PiecesI say that I’m alright becausePieces by Medoriko
it is easier to lie, than for you
to peel away the layers, and be
disappointed with the person
I am underneath.
Nocturne You open your eyesNocturne by Medoriko
To a serene scene;
somewhere, your soul flies.
You slip in between
shadows and cracks; Yet,
you remain asleep.
Landing in regrets
You couldn't help but keep,
Dream becomes nightmare.
Sweat upon your brow;
Scared beyond compare.
What will you do now?
The watershed moment dries, stilling your tears
As your bleating alarm allays all your fears.
Of A Feather"Your eyes catch mineOf A Feather by Medoriko
like hungry birds of prey"
the ink drenched pieces
of my beastly mind
lie trapped in your talons.
pages spread like wings,
I make my way across great
lines, into your heart.
hopes adorn my arms
as rising flight feathers,
finding their way to you.
roosting, here we wreathe
ourselves in song, making home.
branches spread below.
we meet somewhere in
between, as we realize that
no life goes unchecked.
| (My DLDs)|
Bait and SwitchBougainvillea blooms
Fear NotBe the sky that I
Life on DisplayShe had grown up in a world
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
Places I've been Featured at: (A Condensed list)
Spotlights on... #16What's up people?
Spotlights on... #15Wow already #15. I still remember the feeling I had when I posted my first features articles: I really wanted to share my favourite art with all my friends, supporters and watchers. I received several compliments and praise for my features articles therefore I definitely can't stop doing them.
The Ink Stained Quill Vol. IIIHello everyone! It's Kelsy, aka SpriteBlayde here. Welcome to the third volume of The Ink Stained Quill. This series focuses on the amazing writers we have here on deviantART. Each installment will feature a deviant who you may, or may not know, who is willing to answer some of my questions! Whether you are a long time writer, or a newbie, there is something for everyone in the series who is looking to improve their craft or for some light reading.
Random Feature Time!As the title says, it's a random feature! Before I begin, I would like to mention that I am still open to collaborations. If you're interested, please note me or comment here: http://spriteblayde.deviantart.com/journal/Poetry-Collaboration-453343304.
A Feature full of LOVE Let's start with some words that I adore.
Monthly Feature of Works!Welcome to :iconPoeticalCondition:'s Monthly Feature of Works!
ITU Feature 19 - June 28, 2013 Inspire The Uninspired Fortnightly Feature
NaPoWriMo Feature #4Sooo hi. Yes, I know it's been almost two whole months since NaPo ended, but I am lazy and irresponsible so there. Here is the final installment of the NaPo features, with, once again, three of my favorite NaPo poems from all of the winners. Enjoy!
Literature Roadtrip: Day 06The beautiful pieces of literature featured here today are written by extremely talented deviants. As you explore their galleries you will be amazed and captivated. I urge all of you to read a few of the pieces showcased, give them some comments and add them to your favourites. I know that these deviants would greatly appreciate it.
Fantastic Feature Tuesday #45Please this news article so it will reach a larger audience!
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,Check It
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
DevilDevils never cry
Enjoying their evil deeds
Vandalizing your soul
Ignoring your pleas and
Laughing at your suffering
Million facesA million faces
All the same
Wandering all their lives
Without a real purpose
A million stories
But all with the same ending
A fate we can't avoid
But between them all
Could there be one
That stands out?
Nothing left to hope for
Soon to be forgotten
A fate that awaits us all
Predators of the nightA gust of wind
Blowing through our hair
The dead leaves
Cracking under our feet
The night sky
A blanket over our heads
And the full moon
Blessing us with its silver light
A perfect night for us hunters
To look for our prey
Jafar x Reader - Strength in CautionHis cape swirls around him like black, squelching fire as he stops in the center of the room. The frosted oil lamps flicker for what seems like no reason at all. There is no wind to move them...or maybe I just can't feel it. With the way my head feels, I'm pretty sure I've been staring at him for like an hour already so it wouldn't be surprising if I'd lost touch with other aspects of reality. But...I mean...is it the power he exudes...? Or...?
"So you're the rat who's crawled into my palace." Rat? Really?
"Uh. Sure." His eyebrows twitch up, face tilts and he parts his plush, dark lips. Pretty sure he wasn't expecting me to just accept that sort of name calling. The flicker of a crow touches the streaming moonlight and makes me more than a little aware that the man has left the jail door open behind him.
Probably shouldn't try to escape, though. That...might just be bad news bears. All things considered.
