Communal Karma #2

Feb 9, 201356 min read

Deviation Actions

Published: Feb 9, 2013

5.6K Views

Communal Karma

_{Hello there and welcome to the second edition of Communal Karma.

In the Communal Karma series I highlight the devious little squirrels who have suggested literature DD's in the past month. To do this I will collect the names of the suggesters from the past months DD's. I am aware, of course, that many other deviations are being suggested to our lovely and all powerful overlords but I don't have access to those!

The point of this feature is to make those who support the literature community get seen themselves, a karmic reward for doing good and expecting nothing in return. It might also encourage more people to suggest incredible literature for the site-wide feature, which is also great because it means that the CV's will have eyes and ears all over the site finding amazing unseen gems to share with the rest of us.

Suggesting a Daily Deviation is a very kind thing to do. It doesn't happen at the click of a button and these people made conscious decisions to try to get a piece of literature more attention. So in return I will be highlighting some of their work. Please fave, watch, enjoy.}

The Community Volunteers

_{Aside from the fact that they are the conduits for the DD's ending up on the site footer they also quality control the DD's and suggest their own favourites to be seen. Just because they have a hat doesn't mean they shouldn't get a thank you. So without further ado...}

Nichrysalis

_{"A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun."

Bitlets 55Nothing good ever happens in a forest preserve that is then broadcasted on the local news.
Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.
I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.
Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could spot the caterpillar creeping to the underside of the leaf.
That's when I looked at Grandpa,
And saw through his eyes nature receding
At his prescience of a storm.
"Grandpa, how do you always know?"
He chuckled and simply said: "The world tells me."
It was left at that, but years later I have found
That the world is only as old as the person to whom you speak.
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
The house,
with its branching hallways
and
overhanging décor
and
furniture rooted to the floor
is home
to
family, friends, the occasional
neighbor's kid
locked
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
the finches
follow.
Let the door's
deadbolt
loosen—let the door stand ajar
and
be let open
to
the night owls and
morning
larks;
let the doves
alone
to pirouette
in pairs in the iridescent
quiet.
Let the sparrows in.
II.
Framed on either side
"The birdsong past the beige veil
Of curtains forecasts daylight."}

BeccaJS

_{"Giggles blushed sunburn."

Gourmet Novel RecipeRecipe for Writing a Novel
Serves: 1. If you’re J K Rowling, billions.
Ingredients
- 1 Tin standard cat food
- 1 Laptop/Computer
- 250g cat biscuits
- Paper
- 5 Pens, various colours.
- 1 stuffed cat toy with bell
- 1 pouch slightly fussier cat food
- 1 sachet gourmet cat food
- 1 bottle of wine, red or white
- 1 Wine glass (Large)
- 1 300g Tin of tuna
Cooking time: 2-5 years
Preparation
(Preparation time approximately 10-60 minutes depending on condition of desk and computer speed)
1. Clear space on desk. If you do not have respective space for junk, throw on floor. Place paper and pens in clear space.
2. Turn on computer and allow 10 minutes for slow loading time. Add 2-3 sighs as windows update informs to restart computer. Restart computer and allow a further 10 minutes.
3. Once computer is ready, open up new document.

Cooking

1. Begin with your plot. Open internet to several pages, use pens and paper to mix r
Cup of Tea Promise
A cup of tea promise
starts, watered down
lies and coffee
depression.
We take a breath,
inhale the aroma of the mug,
accept what we find,
we drink to our own distaste.
Between bitter sips
warmed chests, clutched hands,
we sit in comfort of this liquid--
as if an elixir of life
snuck into the drink.
Despite cups with cracks and chips
we grip our mugs for comfort
and smile.
Cristian Rosas
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
yellow lanterns,
blue, red, green
blue,
yellow, red,
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
Lights,
music people blurred
into echoes. His words
a treat richer than coffee. Citrus
perfume infused the heat; hunger took control.
Honey seeped into locked lips.
His wink broke the spell.
Notes flew off key. Samba swayed
a desperate grind of genitals, disgust
erupted in my throat. Honey
tinged saccharin;
backhand met cheek.
On patio furniture I sucked cigarettes.
Cappuccino froth sank with my lust
"cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets."}

thorns

_{"Lucian's wife was on the floor, limbs sprawled out at an unnatural angle, and surrounded by broken glass. Her black eyes were open a crack."

