Daily Lit Deviations for August 31^st, 2010

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Poetry

_{:Featured: by 1Walkingblind}
Words from ChainsAs I differ words from chains
crosspanes spin out of control.
In one of which -- under looming sun --
my kris fingers crack like a fractured crock;
a façade of being a flexile toll.
My bleached upper lips
smell rotten in their fear
of being framed, outed, exposed
by the heat of burning oak under
smoldering monumental tea pot.
We stir that pot, stir it good
so all the juices of our lives
mix and merge; a pot-pourri of tastes.
Then we pour it down our throats
slowly, as not to burn by the intensity
of being alive.
I used to stare at this brooch of yours,
that grandma-green below your neckline.
I used to stare and think – this is not my love,
this is us. These are these, and those
are you.
Now I differ, once again -
words from chains, words from chains.
The sun still looms above our heads
with crease-crossed skies -- we swore
if you remember, not to forget --
the fire still stands still, and you
and me, and they… These are not wrinkles
at the alcove of my fingers; this is m
Words from Chains by leoraigarath

<sub>Here we see the great maturity of a
true poet at work, his subject and meaning
are well thought out and arranged to his
specifications. I was amazed when reading
it how new and fresh his style was and how it
fit so well with his choice of words, definite a must read.

Featured by: Halatia</sub>
Creative DifferencesI cast a quick glance at the crumpled paper in my fist. A summons. And from the tone, this was not going to be a meeting I would enjoy. I snorted, like they ever were. Not for the first time I wondered what on God's sweet earth had possessed me to employ the bitch in the first place. And then give her her own set of offices right in the centre of my consciousness. Can you plead temporary insanity in your own mind?
I knocked on the carved oak door and waited. My tired eyes reflected in the high sheen polish of her nameplate: Ms (pronounced mizz) Cartwright. Editor and Critic (Chief). This had to stop. "Come!" Her voice whipped out, and even muffled by the door, I felt its sharp edges cut into me. Wincing, I reached out and opened the door to my own personal hell.
The pinstripe-suited devil stood beside her desk. Her hip leaned against its edge, bunching the material of her pencil skirt and pulling the hem to just below her knee. I stood in the doorway, waitin
"Creative Differences" by ArchArad

<sub>Battling one's internal editor is a
constant struggle for a writer, and is a
topic that is often tackled on the page.  
However, many of those stories end with a
benign silencing of that little voice
inside the head.  This one, though, ends
with a far more satisfying crunch.


Featured by the-photographicpoet</sub>
1On the sunniest
day of the entire year
I stare at lone clouds.
1 by akacharles

_{This haiku has so many ambiguous
meanings to it, with the perfect semantic
fields and lexis used to create a sombre
and deafening tone. Delicate on the heartstrings.}

Prose

_{featured by: Kitri-du-Lac}
UnboundThe deliciously cool breeze came in small gusts from the open window.  The heavy rain, the wonderful rhythm of pitter-pattering sounds seemed to pulse along with music sneaking past the neighbour's thin walls. If it had not been in the darkness of the midnight hour, had the rain been any softer or the breeze any warmer, the music may have chewed away at my sanity, as it had many times before, the inconsideration and unwelcome distraction forcing my jaw to clench and teeth to grind.
Tonight however, it was all blended together into a soothing balm for the soul torn down by the never-ending stream of purposeless, frenzied hustle and bustle. And as the palpable coolness caressed my skin again, I felt as alive as I believe I ever will within the mortal realm, the corner of my lips rising along with the Goosebumps on my arms.
The rhythm escalates, and I fight to remain in the safety of my chair, the safety of the glow of artificial lights and the warmth. My mind however has alread
"Unbound" by darkestmelody

<sub>This short piece is full of beautiful
images, subtly implying the beauty of the
worst of the weather. The gradually shortening
sentences and paragraphs help to increase the
pace of the piece, heightening the reader's
excitment alongside the narrator's.
A wonderfully pleasing piece.



Featured by: Halatia</sub>
News Flash, GuysHere’s a news flash, guys: when a girl says that she’s okay with being ‘just friends’, there is at least an 85% chance that she is lyinglyinglying to you. She is not okay with it. In fact, she is so far away from ‘okay’ that she is freezing her ass off in the North Pole while ‘okay’ gets to swim around in the tropics. She is absolutely, positively, most definitely not ‘okay’ with this situation.
She’ll tell you she is, of course, to avoid hurting you. Because that’s the last thing in the whole entire world that she wants, simply because you, yourself, are the very first thing in the whole entire world that she wants.
She’ll tell you she’s happy for you, of course, to avoid hurting you. Because she loves you enough to fully believe that she doesn’t deserve to have you look at her with starshine and moonbeams highlighting those eyes that she adores so much.
What I’m trying to tell you here is this: she
"News Flash, Guys" by BellaPotter

_{A well-kept secret laid bare.  
Written with the right touches of
humor and sadness, this short piece
of nonfiction gets at the heart of a woman's words.}


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_{Prepared by: pullingcandy}