ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 3, 2013
gossamer, and you by ~escap-ing
Featured by inknalcohol
Suggested by WinteroftheSoul
Literature Text
some people
(the lucky ones)
get songs stuck in their heads.
i, on the other hand,
am left with words
that beat incessantly against
the confines of my brain.
last week, it was "gossamer."
i thought it was whimsical;
that was pleasant.
i saw the word
every which way i turned:
a gossamer veil of sunlight,
a silk shirt like gossamer,
a spider hanging by a thread of it.
i hate the word now,
with all its whimsy washed away;
the hard g is too harsh and garish
against the roof of my mouth,
the double s too serpentine.
it feels numbingly stiff on my tongue,
like some sort of linguistic anomaly,
a could-be word that really shouldn't be.
today, it was your name.
(i never thought
proper nouns counted, but
evidently, they do.)
i didn't see you as much as i heard you,
somewhere,
in the whistling of the breeze
or the creaking of the hardwood floors.
your imposing yet warm presence
hovered somewhere
near the nape of my neck.
i admit that somewhere
in the recesses of my mind,
i hope that
my tongue never tires
of curling around your syllables,
no matter what scars
your consonants carve in my throat,
no matter what holes
your vowels leave in my lungs.
(the lucky ones)
get songs stuck in their heads.
i, on the other hand,
am left with words
that beat incessantly against
the confines of my brain.
last week, it was "gossamer."
i thought it was whimsical;
that was pleasant.
i saw the word
every which way i turned:
a gossamer veil of sunlight,
a silk shirt like gossamer,
a spider hanging by a thread of it.
i hate the word now,
with all its whimsy washed away;
the hard g is too harsh and garish
against the roof of my mouth,
the double s too serpentine.
it feels numbingly stiff on my tongue,
like some sort of linguistic anomaly,
a could-be word that really shouldn't be.
today, it was your name.
(i never thought
proper nouns counted, but
evidently, they do.)
i didn't see you as much as i heard you,
somewhere,
in the whistling of the breeze
or the creaking of the hardwood floors.
your imposing yet warm presence
hovered somewhere
near the nape of my neck.
i admit that somewhere
in the recesses of my mind,
i hope that
my tongue never tires
of curling around your syllables,
no matter what scars
your consonants carve in my throat,
no matter what holes
your vowels leave in my lungs.
Literature
To Consecrate
When you first met me,
All you could see was a snow white glove
jutting up from the filth I let them bury me in,
digits half curled
wrist arced and carpels tangled
as if I had once strained
to reach up for something more,
but had long since given up...
Your fingertips were my Autumn
as I walked backwards through Winter-
A sleepwalking shadow
spurred on only by sound of a melodic voice
and the faint whispers
of a promise
that I was worth more than ash and dust;
It's been two years since you first coaxed me up from the mire.
I opened my eyes into a hurricane,
reached out to grasp at the hem of your dress
only to come up short
when I found
Literature
Fluff
The Diary of His Supreme and Condescending Majesty, King Stalwart Prettipaws, the One and Only
14th April
The housemaid has just given birth to a second child. It really is too much. So much noise. So much commotion. The footman appears to have forgotten I exist. I had to give the order twice this morning before I was fed.
However. I am the King - I must be gracious about the situation. They may be just servants but it is their home too. It would be cruel of me to expect them to leave at this stressful time. Perhaps I will go and stay in another palace for a while. My kingdom is certainly large enough for me to be able to find something to
Literature
the 'd' word
when i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i gre
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
this one was a bit hasty, but i wanted to get it out before the spark faded.
i have a bit of a love/hate relationship with the ever-vague "you". but anonymity it usually quite fitting.
there are a lot of things that might change. maybe some things to add. i guess we'll see as the time passes, but for now... sure.
(also, i'm experimenting with fonts. i quite like a nice, clean serif typeface.)
feedback questions:
is the piece cohesive? or does it just seem weirdly random?
also, does the font choice affect the poem? (using times new roman instead of the default verdana)
i have a bit of a love/hate relationship with the ever-vague "you". but anonymity it usually quite fitting.
there are a lot of things that might change. maybe some things to add. i guess we'll see as the time passes, but for now... sure.
(also, i'm experimenting with fonts. i quite like a nice, clean serif typeface.)
feedback questions:
is the piece cohesive? or does it just seem weirdly random?
also, does the font choice affect the poem? (using times new roman instead of the default verdana)
© 2013 - 2024 escap-ing
Comments101
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
This makes me love all the words in the poem.
I hate the words succulent and velvety. Blehhh.
I hate the words succulent and velvety. Blehhh.