
the sweet
her muscle
the pace
of summer
and lounging
with the artless peace
of willows
waters’ edge,
I find
what she is
looking for -
a pair
of shadows
in her eyes.
:iconspoems:spoems 23 24
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 11 7
Mature content
The God Of Landscape Timbers Says Not To Worry :iconspoems:spoems 14 13
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 22 15
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;
Mexican pink.
:iconspoems:spoems 26 27
I would have you do this
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
:iconspoems:spoems 27 14
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 25 25

Random from Poetry

With eyes that haven't been dry
since I met him,
I beg him to finish me off -
what little there is left of me,
bereft of all dignity,
all pride I once possessed
before I became possessed
by him. His words
become blood, his blood
becomes ice
in my veins as the world
halts in its course and I
curl up in the urn.
:iconprettycrazy:PrettyCrazy 1 6
'Sorry, you do not qualify'
I didn't want to cry. I promised myself that no tear would escape my already swollen eyes, that no sob would come over my bitten lips. I tricked myself into believing that I had shed all the water inside me.
But the failure messages kept coming, they flooded me until I drowned in them. And when I looked in the mirror with my red watery eyes I saw it too: worthless. Useless. Meaningless. Every piece of paper spoke of inachievements. Every word became an attack until defense felt as futile as gasping for air.
And so I bowed my head and gave in.
"We have told you so,"
they said, "you are hardly worth
the air that you breathe."
:iconprettycrazy:PrettyCrazy 0 7
West of Ashland Ave.
Late August but summer has already packed its bags.
Warm, but something cooler whispers above LaSalle Street. 
You've strayed from your corner, in a city of big shoulders.
I wait for a cab and wonder who will buy your story today.
An ungentle world has left you with that sweet smile, the one
with warmth left on this cooling afternoon.
I've got a twenty and some change, and I don't care if you spend it
on booze or smoke.
Give me a reason to walk today.    
:iconemmasloane:EmmaSloane 21 38
Cicada krill raining down,  
a thin yellow line skims  
the swamp's horizon  
as you come to witness mine,  
where split end shanks  
float among the  
bloated racks of sinew  
in tangled roots of bayou,  
to lie down with the maggot  
the way a sweat bead crawls  
and tells of my sin  
while mosquitoes imbibe.  
I rail against temptation  
to drown the shrill whistle  
from the winding  
of an old church spire,  
as it's the only place left  
befitting to take shelter  
with brethren reading o'er me  
under a slow moon rising.
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 21 20
mechanical clocks don't...
Love set me going like a skeleton watch:
your voice wound me up, a look pushed
the hammer struck the gear;
pretty soon we were syncopated
ticking out a rhythm.
I wind my time when I remember.
I keep its gears bared,
measuring me in taut increments:
rationing my allowances,
budgeting my attention,
counting down the wait
'til next time you and I coincide;
then I'll forget to wind, it and my faces will
Around you I forget my time, detest the reminder
we are lent hours. But I check
nearby displays in a panic--whether I make the bread line
or not, it won't stop rationing out
my piece of your company.
I pretend I can ferret the constellation of your freckles
away in a jar for a rainy day.
I pretend I can collect the softness of your voice
like a magpie obsessed with small memories.
I lie persistently while my watch scoops out the day
by centimetres,
with spoonfuls,
in medicine cups.
My watch and I know I can no more hoard
your love against your absence than
ripe fruit against the wint
:iconalimari:Alimari 196 33
How She Discovered Wonder ...
For Natalie
Dream–time words surfaced from the depths of her mind.  She was attentive, allowing them to form clusters as they spiralled and turned, so it seemed to her, like exotic marine creatures. At first the shapes they formed were the colours of sound, bright staccato and purple-deep legato. No meanings attached to them as yet, their forms were amorphous, lacking in the sharp edge of articulation.
Enigmatic complexes took shape, embodying experience that had never been within the reach of recall, complexes that formed crystals in her imagination. As the sonorities of silent speech overwhelmed her, she reached for her pen.
The puzzle-piece words
grouped in unexpected patterns,
on the empty page.
:iconalecbell:AlecBell 15 21
Tell me the name is for a goddess,
capricious and deadly, who    
mocks the afflicted in their dreams.
I might endure more graciously
if only this were a dream. It is
she who tosses fireballs of light
pulsating, flashing bright
and going dim in the blackness
behind these herniated eyes,
to devour while I hear the sustained