Minotaur 1.1Death's acrid stench clung to the air around Varan. The sickly rot of infection bubbled up, oozing from his shoulder. There was nothing he could do chained to the stone wall with a guard at the door. Arrow splinters trapped in his flesh were killing him slowly.
His death should have been swift on the battlefield, but instead he was ambushed while he bathed. He'd cut down seven men before the poisoned arrow made him too weak to lift his ax. The poison wasn't lethal, unfortunately. Its purpose was to render him unconscious for interrogation.
His sire, the famous Conqueror of Brundan, must be laughing from the afterlife. Even shame failed to give Varan the strength to rise or curse his luck aloud.
Infection ravaged his mind and body. Time blurred and he no longer knew how long he'd been held prisoner. He was a minotaur. A Bullman. He was stronger than any human could hope to become, but the illness made his limbs too heavy to lift rendering the chains moot. He was the Joranaham Chieftain
Mother Nature's WrathThe supposed deity, Mother Nature, was always present on the backwater planet. The bitter cold wind, stinging Bosch's face and ruffling his fur, was a constant reminder of her wrath. At least the sun was shining as he trudged through the deep snow.
"Machu's hungry." Shelly, his small human mate, lagged behind him. The snow was knee deep for her, but she struggled through without complaint.
He did not speak her language, but the translator implanted in his ear understood most human words.
"Soon." In the distance, he still saw the human structure they had escaped. He had killed the humans, but now they were in a race against time. Rescue was waiting for him two days away, weather permitting. He would be assumed dead if he did not appear in that time.
The pup in question, Machu, huffed and circled his bearer on all fours, impatient for his meal. Still light enough to remain on top the snow, the pup kept up better than Shelly.
Machu took after him in appearance, as was natural when his rac

Mature Content

"A sharp pain sliced the back of her head where she bumped the faucet. A wave of nausea washed over her. She touched her scalp to feel it wet and raw. A generous amount of warm blood covered her hand, making her tremble. She stared, stunned. This wasn't part of the plan."}

neurotype-on-discord

_{"your tongue is the spark and your breath is propane."
:thumb351402527: :thumb206121745: :thumb173648335:
"ash cascades across the ground and spills into the gutters."}

JZLobo

_{"His muscles sing with the release of pent-up energy; his body reverberates with exhilaration as instincts are indulged."

Lone WolvesPhoenix was unused to being the prey. The werewolf was usually the top predator of whatever environment it settled into. But that was back on Earth. Out here in space, other worlds had bred bigger and scarier things. Case in point: the monstrous, pulsing blue mass of hunger and rage that currently had a seven-foot brown werewolf scrambling for his life. It was all Phoenix could do to stay ahead of it in this desert terrain. Werewolves were kings of the night, but as the distant mountains began to illuminate, Phoenix wondered if this would be his final dawn.
Every sinew and muscle in his body strained from exertion. His entire being burned from adrenaline and fear. Even with this world’s lighter gravity allowing him to jump higher and move faster than ever before, he was pushing himself like he had never pushed himself before. His claws dug into craggy rocks as he scaled the sheer cliffside sixty feet high. This would be impossible back on Earth, but life and death drove him
One is the Loneliest NumberOptimus Prime wasn't sure why he had come here. The journey to "Dinobot Island" and Black's laboratory had an almost dream-like quality in his memory banks and he had only gotten here five cycles ago. He'd managed to avoid the Dinobots during his journey, thankfully - he didn't want to be bothered. But now he was here and wondering just what force had compelled him to make this expedition.
He stood motionless as he recalled the last time he had been here, some weeks ago. Blackarachnia had extorted him to fetch a component for Prometheus Black so he could experiment on her and the scientist had, of course, betrayed her. Optimus had acted without thinking then too, rescuing her more out of reflex than conscious decision. Of course if he had paused to think about it, he would have done the same thing anyway. He still cared about her.
After Elita-1's apparent death, he had always fantasized about what life would have been like if she'd lived. Commanding a ragtag crew repairing space-bridge
Furor
Every year, spring brings new life and new opportunities, but with these also come new threats, new dangers. On a warm spring night, deep within a Montana forest, yet another of these primal dramas has come to fruition. Flora and fauna which had established their own footholds on life are trampled and pushed aside underneath three werewolves without a second thought. At this moment, The Chase is their only concern.
This deep within the forest, the green foliage is dense enough to snap back in the face of the immense brown werewolf charging his way through it. But he shrugs off the blows, his drive and focus more effective than any painkillers. His fur catches in the branches, leaving behind coffee-colored knots snared amongst the leaves, and even that barely slows down his pace. He feels like half a tree is tangled up within the braid that hangs off the back of his head. But as great a nuisance as the forest growth can be, it has to be doubly hindering for his quarry ahead. The disrupt
"A million bubbles emerge from the water, carrying a barely-managed growl as they reach the surface. The trespasser twists and brings his claws to bear, but by now he is already weakened by a burning lack of oxygen."}

The Serial Suggesters

_{These little gems suggested more than one thing that got DD'ed since the 10th of January...}

LadyofGaerdon

_{- Eight DD's suggested
"My heart needn't beat, to belong to you.
And yours needn't beat, to beckon me."