"You do not mind," he starts toward me, careful, distrusting footsteps pervading t
The OneShe wears her insanity like her favourite colour.
It looks good on her but I don't know how to let her know.
When she looks at me, I freeze and shudder
And all of the hard work of walking next to her crumbles.
But she smiles. It's a wonderful smile:
Somewhere between murderous and benevolent.
"Talk to me," she says, like we've ever spoken before.
"Tell me what you keep so close to your heart."
Chewing my lip, I reach in my pocket and pull out my phone,
Pretending that I didn't hear her.
It's no use.
Her gaze is penetrating and I'm a sucker for the meaning in her breath.
"It's you. Basically." She keeps on smiling.
"I wear the thought of you like ink in my bones."
"Oh," she remarks, "a poet."
Releasing me from her gaze she ushers me, "Go on."
But I can't find the words to continue.
And I can see that she knows of my intellectual incapacity.
"Come with me," is her way of maintaining this.
I grin like a sheep and she knows I'm hers.
Six Word Story: My Consistent Wordless WhisperHow long will you hold me?
IntensityI dress in broken greyscale,
In walls of smoke-charred glass:
The paper-lined abysmal veil
That glistens as you pass.
I live in boxed enigmas,
Counting star-drenched seas
Until the etched out sigma,
My breath a sour wheeze.
I am the tattered sailboat
Among your wispy words;
I dip and fly 'til I can float
Beside your past, lust-lured.
My ceiling is a blanket
You wove with mirrored stars
And set upon me, "take it",
And carved my fledgling scars.
My body is no canvas
But the artwork that you make
Within the winds around us
And the watered earth you break.
HollowWe are causalities
of poetic war, words stitched
as one – by regret.
MuseFragile demons haunt
lone ghost photographs, reflect
shatter the cold silences
of the darkened night.
Almost ParadiseSlowly fading away
those withering memories
rebound with a kiss.
A Racial StereotypeHe is a bumbling idiot.
He never gets anything right
Even the simplest of endeavors
Becomes a full out catastrophe.
And he speaks
As if there is not a single language
In The Galaxy
He has properly learned.
They look at him,
And see a stereotype.
A poor reflection of something black.
I look at him,
And I see a seven foot tall lizard.
If I could speak plainly:
Jar Jar Binks
Is not a racial stereotype.
There is no universe
Where that makes
Any amount of sense.
And you look at me,
I could see it.”
If you do not see
The irony here
Then allow me to explain you something.
If you see idiot,
And think black
Are the racist one here.
And blaming someone else
Now don’t pretend
You are blind to race
Do not try to play like
The soldier in this war
You don’t even know what side you’re fighting for.
A racial stereotype
Is a misleading representation
Of an ethn
A History LessonThey never want to talk about the 80s.
And by ‘they’ I mean our historians and by ‘our’ I mean Americans –
And they never want to talk about the 80s.
We know 1619 as the year our people became yours –
And by yours, I mean your property.
Taken from their home, their world, shackled on your ships
In a way you would not treat animals.
And by you, I guess I mean us because
White history is black history is my history is our history
It began in 1619.
And I write these words now because of Lucy Terry in 1746
Solomon Northrup in 1853
Fredrick Douglas in 1864.
Because Zora Neale Hurtson in 1956.
Alice Walker in 1983.
Geoffry Fletcher. In 2009.
I write these words now because they tell us we live in a place
Called Post Racial America.
As if we’ve gotten past it
When they just don’t want us to talk about it
And by ‘it’
I mean our history.
1978 – Our courts uphold equal opportunity.
1992 – The first race riots in decades
All at OnceAll at once, it stopped.
She was playing. Her box of fears lined up in a neat little line of torture. She didn’t know how to play but she was playing because that was what children did. They lined up their toys and they played, their days decided by the nature of the merry go rounds and swing sets. The laughter spins around her and on the swings she can fly. She’s a butterfly. Or a bat. Flying though the darkness waiting for the sunrise so she can rest. Because the day is tired. It is cool stares and computer cords cracking on her back. And the world, spinning with laughter, quiets in its crescendo.
She was a dandelion. Reaching out in tentative beauty. Please, today let her reach. Let her shine. Torn out at the roots and tossed away. She was a weed trying to be a flower. No one wanted a weed, a plant that took and took and gave nothing back. It did not collect the morning dew or shine as it came to life. A dim parasite, feeding off the fertile grounds. She had the right to
DisorderThey never told me that it would get better.
They told me that high school would be hard
That’s what they tell everyone, though
It’s basically written across the imaginary flag shared by the imaginary network of American high schools
‘This is going to be hard for your nearly useless teenage brain.’
But don’t worry – don’t worry because they told you would it would get better. They said after years of putting up with this crap you would be free to encounter some real-world stress. That high school was preparation.
But they did not tell me that it would get better.
And I think I understand.
I have a condition.
Several, probably connected. My list without explanation looks like the start of a bad joke. So let’s give it a go.
Hyper-sensitivity disorder. Anxiety disorder. Antisocial personality disorder. Obsessive compulsive personality disorder. Disorder, disorder, disorder. Disorder. Disorder.
They told me that high school would be ha
Last Night (2)Bawled promises flow
into a brooding darkness:
Shattered by the dawn
at the expense ofWinter was Mark’s least favourite season. He loved the snow, when it fell and coated everything a pure, clean white, and Christmas, or the idea of it anyway. One thing overrode all of that; he hated that, even before 6pm, it would get dark and even chillier. On those nights, when it was often as cold inside the house as outside, Mark would open his window wide, wrapping himself in his grubby blankets and lean out. A game he liked to play was the one where he’d empty his little lungs into the cool air, seeing how large he could make the condensation cloud.
Perhaps his favourite past time, though, was gazing far beyond the offensively orange lights of the council estate where he lived with his Mum to the faint stars above. He liked to imagine what it would be like in space, one time nearly falling out of the open panel in the process.
Mark would always wait for his Mum to come back before he properly went to bed. Sometimes he stayed in the window pane for hours, watching for
perspectivehollow muscular organ
f i l l e d with emotion
The Bay That Haunts My Nightmares.Gazing upon where the most precious
flower known to time should have been,
a thought broke his troubled heart:
“there is nothing between
us but space, and this
my pocket calculator's final taskI will measure my life
in laughter as well as tears
- honey and salt -
the wrinkles on my face
or my hands.
Paintings looked at,
shoe soles walked through;
I will count in trips and stumbles,
strangers and friends,
in afternoon naps,
and tea hours.
When I count, I will skip
stomach pains and brooding hours,
only sparing a passing glance
to the number of moments
I spent aflame in anger,
But the measurement I will
linger on, besides the number of words
written, deleted, striked out, spoken, read,
I will take my sweet time to count
the times I touched your lips
coming here is coming homeI remember coming back;
the sky was clear and I
was plastered to the airplane window
staring at mountains rising up beneath me
with a strange fascination,
as if I'd never seen them before,
as if I'd not noticed their wild beauty
while living among them,
all those years.
I remember feeling like coming home
was at the same time discovering
this very home; mountains, lakes and cities
from above, and from below
the mountains are growing even higher
the lakes are stretching wider
the cities are spreading apart, and I was
seeing it for the first time all over again,
discovering how it's so heart-achingly
beautiful, I never want to leave for good.
I remember getting swamped
with stereotypes at the airport;
someone yodeling, and cow bells
(the sound that wakes me in those
summer mornings I spend back where
I grew up) in the background,
and my family, pressing a square flag
in my hands in red and white (as if I could
have forgotten what it looks like).
Let me show you a picture book,
www stands for world-wide web[ connect ]
[ trying to connect ]
[ connected ]
[ internet access ]
We've long ago stopped to believe
that for something to be r e a l
it has to be something you can
Yeah, we've gotten used
to ghost lights, phantom touches
and the general weirdness of life.
(Your face staring back at you
out of the dark screen
after two or three seasons
of whatever you [<strike wytiwyg="1">
cruelty doesn't lie in what we areBecause I was flesh you were
able to tear me apart from the inside out;
and I felt for the longest time that if I fell
I would fall apart at the seams with which
attempts have been made to hold my skins
together, to stick my ribcage to my heart.
I was flesh and so were you;
only cruelty doesn't lie in what we are
but in all that we do and you broke me
left me to bleed out in the great street
with blaring lights and my legs feeling like
something scattered by the wind.
Because I was flesh I supposed
that I was weak, but I was wrong,
and to prove this to you I will drive
the same pain I knew right into your bone
because cruelty doesn't lie in what we are
and you have taught me very well.
after himclutch tight to Ghandi and Plath—
and maybe the sicker works of Poe,
his Annabel Lee—
and open cotton ears to the streetlamps
covering shadow streets, shadow people,
and tell me why we breathe.
there’s space in your sheets,
and I’m glad I didn’t crawl in and nest
like blue jays in the spring...though one
time I did fall in, and it was far from graceful—
dirt and mud on your quilt and just hand grenades
in my right breast, waiting for your fingers
to pull out all the pins.
red giantI will be brave while the birds scavenge,
while the storms devastate, because no one
else will hold me together like moonlight
and apparitions in a rear-view city’s landscape.
