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Daily Lit Deviations for April 18th, 2012
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Poetry
Suggested by ~Mystic-Cheetah
Featured by ~VicariouSoul
Song of the Sea SirenSong of the Sea Sirens:
The roaring wind was quick to die
As the fog began to form.
Silence soon surrounded us
Like a calm before the storm.
In the darkest distance; against the light
I could hear a haunting melody.
It seemed to sound like a Siren's call
Coming from across the sea.
Immediately my crew reacted
As we dove beneath the deck.
Wool and wax to plug the ears
And ropes to tie me back.
As a Captain of this Pirate ship
My duty was plain to see.
Tied to the mast as a sacrifice
Was where I soon would be.
For one alone must endure the call
Else the Siren would not sing.
This had been a long tradition
Since the time of t
Song of the Sea Siren by *WordOfChen
An enjoyable well-put poem, and its corpus
of quatrains are mostly pirate inspired.
Suggested by: ~Ice-sister
Featured by: =TwilightPoetess
Watching The Masses GravitateWatching the masses gravitate
Towards violence, cruelty and hate
I cannot help but wonder
As to what spell they are put under
That steals the vision from their eyes
And sends them into ugly tides
Is it choice, or basic instinct,
That sends them all to the brink?
A clenched fist, a spitting threat
Captures them, like fish in a net
They gaze on in a gawping stare
Gormless idiots, too weak to care
Too scared to step away from the swarm
And break away from the hostile norm
They stand, transfixed, at the bloody scene
Whilst all the while, hidden and unseen
Lies a whole other world
Concealed as a glimmering pearl
And to me, this c
"Watching The Masses Gravitate" by ~LunaticWalrus
From the suggester: The poet has really captured
something of humanity in this piece. Focusing on the
Bystander Effect at its most vicious, ~LunaticWalrus
leaves readers pondering acts of violence and how
they might react if faced with a similar situation.
Featured by `thetaoofchaos
enamorHer body like that of
a fawn,
trembling
unconfident
hesitant. He lays her
fecund bones on
the bed, plants them with woolen
fabric under the
covers
drapes her with skin,
his
and falls into her,
enamored
sonic sound
she is
embryonic,
amazonian,
but he
folds her like cloth
until she is but
a thin line
blanketing the astral
phenomena that is
his heart.
enamor by *KaitForest
As this poem seems to attest, all worshipful
incantations that bring about ethereal states of being
can also negate our humanity, turn us into monuments.
Prose
Suggested by #WritersInk
Featured by `Kneeling-Glory
Living AnticipationWhat she craved was hunger. It took a semester for me to learn that.
She was an exchange student from Italy, a college sophomore, and I was a grad student assisting her ESL class. The class was mandatory her first semester in the States, but she didn't need it. She didn't need a tutor, either.
So, we were lovers.
Every Wednesday, in my far away apartment in Brooklyn, we met and made. Every Wednesday, she would arrive on the N train from Manhattan and let herself in. I left the door unlocked all day, because she would never give me a time. Answering her phone was her lowest priority. All the world could wait for her, it seemed to me.
When she arrived, it was always with a kiss. There were hardly any words at first, just her on her toes and me leaning down to meet her. She was 5 foot tall and all of nothing in weight, and never would I call her beautiful. She was pretty: olive skin and brown hair on youthful frame. Her ac
"Living Anticipation" by *enigmaticsmile
~monstroooo writes: A piece wreathed in complexity
and rich themes, but the most striking part is surely
the antagonist, Lucia, and her constant search for anticipation.
Featured by *doodlerTM
Catherine and The Sir"I'm not different," Kitty always said, "I'm just sick."
Kitty always said that – even when she pawed at fluffed pillows, even as she sucked on strips of beef jerky, even as she cringed away from the neighbor's Great Dane – Kitty always purred those words – "I'm not different."
"But Catherine," Catherine was her real name, but I never called Kitty that; she hated her real name, after all, because it was the name her parents used to tan her hide. Figuratively speaking, of course. "Catherine, you need to grow up. You're not Kitty anymore."
"No, I'm still Kitty," yowled seventeen-year-old Catherine, "Always have, and always wil
Catherine and the Sir by ~Cerdisinerias
A delightful little piece filled with strange obsessions and healing.
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Prepared by: `Kneeling-Glory
-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates