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Daily Lit Deviations for September 20^th, 2012

We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by ing this News Article.
Please comment and the features and congratulate the artists!


For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note LiliWrites.
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article.

Poetry

_{Featured by VicariouSoul}
Stepping StonesI rip pages
out of poetry books,
the titles of
Shakespeare
and Plath
and Dickinson
littering the floor
like trash,
and I wonder
if we don't all
wind up stepping stones
in the end.
Stepping Stones by betwixtthepages

<sub>This is a poem so powerful regarding
all Artists of every kind by saying
“and I wonder if we don’t all become
stepping stones for . . .” (read on).
This message could not be put better!


Featured by spoems</sub>
ropehang me from the moon,
i want to be beautiful
rope by KaitForest

<sub>A poem that veers precipitously into the twilight.


Featured by spoems</sub>
after you diedi.
they asked me if there was something
of yours that I wanted to keep
I wanted
to keep your eyelashes, your breath,
your blood
I said this, and they looked
sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things
I didn't know what I wanted
cradling my head with my arms and
quietly saying no over and over
my mouth
dry with the taste of morning sickness
and old seawater
a month later, I wanted all your clothes
I was scrub-faced and tired
the yellow
of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet
towels, sleeping naked on the floor every
night
ii.
I fucked somebody else
after the funeral
"somebody else" sounds wrong now
as if you are still alive, kissing
my shoulder in the morning
I'd taken cocaine
and it made a sound in my ears like a hummingbird
like tinnitus
like someone banging on a door or just that tiny high pitched scream
that someone starts to make when they have grown tired of crying
so hard
iii.
your mother was fixing my hair in the kitchen
a bobby pin tucked
after you died by emilygolightly

_{This poem swells with luxurious grief.}

Prose

_{Featured by: betwixtthepages}
a painting hung all wrong.in a dream.
we find him strung up in our garage
washing line taut. neck bulging.
i covered someone's eyes.
stopped them from remembering,
almost familar features
and blue blue blue blue wide open eyes.
where's someone to cover mine?
i mirror you with swollen throat
my voice thick with blood and screaming.
a painting hung all wrong.
a painting hung all wrong. by wordcut-outs

<sub>We strive to protect the people we care most
for from the things we think will hurt them.  
Sometimes, though, we wonder when our turn to be
protected will come.  This piece, by wordcut-outs,
highlights this desire, and the frailty of
human emotions, beautifully.


Featured by xlntwtch</sub>
The Witch and Her FamiliarThe witch and her familiar sat in the open field, hunkered low in a hollow in a desperate attempt to stave off the bitter cold of early winter winds. She wore a long black cloak fastened at her throat with a pin made from a raven's claw, and her dark tresses glistened with dew in the frosty moonlight.
"The moon is waxing," whispered Fox through chattering teeth. "Soon it will be time for you to go dancing."
The witch gazed at him briefly, hooded eyelids hiding her reaction from him. Each full moon brought a night of wandering and reveling with her sisters, and Fox complained bitterly when she returned to their bed with muddy feet in the morning. She suspected that his comment was not a mere observation of fact.
"Aye, Fox," she said, turning away to gaze across the grass towards the treeline. Suddenly she stood, striding across the field. The fox scampered after her, bushy tail held high, nostrils flared in the wind. He could smell it, too - the scent of woodsmoke acrid in the winter ai
The Witch and Her Familiar by childwoman

_{A story full of fantastic description and
action, this is set deep in a woods where huntsmen
might know better than to trust a stranger,
or they might not and regret it.}







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_{Prepared by: spoems}