This Strange World That No Longer Contains YouThey say I'm like you. I hope they're right. They've been saying it for a long time.
My parents always wonder how they ended up with such a polite, demure, sweet, pure little thing. Though of course you and everyone else know what a hellion I can be. But I certainly didn't get any of those aforementioned positive qualities from them. I have you to thank for those.
You raised the entire family and handfuls of our friends. You are Grama to the entire town. But you're my Grama, (even if you're really my great-grandmother), and I was the lucky one out of all of us who seems to have taken after you.
They tell me I'm positive. I'm strong. I'm resilient. I'm not sure I see it. But they say the same about you, and I certainly saw that. They say I'm taking news of your death positively, because I'm glad that even though I was not present, my friends were, your other grandchildren, yours because they were mine. Or perhaps the other way around. I'm sure your cooking earned me more than my

Mature Content

Sepulchre SolaceIt doesn't matter that I can't see your eyes, love.
I've already memorized the deep azure,
and if I stare deeply into the night sky above
I can find their hue, their shimmer in the twinkling starlight.
So it is of little matter that they remain closed
as I lie beside you on your bed of satin,
twisting my fingers through your long, dark hair.
It is longer than when I last saw you,
as you drew shallow, shaky breaths, and I drew you against me,
your frail form clutching with feeble strength
before they took you away.
They didn't want us together, love, you see.
So they hid you away from me, tried to tell me you were gone.
But I knew they lied - you would never leave me.
I heard you calling my name,
summoning me back to you, drawing me to your bed.
Your image haunting my steps until I found your face again:
so pale now - I remember how you used to blush
when I touched you like this; but not anymore.
Now I know you long for it - you're so cold.
So I exhale warm breath against your face
And
"I did not fall in love with plump, crimson lips
now withered blue, against my own."}

LiliWrites

_{- Six DD's suggested
"the pale of your lips cracked
with thirst for that which
will not claim you;"
:thumb349757755: :thumb258194320: :thumb199617416:
"if you are breathing the world
into cinders, inhaling each poison
on purpose, striving
toward an apocalypse
because that is chaos
we can categorize,
then you may understand."}

SilverInkblot

_{- Five DD's suggested
"He has quick handwriting, scripted and elegant, but just obscure enough that you have to put a little effort into deciphering it."

Finish LinesI wonder where the
finish line is when you're a
long distance runner,
and how you know when you get there.
I wonder where long
distance runners are going
and if they're lonely on the way,
knowing they're leagues ahead of everyone,
alone.
Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.
It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.
It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupial martial arts masters in Atlantis. In space. You would think putting dreams to canvas is an easy job, and you'd be right - but truly I wonder about humanity at times. Subconscious wanderings are laid bare to my paintbrush - they get their dreams, and I don't fall apart entirely.
Morpheus is upstairs. I know because I can see the color runn
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
"He's teaching me about teaching and I'm learning about learning, and perhaps a thing or two about depth perception in the fourth dimension."}

Mrs-Freestar-Bul

_{- Three DD's suggested
"Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again"

AttachedI grew roots for my heart
in every twisted chamber
Hitting the ground, deep down layers of earth
There, sleeps every vein I have
Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever young
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from ?
I live where stars grow bigger on a light breeze
Where butterflies were once flowers
Where God blessed my garden in Eden with peace
There, I lay on a cloud softer than foam
When the day splits into two halves, you see me
My steps are as light as those of a chamois
My hair running wild; wings of an evil crow
My mouth has the roundness of a precious ring
Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again
Under my feet grow trees, and remain ever green
You need my palms, you seek my blood and fear
Before you crave for more, grant me what I wish for
Kiss the ground before me, show me your loyalty
Borrow the devil's wings, bring me bouquets of stars
I want that purple flo
The martyr of loveI am still a stranger in your battlefield
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting the ground under your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out
You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more
I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Let my head rest in a land of cinnamon and honey
When the white hands arrive with their remedy
Tell them all my birds left me and flew north
I do not wish to heal, I do not pray for cure
Battered and broken, my heart left the shore
"There, sleeps every vein I have"}

xlntwtch

_{- Three DD's suggested
"And you'd better stop cussing even in your thoughts, because you already know none of these Arapahos, a huge family, ever cuss. Not even in joyful moments, like saying "Fuck yeah!" the way your hippie friends do. It just isn't done here. Still, you're thinking "fuckity-fuck" about a damn chicken. "
:thumb353263359: :thumb216437259: :thumb339254420:
"we sat under her stunted pear tree, the one with no fruit but with good shade. She got a boy at a box-store to load it in her car late one night, the boy completely unaware that the pear tree was "acquired." "}

PoetryOD

_{- Three DD's suggested (Awkwaaard)
"The girl with the Frankensteined heart."

