Daily Lit Deviations for April 7th, 2010
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featured by: dreamsinstatic
"Butterfly" by RedLam
This poem managed through brilliant
imagery and haunting emotion to capture
the essence of the moment so poignantly.
Often love is freeing, but sometimes it
refused to release.
Featured by hell-on-a-stick
in all its fluffy glory.1.
i believe that all the butterflies in my stomach have since
died, my dear. the funny thing is, when i roll over on your
carpeted floor i feel their brittle, unmoving wings graze
along the delicate tissue within me. so this feeling has
not died yet, it hasn't.
there's a simple equation for the loveliness of the sore
muscles, the pain is countered by the feeling of waking
up to your face.
"i've decided to let go."
"oh, have you?"
"yes. i have a feeling your eyes are worth it."
this is not something of love. this is something of possible
love, of definite fondness, of unbridled infatuation. yes,
the butterflies are dead, but how long did you expect them
to live in there, in the dark, with a limited amount of air?
everything dies, really, it's just a matter of who you die
loving, who you die with, who is inside your head when
you die, who you send strong telepathic messages to when
"today, i made someone smile completely by accident."
"what an accomplishment! how se
"in all its fluffy glory" by injuredjaw
injuredjaw pulls us along on a journey
through weeks or months observing sometimes
very everyday things through very different eyes.
It will all rectify itself by the end of the journey.
featured by: Kitri-du-Lac
CornwallI sat beside the bus window, gazing at the non-descript scenery and trying to form a sequence from what I saw, sheep, field, tree, sheep, field, tree, sheep...well you get the idea. To the left of me sat my travelling companion, Adele. She had a look of utter boredom written all to clearly across her face. Sitting a few seats behind us was an elderly man dressed in a tweed flat cap and a navy blue fleece, he hummed quietly to himself and I nicknamed him Uncle Grandad simply because he looked like he would offer me a Murray Mint.
We had gotten on the bus half an hour earlier before in Newcastle, expecting to go to Durham but not anticipating that the bus ride was an hour long. So far the journey had passed quietly and uneventfully as the bus winded through secluded roads. There were no other passengers except for Adele, Uncle Grandad and I. Both me and Adele were listening to music and conversing occasionally.
Sleepily, Adele removed her earphones and asked "Where are we?"
I looked thro
"Cornwall" by RoadKillZebra
The child-like narrative voice of this
piece gives it a wonderfully friendly tone.
Using little phrases, it sets the scene of the
bus journey well and captures the reader in
the hope of the characters, building us to
feel their disappointment at the end. A sweet
and clever piece of non-fiction.
featured by Exillior
"Mikey" by LittleLottexo
With well-chosen words, LittleLottexo
tells us the story of a boy, in a voice full of
tenderness and vehemence, that is bound
to leave the reader deeply moved.
Featured by: Magic-fan
Je ruikt lekker.Je ruikt lekker.
Zacht gemompelde woorden
vanaf lippen in mijn nek
nooit meer kan ik ze horen
zonder te denken aan de plek
waar we lagen op mijn kamer
met onder ons de harde grond
en hoe onze lippen bleven spelen
tot één van ons genoegen vond.
Je ruikt lekker.
Het zijn woorden die weerkaatsen
door de leegte van mijn ziel
waardoor ik steeds maar weer moet denken
aan hoe je bijna voor me viel.
"Je ruikt lekker." by the-poets-of-blah
Emotional, sweet and filled with love.
This is an extremely well-written Dutch
poem that is sure to tug the heart strings
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prepared by: Exillior