I will be brave when I don’t fit together
in all the
right places—when making spine bridges
ceases to have meaning for any other purpose
than for granting you passage,
because my boat is only big enough
for pasts and for ghosts, and you will not stop pretending
to be nests, and lighthouses, that call me
home to port when I’ve spent too many days in the depths
in the tsunamis of myself.
I will be brave when the wave crests
and leaves me nothing more than swallowed
(footprints in forgotten sand, another particle to furnish
the world and to hold your feet, because no one else will hold me
in a way of tangibility but you, and I grow weary of being my best
in the pretenses of the sun.)
another morning, another nightMaybe ingesting you
wouldn’t be so bad:
my terms, my pace..
but dear, this is a thunder-belly,
filled to brim with watered tears
and static light –
cumulonimbus ten drops away
from the greenstick fracture
that comes when you’re pushed
in from two
Him. His. Mine. Yours.
I’ve been invaded – degraded –
until scum were these veins
and I kept losing hands in
Well I’m tired of poker
(of thieves after pearls
and of pearls begging thieves)
so please let my heart remain
undiscovered — a child’s lover—
a psychologist to the lonely faces
inside the lonely morning
In October.She is chameleons,
beside once-remembered friends
of once-remembered pasts,
falling fragmented in kitchen sinks
and cleaning bottles,
breaking hearts for puzzles,
bandaging wounds on tables
of answers without questions;
and she is still unknown
come next October.
This Year Will Be DifferentThe problem with some resolutions is that, inevitably, you forget why you made them. Thirty miles into a thirty-eight mile drive, confidence at a fever pitch from successfully navigating the wind and snow in your front-wheel-drive four-door sedan, resolving to drive like a paranoid bitch at the slightest whiff of weather seems, well, paranoid.
So you decide to show the road who's boss. Coasting behind the idiot in front of you, left tire treading low because fixing it seems like too much trouble in this weather, you find that you are not the danger. The lowered friction coefficient of that cold, cold snow on your flailing rear tires is the danger, and hitting the brakes and swearing are not experimentally valid techniques to make Newton's Laws fuck off. The horrible voice of reason calls you a dumbass before going on to mutter claptrap about how much worse things could be.
There is no adrenalin rush of a near-death experience, and the only damage is the hulking purple bruise on your eg
Cretaceous YardThe call came in at 1500 hours, exactly twenty minutes after Leviner returned from his break. He picked up the phone and listened.
"We'll be there right away, sir."
On the other side of the desk, his partner looked at him. "A homicide?"
"If only we could be so lucky," Leviner snorted, making Ellsie wince.
It was just another case of illegal dumping. Once the 'cera crew had cleared away the overgrowth of ferns, Leviner stalked his way in. "What do you see?" Ellsie called. Although the entrance to the small shed was large enough to easily accommodate Leviner, there was no way Ellsie was fitting inside. Not that it was her fault. Maiasaurs were designed to be out grazing in the fields, not solving crimes. Leviner tried desperately not to think of her as delicious, delicious cattle. If he even so much rumbled his stomach at her, she would turn him into a raptor pancake with one large foot.
Tromping over the carpet of flattened leaves, Leviner swatted a small dragonfly out of the way, deftl
Evil Woman"My husband doesn't know." She kept her hands folded and head down.
"I think you should tell him," I said, not asking whether she was referring to the baby or the trait. I pushed my glasses back. "Look, I was an ultrasound tech once. I've been a genetic counselor for twelve years. I've never seen anything like this. Are you sure?"
Her head rotated upward. Her hands moved over the bump in her clothing. But, instead of protectively encasing the tiny lifeform, she started pressing against it. Trying to expel it.
"Calm down," I said. I reached over my desk and gripped her shoulder for a moment until she flicked my hand off.
"Calm down? This this thing. I know it's not something you deal with, not in your line of work, not in any line of work." Her agitation showed in the way her short nails were digging into her belly. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best, but there's something in my family. Generations and generations of it, as far back as we've kept our history together."
He is Brave He is SnakeFor Dakota
In Dakota’s house the rent was due towards the end of each month, or would be had his family been paying it. Sitting in the dark wasn’t a common occurrence, but the landlord’s threats were. I had only heard half of the phone conversation. “I think he’s sending a message to his tenants. Shame.”