StitchesHer name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any more.
They're old scars, robbing her flesh of its innocence,
Betraying her old soul - etching it out - a tally on her skin.
IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII
------------------------------------------
"deep in the equilibrium of my thoughts,
hides a parasitic truth, grinding its teeth on mine."}

reflectionsinwater

_{- Two DD's suggested
"A pinch of snuff, the hazel saffron sprouts.
Half cocoa, half milk, shells swollen with rum,
How sweet at first before it burns bitter and dry!"
:thumb352895768: :thumb337122876: :thumb328087051:
"but i can't erase war,
because then meadows would just be meadows
over catacombs, and they wouldn't cry for our names
six feet above."}

OfOneSoul

_{- Two DD's suggested
"October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never accept rides from hillbilly truck drivers in the middle of nowhere.""

Monkeying AroundRex likes to play with his meat.
Each meal is a game and a treat.
Along came the lemurs,
caring not for strong femurs;
his arms are too short to reach.
Dear Daddy's GirlDear Naive 15,
You're ignorant as Hell.
You dress in baggy blue jeans, wear an oversized hoodie every day, and never let your hair down. Students at school, and even your mom, think you're gay… and you don't even know.
All of your classmates blame you for a burn book that circulated after that Mean Girls movie. Everyone thinks you're a jealous bitch and secretly they mock you. How can you not see that?
Your teachers are all positive that you cut yourself and that you're always on drugs. Even now you have no idea why they ask you to take your jacket off during class. Could it be that you always wear long sleeves?
It's okay, sweetheart. I had to find out the hard way, too.
Right now you're probably wishing your dad was home. He's the only one that will read your stories and tell you how creative you are. You don't have to beg him to watch movies with you, and he'll listen to your favorite songs without calling you suicidal. Right now, living wi
Disillusioned
"You girls need a ride?"
October looked up, letting her eyes stray from the gravel beneath her feet. She had been walking along the highway for so long she had started counting her steps to pass the time, hoping that when she finally looked up she would see civilization. Abigail ran to the truck driver's passenger door, haphazardly pushing past October as if she had never ridden in a vehicle before.
October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never accept rides from hillbilly truck drivers in the middle of nowhere."
"Where are you headed?" Abigail questioned playfully. Even though she was a few years older than October, it seemed to make her more reckless than wise. Before the driver had the chance to wheeze whatever location in Kansas he was headed to, October yanked the sultry temptress to
"She threw the rock into his face, leaving him no longer recognizable as a human being. He was scum; a rock to meld into the Earth and eventually be covered in blood-stained moss. After a few more thrusts, Abigail tossed the rock aside lazily."}

The Singular Suggesters

_{and last, but definitely not least, these marvellous deviants suggested something that got DD'ed since the 10th of January...}

spoems

_{"hoarding a crown of bedcovers to my chest"

windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,
as lithe as your impermanence.
and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,
spoonholed piles of mexican brick
where nothing ever touches down,
nothing here alive receives
the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,
the ugly wind that meets the mudline.
[metaphors]
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i’m a souless
speck
i lick at what is manifest
beneath your hair
each poison tab
a colour
acid
fire
or lake
a brothel
and religious studies
i know, i know you never mean
to murder
or complete
me
but do not say “live for yourself”.
i’ve come online to see the god
that came before me.
we are so poorly married
like bookend spines of Plath and Hughes
up on the shelf
are somehow
synon
Comforter
                                                        Every
                                                     hundred nights
                                                (the triple lunes that

Residualtoday’s reason to keep living:
i thought of this six word story:
here’s a pen, let’s end this.
i survive, a blossom that heaves through winter
like a lonely citystate, an intemperate Sodom
waiting for God’s discrimination. i see it
foaling its own diminishment
when it had no right to colour
me. and i’m reminded of how i
start each morning with an ambered prayer
and end the darkness with a glass bullet
that i have taught how to dance.
still i spin an echo, a copy of
desolation, the weight of a single judgment. i see
the sun spill out of the dull morning. muted and mocked,
caged in iron weights that tug my rusted temples.
i am reminded of how the crosses fell
to the valley floor in blood-speckled shards, amassing
an illness of splintered peaks. my mind, an angry
jury, the whispers start early, night falls fast. still now
my only wish, to find what eloquence
is left to me, as all my times, my paper
admonishments left screaming in streets,
trails
"a vital atom of myself, sliding away, laced in
cold imperatives, split and sequenced for a final fall."}

JakesException

_{"fiddling out a swan song
of choral pleads."
:thumb338276531: :thumb348515689:

Mature Content

"tainted hands curling and
statements retracting
now the podium is red"}

HaveTales-WillTell

_{"And my coughing jags, once intermittent, have become deeper and far more frequent; in fact, a given spasm can last for hours or even days, to the point where I'm left hacking up nothing but fumes."

