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Daily Lit Deviations for December 31st, 2012
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Featured by: SilverInkblot
She braved the marigold patch
once a week
a decision all claimed was wise
this will set things straight
he will be your guide
There was a narrow path
less marigolds grew there
the apartment awaited
at the end of the path
its owner grew to be a friend
they discussed possibilities
it is to trust each other
as friends (except deeper)
as equals (except closer)
against the backdrop
of such a chaotic world
Some weeks later
blinded by the harsh sun
she dared not look down
a hand skimmed her thigh
On her way home
the marigolds burned her eyes
as an odd feeling swept over
it crawled through
It's just the sun in my eyes
just the fog in my head
that made time stop
and voices disappear
She picked one
Familiar doors opened
his blond hair created a halo
lit just so
I'm so glad you came
The worms slithered further
silent prayers w
Marigolds by fadingreverie
Very, very subtle. It may take more
than one reading to unearth the story.
Suggested by: xlntwtch
Featured by: TwilightPoetess
A Look At The ProcessI wish I could tangle up my words like you do;
create paradoxical, beautiful, undefinable nonsense
with that gleaming hint of meaning,
that contextual truth, the pearl hooded by
words upon words upon words and
wrapped around with soft whispers of nothing
harsh bites of ironic irrelevance
and carefully misleading references no one will ever understand
Alas, my heart dribbles off my sleeve
and lands exactly where it falls;
it beetles across the page,
being what it is
I wish I could look at my poetry -
smile, and go:
"Yes - that is a mystery"
A Look At The Process by Meggie272
From the suggester: Like the writer says in Comments, she wrote
"...a poem about writing poems..." though it's unlike some poetry seen here.
This piece is fresh, funny and often true.
Featured by: DrippingWords
Letters to the UnbornMy letters will never be received by you;
you will never be able to hold my hand within yours
nor feel the wind upon your cheeks
touch the reddest roses or
lie snuggled in my arms
you will never know my kisses-
placed upon chubby cheeks
I lost those moments when I let
someone tell me what to do with my body
whisper lies into my weakened ears
in the dead of night I swear that
I'll love him like I would have loved you
[I know he will never replace you]
because in my soul I feel it screaming
as if I have the blood of you on my hands
[but honestly, I do]
you are my darling angel
sent to heaven too early
for my mistake.
"Letters to the Unborn " by Sottomissione-di-Amo
A heartfelt piece filled with wonderfully sad imagery.
It speaks directly to the soul.
Featured by doodlerTM
And a Sixpence in her ShoeSomething Old.
The first time we meet I am letting a cat out of my bag and you are skipping rocks and skipping school. At first glance I can tell you are broken, with your tired eyes and quivering smirk, and at second glance I realize you are beautiful.
As the cat runs off, a black streak melting into an oil portrait of the woodsy lake, you notice me and tell me your name. In return I tell you a secret.
Secrets, we soon find out, are the oldest tricks in the book.
After we meet each other we find ourselves together time and time again. At the ice cream parlor, the Cineplex, and the animal rescue center. I am busy picking up more cats to free, you are busy trying to stop me.
By that point our fates are inseparable, our secrets are inseparable, and we are inseparable.
You slip a worn diamond on my finger months later, a blatant promise. I accept it with a kiss, and though you may be broken and I may have compulsive cat-liberation tendencies, we marry weeks later.
And A Sixpence in her Shoe by Irrelephantlovesyou
Through the thoughts of the narrator and beautiful symbols,
Irrelephantlovesyou weaves a story of heartache and
wondering at real-life circumstances.
Featured by shebledgreenink
Santa Fe de BogotaSimón Bolívar found you como una Flor de Mayo.
I know that in your swelling city heart
you long por el mar, por la sal del mar,
but instead you straddle the roads,
hunker down over your landscape and breathe
your car fumes, inspiras las fumas como sombras,
espiras tranquilidad inquieta.
Colombia, madre, you have become
bloated in your old age, have grown your
ankles, pálidos e inflamados;
you should have been a sea lion,
morena y rapida y a la cresta como la espuma.
Mi alma, I will bring you the sea salt to run through your hair,
diamonds with which to crown your mane.
Santa Fé de Bogotá by AzizrianDaoXrak
This is a brilliant example of the potential of bilingual literature.
I strongly recommend reading this piece out loud.
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~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~
Prepared by: SilverInkblot