Daily Literature Deviations for Apr. 24th, 2012

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Daily Lit Deviations for April 24th, 2012


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Poetry


Featured by: betwixtthepages
foothold.I refuse to be your hammer.
If, last night, one sheepgirl,
primary-colored and safe in a Midwest box,
fell because of my tracking truth-grenades,
it's not for want of evasion tactics.
Outdistancing my range is less likely once
there is ample ammunition, and my your
defenses are soft, love like pillows,
daggers in sidepockets but I'll
just take you with grapeshot
inefficient, ten holes in your upperthighs,
fading up your meandering smug sidecurves,
and I never really had a quarrel with your center.
just the extremities that glow like scented candles
and intoxicate me in ways i resent.
your cinnamonsugar is inhaled by the whole rank shifting
herd, dripping in heat, presenting their shorn flanks
their stopmotion bombshell flesh blossoms.
what gratifies me is incense. i feel like yahweh in an
orgy performed to please the gods.
light up for me myrrh with some forethought and a prayer vigil
and i'll pant for you.
with eleven texts you'll find room for your knees
amidst all these offerings of

"foothold." by InkatMidnight

"Hitting the nail on the head" is a
common phrase with various connotations.  
InkatMidnight challenges readers to
ponder this quote--and the consequences of
taking it too seriously-- with this beautifully
written piece.  foothold. will hold
readers captive and touch their hearts.



Suggested by: Exnihilo-nihil
Featured by: LadyofGaerdon


Foreclosure by RussianTim

Says the suggester: "abstract and offbeat,
with a real way with words."



Featured by: Carmalain7
Son of MannaCheckerboard Floorboards
And a gardened window sill.
Open it, let the air pass
Stagnant has been my mood.
Parched?
A glass of water will do
The countertops are stained with overuse,
Rings paint the surface of the kitchen table
Where's your coaster?
It's been too long love
Many tears have been spilled over the years
-Thumbs tossed back and again-
Of all the fiendish things to happen, why this?
Even I struggle to know.
I had a vision where
I was skipping stones
On the River Liffey.
-Skipped three-
Manna, this is the source of my strength.
I'm terribly sorry about the drop in water,
Such a shame.
Yes, but who's to blame?
Not me, for his fate was
The dealings of a merchant's game.
A murmur,
Awaken your eyes young son
A tender phrase
Awaken your eyes.
He may have been a grain of sand
In the bed of the ocean bay-
But this, was our grain.

Son of Manna by JoeDanielz

Micro oriented poetry done so right.



Prose


Suggested by: betwixtthepages
Featured by: SilverInkblot

Keeping up with the Joneses.It's Wednesday, and I'm sitting in my boxers eating cottage cheese and saltine crackers. The house is empty for the first time in a long time, but I have nothing better to do than get fat on scraps and watch my neighbors through the kitchen window.
It's been forty eight Wednesdays since I've had the house to myself, and forty five Wednesdays since I considered cottage cheese and saltine crackers a meal. I've since disposed of two horribly perfect Christmas cards from the neighbors across the street, and they've conceived another masterpiece sometime between Easter and who the hell gives a damn.
I've counted ninety six Wednesdays that didn't end with headfirst porcelain whispers, it's worth it it's worth it, god, you'll be worth it. They've remodeled their house three times in the past two years, and don't mind me but, she had a little work under the hood, and god, it was worth it.
It seems like nearly three hundred Wednesdays since I sold the wife Boy Scout popcorn, and probably twice

Keeping up with the Joneses. Racketeered

Suggester: "A sort of "day in the life,"
this humorous piece delves more deeply into
the "don't judge a book by its cover" petition.
Exploring the world through an unreliable
narrator, this piece will leave you curled
on the floor in a fetal position, trying to
hold your ribs together and laughing too
hard to succeed."



Foreign Language


Suggested by Exnihilo-nihil
Featured by shebledgreenink

Les frimas de Mai.J'y avais apprivoisé une hôte des garennes.
Chaque jour j'y venais admirer les jais de l'aube et les jaspures de la nuit, puis déposer à sa portée des anacardes et des fruits…

Il pleut sous les peupliers en fleurs une neige chaude et blanche.
Elle plane sur le sol puis se dépose sous les branches, en larges
Bancs et plages, tels de grands dais de velours tombés aux pieds des arches.
L'air clair est froid, c'est le retour des frimas, douces chutes des anges.
Je courais en ce parc à travers les névés, sur une voie
De terre aux bords échancrés. L'aube laissait des traces, çà et là
Dans l'espace, comme des voiles qui lévitent et se dissipent quand on passe.
J'ouvris une à une les clairières parsemées à l'ombre des colosses.
Elle se trouvait là, seule et désœuvrée, attendant la lune où
Le pourtour de l'étang semblait s'y jeter. Assise, sur l'herbe
Lui

Les frimas de Mai. by GrisBrouille

The suggester called it "One of
the 10 best French texts here in DA,"
and I certainly couldn't disagree.




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