Alzheimer'sHis house is made of crumbling slats
    of rotted knotted oak
  peeling paint
and weakened joints.
  The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
   dragging fresh sunlight in
      and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
       he visits the front porch
    less and less often.
        He prefers to explore
    those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.         Sometimes
                                     he might be gone for a week.
And one day, too soon
    (not soon enough)
  his ramshackle dw
Old Age Should BurnLike so many before me, during the twilight of my years my belly has expanded dramatically, even as I've lost so much of that which once gave me structure and strength. My frail skin has turned a fierce and blotchy red, with innumerable breakouts and occasional massive flareups. I'm no longer the bright light of the party which not so long ago I used to be, nor do my most intimate lifelong companions find me to be anywhere near as scorchingly hot as I was in my prime. Several of them, in fact, have already abandoned me.
With advanced age, even basic control over the simplest of bodily functions has been compromised. Lately, for example, I've begun uncontrollably passing gas: rather copious amounts, I'm afraid. And my coughing jags, once intermittent, have become deeper and far more frequent; in fact, a given spasm can last for hours or even days, to the point where I'm left hacking up nothing but fumes.
Nor, unfortunately, is there any known cure for my affliction. I'm on oxygen right
Massacre of the InnocenceGeorgie Porgie threw an orgy
     just outside L.A.,
where Jack Be Nimble grabbed his thimble,
     outing him as gay...
Little Jack Horner bought Time Warner
     before the bubble burst,
though Jumping Jack Flash saw the crash
     and liquidated first...
Jack said Jill was taking the Pill
     to ward off impregnation;
the Three Blind Mice have lobbied twice
     for victim's compensation...
Little Miss Muffet had her tuffet
     liposuctioned out,
and Little Bo Peep married a creep;
     lamb chops gave him gout...
Jack Sprat's wife went under the knife
     for Lap-Band surgery,
then Third Little Pig struck it big
     on reality TV...
Old King Cole's gone on the dole,
     exposed as a pretender;
while Wee Wil
"of rotted knotted oak
peeling paint
and weakened joints."}

burytheorchids

_{"The freshwater pearl necklace
didn't go with jeans"

PearlsThe freshwater pearl necklace
didn't go with jeans, tank tops, shorts,
oversized sweaters, nightmares,
tangled hair, broken clocks,
or old tee shirts,
but I still wore it
everywhere,
as part of a perpetual tribute
to the woman who gave it to me.
until it broke in the bathtub,
and pearls went flying everywhere,
and my momma paid
forty-five dollars
for it to be locked in a drawer.
Resolutions (New Year's Hiakus)I lean up and peck
you on the cheek, flushed with joy
at our New Year’s Eve
celebrations. We
may have many distant dreams,
but now I kiss you,
and feel your face flush,
and the cloudy sky seems lit
by two brilliant suns.
So this year I seek
not money, beauty, or health
but to live like this:
with you at my side
and with my mind at peace, just
the way I am now.
Burger QueenShe ate her French fries as if she were high society. She cut each one into small pieces with her plastic fork and knife, then pierced one with her fork and dipped it into her side of ketchup. Then she raised it to her mouth and nibbled it. When she went to take a drink from her small Coke, she did so with her pinky raised and only drank in small sips. She set her drink down gently, as if it were a delicate china cup she was afraid of breaking.
I looked around and sighed. The burger joint reeked of humanity. Grease hung in the air like humidity, and there was tension between everyone, as if all the customers were negative magnets repelling each other. No one looked into each other's eyes, not even the cashier's. People said their orders to the menu above the counter. And it was so loud. There were too many noises—children screaming, cash registers clanging, and fries sizzling as they were dipped into vats of boiling oil. My muscles were tense and my hair bristled. Why d
"The burger joint reeked of humanity."}

riparii

_{"from the bowstring of a word"

Crows"Crows," I whisper and she flies,
brown arrow shot
from the bowstring of a word.
DormantSleep and sway and constancy
rain, two steady days, then three--
the horses crackle through the leaves
and stamp away the mud.
Brown grass lies tired, over-grazed,
bit down from roots to dirt
but winter lends her sympathy.
Her breath, the sharp-edged air;
her arms, the gaunt-limbed trees;
she paces, slow
where field mice cross themselves
against the shadow of the wing
and sacrifice their young.
I go wordless, spellbound
trading bravery for sleep,
alone and sound; a bed
where I abandon you,
the livid world I sought,
I find
that I was never yours
and you were never mine.
SaltBefore you were ready
you took to the sea
and I smiled at you
with the fine white teeth
of a shark
Before I was ready
your hands harbored me
in deep water and stars
where my wrinkled soul
swaying and slow
opened its foam-grey eyes
"I smiled at you
with the fine white teeth
of a shark"}

