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Daily Lit Deviations for June 23rd, 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
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Suggested by: Parsat
Featured by LadyofGaerdon
The Guardian Wraith of Starlit SmokeOur sitting here by lantern-light together
In the thick of a teeming snowfall;
The final golden glow,
Against the ancient sovereignty of night,
Like the last petal off a flower.
It is turning three hundred years
He never let the lantern drop.
The illimitable dark and cold and storm,
Whose work is to find out God;
And when they came it seemed with a will
To carry me with them to death.
What comes over a man, is it soul or mind-
(The Devil enters like a sapphire wasp)
Twixt what to love and what to hate
To find out how to get away from God?
No one has seen him stumble looking back
From having died
Inaudibly in thought;
The sorrow of having been left behind.
The land was ours before we were the land's
And having it all made over new
From force to matter and back to force,
The Guardian Wraith of Starlit Smoke by Blacksand459
Suggester: A semi-cento written for
ProjectDFC's May Mixup Madness,
the poem is comprised of 50 lines
from 50 different poems of Robert
Frost's. Virtuosic yet stirring in the
most basic way, the piece takes
themes of love and trust and imbues
them with rare emotional depth.
Suggested by: Sammur-amat
Featured by: spoems
The Length of Every MileBefore the moon turned
shades of sunflower
and brewed a tempest to stir notions
further from coastline
we were tide-locked
and I could see, through the lens,
life on the other side.
And distance was an ocean.
The Length of Every Mile by nawkaman
Per the suggester: "There is such a
profound and beautiful cadence in this
piece by nawkaman and I encourage
everybody to go over and gobble up
his gorgeous gallery. "
Featured by LadyofGaerdon
The Art of Language Acquisition by MaggiexMalarkey
The author puts it best:
there is no greater sadness
than speaking your heart
in the wrong words.
Featured by doodlerTM
Jukebox Cafe A string of bells jingled obnoxiously against glass as Hugh entered the Jukebox Café. The first thing he noticed was the pepless fan rotating just enough to move hot air and the smell of grease from one side of the restaurant to the other. No one came for the food, or at least that’s what he assumed upon sight of the sticky red tablecloths and French fries that speckled the checkered floor. That and the fact that he was the only soul in sight.
He walked up to the bar and squinted at a sign asking customers to “Please seat yourself or ring for service.” What kind of café required its customers to ring a bell for service? Not sure if there was an employee in the place, he rang it despite the sheen applied by dirty hands, and the shrill sound barely cut through an old tune produced by the jukebox in the corner.
Jukebox Cafe by illuminara
A magical short story about a mysterious cafe.
Featured by Exnihilo-nihil
Le Fou by MorbidHarlequin
A short poetry by MorbidHarlequin, which
is not a native french speaker. For a first try,
it's excellent - 3 simples lines, well written in
a poetic and enigmatic way about "the fool.
You'll find an english translation in the comment.
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~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~
Prepared by: spoems