Now 2013 wasn’t a rough winter but it was still a Chicago winter; clouds bunched up as they approached Lake Michigan and dumped their precipitation before heading for eastern seaboard. I’d carry the burden of the weather and epilepsy in the form of a headache and take excessive ibuprofen and wouldn’t call to tell anybody if I was struggling with the medication.
Dakota’s family received the eviction notice early December. There was no phone conversation. But there was word of mouth and instant messengers that are not-so-instant when the my little pony express messengers are offline. Eviction day approached; the neighbors
Bitlets 102The cuts on the back of my hands
don't heal as fast as those on the front.
Movement heals wounds faster than time.
Bitlets 84Tap water tapers
my rationale for
to the drafted dead.
What's on draft
drafts and tiptoes
into the tip-tap
of water, towed
The mortared pub
Things I Would Tell HerI want to tell her the things
I'll tell her when she’s older,
but the information terrifies her.
In order of importance:
she has luna moths in her head,
monarch butterflies in her stomach,
and a feral fetus in her womb.
are collapse-clasped and folded
in her lap;
she holds her elbows like wings
away from her ribs,
ready to flap,
I want to tell her
to keep one hand in her purse
so she can always find her keys,
to keep an eye on the door
and the door always open
so she can run if she doesn't feel safe,
but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red
and the tension in her shoulders
warns me she's not ready
to hear this.
And there is the possibility that
maybe I’m not ready to tell
I’m just as devastated as her;
that she is surrounded by friends and family
who are violated by a community
where no man can say yes all men.
A Hero's NightmareThe souls that I could not save
Seizing BeautySeize beauty with both your hands
Don't let go. Make it yours.
A Thousand SummersI see the face of Mary cradling my weary body as I fall into a deep sleep.
And in my dreams, I feel the soft breath of Isolde on my neck as she rests her head on my shoulder.
And the laughter of my dearest childhood friend rings in my ears even as she grows into the woman that can never be mine.
I am walking wide awake through the frost of an uncertain world
From which there seems little respite.
But the warmth of your adoring embrace is the sweetest medicine
For the fear that has frozen my soul.
Your love is an oasis at the edge of the desert of sorrow
Not a mirage deceiving the stricken fool.
And your kindness cools the fire of pain and betrayal
That has sadly become all too familiar.
A woman's kiss is worth a thousand summers
And a mouthful of water from the river Kawthar
I will not hesitate to collect one more scar in my heart
It is a risk I would willingly take, until I find the True One.
Love-struck PugilistEvery fool in the game knows the rules of the fight
Put them up, do your best or go hungry tonight.
Take some hits, throw a punch, do as best as you're able
Win this bout and go home with some food on the table.
From the day I left school to the day I drop dead
I've broken every bone just to earn my bread.
It hurts to starve but when push comes to shove
Nothing hurts worse than the hunger for love.
Every day, my heart hurts
And by night, it gets worse
I remember the day you gave me your smile
And for once, life feels right, if only for a while.
My opponent's blow puts me back in my place,
It's my own fault, dreaming of your face.
The ring has no patience for dreamers and fools,
But you'll save your skin if you play by the rules
Keep my head in the game, the fight is not done
The bell's just went off and it's time for round one!
I lie in bed dreaming, of getting my chance
Daring to dream of the truest romance.
My hardest fight has yet to start,
But I'll know that I've won when I'v
ONE LAST THING. I want to help out a good friend of mine, AlphaManifest by getting the word out there about some things she is doing. So please see here:
Calling All Commenters, Critic's, and Bookworms!Bonjour, Help Wanted(I'm sorry this is late in coming dear lol I'm a hot mess).
I hope all of you are having a beautiful day. The weather isn't too bad actually, but I'm beat tired. Anywho my lovely's, I'm in the process of making an event that will require at least 20 Commenters, Critic's, and/or Bookworms (readers). It's completely voluntary, so if you're interested, please keep reading below. Remember, every little bit helps!
:iconMedoriko: :iconSilverInkBlot: :iconMetaruKitsune: :iconchromeantennae: :iconSimplySilent: :iconWhitePlumFragrance:
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What's the Event About?
I will be starting a weekly event that deals with featuring deviants, but it's not just any type of feature. We're just giving some love to the community, that's all. Each deviant featured, who answers the daily prompt, will receive a comments on <b wytiwyg="1">