pitch of a sonic scream through
the static frequency of night air,
the peel and cry of her harpies
smelling of singed hair and brains;
the fever and sound rips through veins,
cauterizing shut the window for sleep,
leaving the frantic staccato of a
heart in flight, as I whisper
Goddess, why spare me the night.
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 72 82
Sleepy song
our bed.
We sleep.
Shared dreams.
:iconprettycrazy:PrettyCrazy 6 17
Two lithe child figures,
actual or remembered?
Shadows pursue them.
:iconalecbell:AlecBell 9 17
For the Moment
I approach you, hidden as I am
clotted cream and honeyed, with eyes
rolled back like twin half moons
when now arrives a moment promised
like so many I've promised, and had
with you, for anything more is an
injustice while my flame still flickers,
you're reminded how precious
fleeting and eternal living is
while in and for the moment,
embodied in the four elements
with so much dying, conscious-struck,
of how even my own longing glides
beneath briny grave sites,
the primary force of an ancient sea
eroding into canyons that ambush,
I've shown you we needn't bow to it,
the limits of dismemberment,
that we can let go and fall between
undulating shoulder blades of flint
that renders the husk of my body-
breathe the incandescence
of my promise
the incendiary moment to the
flash of lightning, pierced by
its javelin tongue
through blinding white skies renting;
and again it comes! cutting through
wineskins of our carnality
to swoon from its clarity
a profound trust of loss as you wake,
an endles
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 16 38
meditation on forms
these katas:
muscle memory,
pure action.
doing not doing,
writing not writing.
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 3 5
the thought: a triptych
the thought dawns,
transcendental light;
brahma's word.
the thought hums,
polyphonic bliss;
vishnu's aum.
the thought strobes,
a sub-aural pulse;
shiva's drum.
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 13 12
starseed by haijinik starseed :iconhaijinik:haijinik 21 14
meditation on 'tabula rasa'
tabula rasa
empty me of everything.
purge me of all thought.
drain away my will to live.
deny me what is sought.
remove my need to flee this place
and seek a higher ground.
remain me in the valley where
i'm damned and sure to drown.
vacate the warehouse of my soul.
deplete my store of hope.
take from me my artifice
and the ways, with life, i cope.
'remain me in the valley
where i'm damned and sure to drown.'
i've been shown a different tally,
perception's turned around.
where i am damned and sure to drown:
up in the heights, choking on air,
perception's  turned around.
i seek retreat to Mother's lair.
up in the heights, choking on air,
there is no purchase, no respite.
i seek retreat to Mother's lair:
the only refuge from this plight.
there is no
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 7 33
up in the boughs
em'rald leaves,
onyx butterflies,
spider's silk;
dark regent's crown jools,
Mirkwood's canopy.
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 7 6
monarchs, ho
hark! those living runes!
those winged divinations!
autumn's harbingers!
come whisper into my ears
your lullabies and love songs...
:iconhaijinik:haijinik 4 12
my favorite dA poetry





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… , 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


M by kakaoconad

Helena by EmilySoto

W-out 0392  '  spekker ' by W-out



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modified by spoems


Artist | Literature
United States



Artist | Literature
United States

words cannot describe what i really am


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dA Groups I Administrate

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.



I've started a stamp collection. Because, that's what people do.

Stamp: thetaoofchaos by PoetryOD Nobody Likes a Writer by wildoats
I support BurdenedHearts by PoetryOD Read Poetry by LadyTieryn Word-Smiths signature... by Villenueve
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Add a Comment:
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!
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2017
Whoa!  Belated, Shane!:iconblushesplz:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday!
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Edited Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, darling. :heart:
Jompie Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017
haijinik Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2017  Student Writer
wh0rem0ans Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2016
thanks for the fave :butterfly:
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! ^-^
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2016   Writer
Thank you for the stars, alsoShane.
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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