Daily Lit Deviations for September 11th, 2011

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Poetry

_{Featured by bowie-loon123}

We Who Worship... by Carmalain7

<sub>Mythology and theology play
a central role in this lengthy piece,
but regardless of your knowledge of
these subjects it's impossible not
to appreciate every section of this poem.
The allusions and references (although I
could not grasp many of them) were mightily
impressive and the imagery could only be
described as magical. This is a piece you
will want to revisit over and over until
you have absorbed it and then some. Poetic
glorious-ness.


Featured by apple-dark</sub>
BrotherMy unborn brother will be younger than me forever
He would have altered my universe, a peacemaker
He would have encouraged self examination and
Opened eyes for gentle epiphanies
He would have made my father laugh
My mother joyous and my brother and me wiser
He loves us all equally
He is calm like the Buddha, a snake charmer
He is in my heart and we will embrace
When we meet all things will belong and be clear
Brother by jimfleming

_{We all have our dreams of
what might have been.  This is
such a tale, tragic on several
levels: a disintegrating family
in need of repair, the loss of
a young life, long moments spent
lonely and wondering.}

Prose

_{Featured by bowie-loon123}
King of HeartsAnd that's when I see him for the first time. The boy. The magician. The thief. The king.
He's facing away from me, on the sidewalk with a small crowd around him. Shirtless, with dirty ripped jeans and bare feet. Crudely painted swirls of ink cover his torso and ripple over his small shoulder blades. His white blonde hair is laced with gel and spiked haphazardly. There's a small chain around his neck.
Despite his bizarre appearance I can't help wonder how old the boy is.
He's just a kid.
The crowd around him applauds lightly. They toss him a few coins and walk away.
He turns around. Right away I notice his eyes, a startlingly light blue. They twinkle mischievously, darting from stranger to stranger as he walks back along the street. "J'ai besoin d'une volontaire!" he calls, unconsciously twirling a deck of cards. "J'ai'n truc magique qui v'étonner n'importe qui!" His bright eyes meet mine and he grins roguishly and steps in front of me. "Toi, mon ami. Prends un carte."
I instincti
King of Hearts by jonathoncomfortreed

<sub>A well-paced, engrossing
short story with impressive descriptions
and language play. An accurate comment
on the piece by WanderingHere explains
it nicely: "It's the story everyone
wants to believe in, the ragamuffin
kid who's invincible." Definitely
worth a read.


Suggested by DramiraSK
Featured by spoems</sub>
Just us.We walk down the unlit street together. You with your heavy, hastened steps, me quietly drifting along behind you. I like when you work late. I do. You're so much more receptive to me when we're alone like this. And I admit, I like having your attention.
"Thank you for walking with me, Mr. Nolen." My girlish voice is just a whisper on the air.
You stiffen and glance behind you before letting out a nervous breath. "It's nothing," you murmur.
"It's nippy out tonight."  My breath comes out as a soft, white mist. You shiver as your eyes dart in my direction and I see you pull up your collar, perspiration dotting your furrowed brow as the temperature drops considerably. You start whistling to yourself.
I know you're bothered by my presence. It shows in the way you walk, in the way you try to pretend I'm not there. I'm nothing to you but a problem, I know.   
"Remember when we first met?" I inquire, whirling around you in airy circles, not caring if you care. You've
Just us. by safia3

<sub>Sinister subtexts abound
in this dark little vignette.


Featured by: SilverInkblot</sub>
wanderlustshe was a  s e v e n t e e n  year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.
she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was  b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then on her eyes were always her favorite feature].
she always had nightmares, never good dreams, but maybe that's because she could never stop  d r e a m i n g  with her eyes open.  all she ever wanted was dirt roads and stars and mud under her fingernails.
[maybe one day, when she's older, she'll take a crinkly old map and
wanderlust by aprilwednesday

_{It was difficult to pick
something from aprilwednesday's
gallery, but I finally settled on
this one. The author calls this
"a little self-portrait in words"
and indeed it paints a very lovely
picture. The final lines really bring
the image into clear focus.}



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Prepared by: spoems