SingingFlames

_{"The Rust Sea spread across Cybertron's equator, an immense red scar across its surface. Erratic pillars twisted into the sky. Corrosive gasses bled from the ground, slowly eating the land away, turning everything to an endless expanse of rust. "

Transformers: All for One - Friendly FireTitle: All for One – Friendly Fire
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None (trust me)
Author's Note: Thundercracker tries to break up a fight between his trine mates, with unforeseen consequences. This is the sixth part of the 'All for One' series, but each one is a standalone fic and can be read without any knowledge of the others. Internet cookies to anyone who notices the Star Trek reference. Time conversions – klik: 1.2 minutes, joor: 6 hours, solar cycle: 1 day, deca-cycle: approximately 3 weeks, vorn: 83 years. Talking through comm channels is shown, ::like this.::
"You killed him." Skywarp stared at the body. He, Starscream and Thundercracker stood, frozen, as they considered the sight before them. They were in the main corridor leading from the mess hall to the upper level storage. Besides the three of them, the only other mech present was the still form at their feet.
"No, I didn't," Starscream countered. "I was aiming at you. Thundercracker grabbed my arm, which cau
Transformers: Interior DecoratingTitle: Transformers: Interior Decorating
Universe: G1
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Note: This is my Flash Fan Fiction for the emotion theme of “Festive.” We didn't need to include the actually word, just the mood. I'm not sure I really succeeded. This is more in preparation for a festive time. Word count: 290
“You said I could!”
“No, I said if you insisted on this idiocy, to take it far away from me,” Starscream growled. “At no point did I give you permission to steal my paint.”
“Or mine,” Thundercracker chimed in.
“The storage bays aren't close to you at all. And, really, how could we have a party down here without livening up the place? Admit it, it's better looking. Fun.” Skywarp gestured to the walls proudly.
Only half painted, the walls were splashed with a myriad of colors, including white, blue, red, purple, green and random other shades. A few were bunched together, in what may have been
TF: Entomophobia - Halloween TradeTitle: Entomophobia
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Disturbing imagery
Author's Note: This is my submission for the TF-SecretSanta Halloween Trade for xDeadlyxxxDesirex. This is a Halloween story, so I tried for scary. It's not as lighthearted as my normal fics, although it has its humorous moments (I couldn't help myself). I pulled on two personal fears of mine when I wrote this, to try and add some real creepiness to it. I hope it works. Time conversions: Klik 1.2 minutes, Nanoklik approximately 1 second. Comm transmissions are marked with colons – ::like this.::
The Rust Sea spread across Cybertron's equator, an immense red scar across its surface. Erratic pillars twisted into the sky. Corrosive gasses bled from the ground, slowly eating the land away, turning everything to an endless expanse of rust. Across the ground, miniature hills rose and fell, forming 'waves' that traveled as far as the optic could see.
Numerous Cybertronian artists tried to duplicate the Rust Sea in
"Skywarp fidgeted, his optics darting from the entrance to his busy leader."}

UnspecifiedUnknown

_{" the ash of this poetry
will be teemed unclosed to undone,
scattered and doubled in the design of the sacrificial eyes
of Dajabón."
:thumb328178626: :thumb353099931: :thumb337155104:
"I am light-stroked stardust posted past laconic theories of relativity. "}

xTintedlullabyx

_{"even with a knife in my hand that could easily skewer my heart, make it squirm and still like a dying nightingale – sealing its death with a pathetic squeal of almost-song. "

Speak in Silence"Baby."
That's what he would call me: Baby.
"Baby," he'd call in his don't-wake-the-living voice.
(The knob turns and the door creeps open, the scent of him drowns the room. I stare into the splashes of darkness behind my eyelids and stay still – he has the eyes of Medusa, he is always watching, he has the eyes of Medusa, he is always – "Good girl," he coos.)
"Baby," he would moan, crushing my bony wrists beneath his forearm.
(Razor blades tear into my abdomen, or maybe it's my head. My screams are muffled against his chest, until I no longer bother to scream.)
"Baby," he'd say, his arms like prison bars, keeping me in Hell.
(Tears spill from my eyes, dragging my spirit away from my body as they pull their limp forms across the skin that is not mine. Pain like a hammer to my cheek whips my head aside, it bursts and flowers like a bud unravelling withered petals. He growls, "Stop crying! You're acting like I'm hurting you.")
"Baby," he'd warn when I'd wandered too far or too close.
("Sh
I bet you cut"I bet you cut yourself," he says and it takes
All of me and more, and there is nothing to take. I laugh
and cry a little inside. Die a little more and smile
"Of course not."
He stares at me and it's like one of those dreams where you're
Naked and I want to shove my guts in my mouth and burn in Heaven,
rip my scalpel through my thigh, throw my skull at a window and let the
Pain in my body overwhelm the pain in my heart.
"I'm joking," he says and I think I should feel bad for him, instead I
Hate him a little. He's grinning and I think about how I'd love to
Carve his face into the Joker.
"I know," I say and I hate myself a little, too.
He's gone – back to me, front to his friends
and you'd think this was to become a nice old love story but
Happy endings only happen in books.
Some books.
"I do," I whisper and I laugh because it sounds like a wedding vow and I
don't think I'll marry and I don't think I can. I'm scarred and eventually
my scars will have scars
and there will be no amoun
Suicide or Tea?Should I kill myself or have a cup of tea?
I decide on the latter and I'm not sure why. Probably because I can. Life is a never-ending scroll of be-goods, be-happies, be-in-controls, be-okays, be-strongs and be-appreciatives. So what's another day?
Just another day closer to death.
Still, life seems incredibly long, don't you think? So long, it's hard to see the end and nearly impossible to touch – even with a knife in my hand that could easily skewer my heart, make it squirm and still like a dying nightingale – sealing its death with a pathetic squeal of almost-song.
Life is pain and people in pain are a pain in the ass. Perhaps occasionally or perhaps frequently, they think "Why not just kill myself? Life is hell, anyway. No hell after life could be worse than this."
But they're wrong. The worst is never the worst because things can always get worse and maybe that's why I decided to stick with the chamomile tea. That or I feel tea-sipping is reason to live.
Probably.
My per
"I breathe and the steam sinks to the bottom – wherever that is – and I laugh because I think that is all I am. A never-ending abyss of steam. Not air, not fire, not water, not earth. Just steam.
With chamomile tea for a soul. "}

veddabredda

_{"And for your sword you take a pen
You dip it in blue ink and then
Take every thought that's worth a damn
Onto the battlefield again."
:thumb344895700: :thumb340141591: :thumb271936613:
"i am a tumbleweed
my bitter and wry presence
highlights solitude"}

leyghan

_{"a bottle
rum dark
throttled by
daddy's hands"

ThirstyThe evening sweats
a bottle
rum dark
throttled by
daddy's hands
small feet drags
thirsty heart
outside
to swig the moon
Finders Keepers 5They stood frozen for a few moments, transfixed by the tableau. A swarm of tiny, green plasmabugs had already descended and were feasting on the sticky, dripping blood. The satyr’s eyes continued to roll crazily then he spoke. “Aendh gwy tok. Aendh … uss…hydrk. Tala, ettles. Uss, deen gwy tok.” Thick, garbled words that none of them understood.
“We have to help him,” Moira cried. There was a boa constrictor in her chest making it difficult to breathe. This was worse than a dead body. Far worse. She couldn’t stand to look at him and yet she couldn’t look away.
“It’s too late for that,” Sebastian told her. “He won’t survive for long without his skin. If the shock doesn’t kill him, the pain and exposure will.”
“But what about that wand thing? You said it could heal anything.”
“No Moira. I said it can heal almost any injury. The Caduceus’ magic isn’t enough to fix t

Mature Content

"The inn they approached was a large, two story cottage with flowering vines festooning its walls and eaves. "}

cybergranny

_{"you made me cry,
you made me crack,"

ShiversShivers of love - shivers of pleasure
you made me smile,
you made me laugh, baby.
Shivers of fear - shivers of tears
you made me cry,
you made me crack,
Baby?
Shivers of hate - shivers of despair
you made me mad,
you made me kill you/ baby!

Mature Content

A walk in my life translatedPart 1: flashbacks

I. Fly
a dead bird saved me
because a dead bird
can not eat
chocolate
Est-ce que vous le saviez? (Did you know it?)

II. white walls
no shouts no hair pulling
my mother worries
mon frère et moi (my brother and I)
diapers removed
on the walls we draw,
masterpieces deleted.

III. Heat
no
no says the voice
I put my hand nonchalantly
on the plate of the stove
c’est chaud (it’s hot)

IV. Snow
I dance to the sound of snowflakes
they melt under my tongue
as the carpet
under a heated tin
je mets le feu à ce poème (I light this poem to fire)

Part 2: wanderings in my mind

V. The mountain
I really wanted
but I tell you
it slips, it slips, it slips
Il fait si froid (it's so cold)

scalped by an Indian
locked with pigs
kidnapped by an orang-utan
j’aimerais mieux (I would like better )

VI. Jungle
iguanas and bats
have fun
over my head
Bagheera
"diapers removed
on the walls we draw,
masterpieces deleted."}

zebrazebrazebra

_{"these cups could be
flowerpots for a healthy crop of petunias"

"You're still under the blankets, clinging to a scientifically preposterous method of suicide."}

Laeneris

_{"just another human passing through the darkness, waiting to arrive somewhere"
:thumb340930613: :thumb197111116:
"the whole page was filled with deep-red circles and ellipses. They were spread across the page in a chaotic matter, some of them intertwining or surrounding others. The longer I stared at them, the more I was able to convince myself that they were actually moving, turning, over and over again. The center of the page was marked by a black dot that seemed to drip as if it was drawn with wet paint. It was a perfect representation of what I imagined my head to look like from the inside, and that knowledge scared me enough for me to forget to breathe for a few seconds."}

inknalcohol

_{"Just a breath of space between them."
:thumb346568465: :thumb171592673: :thumb177454346:
"The clink of the pen hitting the hardwood floor was the last thing she heard as she stared into the mirror across the room on the back of her door at the brilliant blue eyes that no longer sparkled."}

MagicalJoey

_{"No longer did pride puff up its points
Or ego edify its actions."

Dear MeDear Me
8-2-13
My English teacher taught me to start a letter
With my address in the top right;
But you don’t need to know where you live.
I must admit, I haven’t been kind to you over the last couple of years,
But then again was I ever kind to you?
I ate too much and made you an overweight child – friendless – though
The Depression was not my doing;
For that we blame God.
For so many years I have hated you for who you are;
Overweight, depressed, Bipolar, awkward in social settings,
Shy, introverted, emotional, rarely trusting or risking anything
With anyone.....
.....but now comes the time to confess how I truly feel.
I may not love that you are overweight, but I don’t hate you for it.
I know how hard you try, and I know
That you are loved by others because of how you look
Just as much as you are scorned by them.
So know that I don’t hate you.
The Depression and Bipolar were not your fault.
For years I thought you a failure because you
Thank You Friends
Thank You Friends
23-01-11
She's tired of being alone;
Of not having that someone
Who loves her despite the scars,
Loves her despite her past,
Loves her beyond the outside, the cover.
She's tired of not getting flowers
From someone who loves her enough
To buy them, even if there is no 'occasion' to celebrate.

She's tired of having no money;
Of always having to beg
Despite her parents' embarrassment.
She wants to be able to buy her dog a bed,
Buy herself groceries,
But her family cannot afford it
And neither can she – unless
She sells cushions
Or someone needs proofreading.

She's tired of having to beg
Her online friends
From other countries,
But she needs to.
Do you know how that hurts her pride?
K.O – her pride lies on the floor,
Probably dead not just knocked to the ground.

She's tired of being the family problem.
But she has a dog depending on her survival
So she will not leave this world
Until it is her time.
She will not listen to th
For GoodFor Good
12-09-11
100 Themes #3 - Making History
Two stars, both burning brightly,
Were two stars that shouldn't have met...
Yet they did,
And burned all the brighter for being together.
A large and shiny gold star,
Like a beacon of good luck
Or the ones teachers give for good work,
Was the one everyone wanted to be like.
The tiny green star,
Almost too small to shine,
Was the bogey in Heaven's nose.
Nobody wanted to be like that little star;
It was green for Oz's Sake.
But together they shone better and brighter.
The green star became slightly larger,
Shone more brightly,
And became Heaven's gloopy teardrop
Mourning the sadness the star experienced.
The gold star became slightly smaller
And less puffed-up with pride...
But it still remained Heaven's reward.
Finally separated, the two stars were left alone
To contemplate their fate.
The gold star went on to glow brighter and bigger;
Puffed up with pride
It saw the world as it wanted it to be...
Perfect.
The gree
"in the tiredness and racoon eyes"}

isthisthingstillon

_{"the smile
on your ink-stained lips when you're found will say: I beat the mirror"

"you've lost your grip
on your metabolism and all those cigarettes you smoked
made your mouth look like rotting corn when you smile."}

Vigilo

_{"And the sunrise, the nightfall, come so skittishly!
Clutched by young hands,
Awake … lively …"

On Ariadnethe loom of lust:
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.
the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.

the death, or descent:
Spin, my hanging nymph,
sleep and let the dryad-tree's shadow
ease your descent.
Bacchus' bard:
The spinning nymph for our mad lord,
the gentleness for the grapes of wrath
and the delight for the madness,
come. Drink, be it ambrosia or wine,
be it mother and son, or nymph and lord.
Spin, lady, and drink, lord,
and I will breat
"her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet"}

craazhy

_{"The notes that managed to escape Richard's guitar were low and bitter. Not to the degree of a bass-guitar, but low. "

"I suppose you might have called the music dark if you had spent too much time in the sun. To me, it felt like an appropriate commentary on general reality. They were just sounds, though."}

WritersInk

_{"WritersInk is a DeviantART group striving to improve deviantART's literature experience - for readers AND writers. We think the way to acheive this is by building a community of positive feedback, open contribution, and love. A community based on regular features which rewards those who contribute most. We know how hard it is to be a writer, and we want to help."

Check out their chatroom here!}

solar-sea

That's All Folks!

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PoetryOD}