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=LadyofGaerdon

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Spring Alliance Contest!

Journal Entry: Wed May 15, 2013, 3:33 PM


:wave: Greetings, luminous Allies! It is my pleasure to announce the Spring Alliance Contest! :party:

:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!


Because I, your founder, have a deep and abiding love for the seasons, this group now hosts seasonal contests, and as the Winter Contest is now over, it is time for Spring. ^^; I know I was a bit late in posting this one (sorry!), but considering how freaky the seasons are acting this year (at least around here!), we're still getting frost! So I'm still definitely in a spring mood and looking forward to all of your springy art! :iconifeelfluffyplz:

The contest starts right now, and ends July 15th. At that time, the Summer Contest will begin. :la:

The rules of the contest are simple: create a work of art, centered loosely around the theme of Spring, based on another work of art (literature based on visual artwork or visual artwork based on literature, in keeping with the theme of the group). The theme is very open to interpretation. I have provided some examples in the feature (though as always, you are allowed to use any spring-related deviation you choose). There are many spring-related themes from which you can choose: flowers, animals, warmer weather, spring rain, bees, bunnies, eggs, birds, the rebirth of light and warmth to the earth. Springtime holidays are also acceptable: St. Patrick's Day (past, I know, but still spring!), The Vernal Equinox, Easter (or Ostara) naturally, Beltaine (May Day), Earth Day, etc. I'm sure you'll think of something!


This does NOT have to be a new piece! HOWEVER, what I really don't want you to do is find an old spring poem or painting and then search for a corresponding artwork that you think kinda sorta goes along with it. That's cheating, my dears. This contest and this group is all about being inspired by different types of artwork! Also, it's unlikely to help you win. 
Entries will be judged on the following criteria, in order:
 :bulletyellow: How well the deviation ties into the inspiring piece.
:bulletgreen: How well the deviation ties into the Spring theme.
:bulletyellow: Impact
:bulletgreen: Quality
:bulletyellow: Creativity


PRIZES:


1st: 100 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

2nd: 75 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

3rd: 50 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

Deadline: July 15th
Entries are unlimited! Go wild! :iconlawooplz:

Please submit entries to the Spring Contest folder. 

To help you guys get into the spirit and start those creative juices flowing, here is a feature from our brand new Spring Inspiration favorites folders: Please note that the inspiring deviation does not have to be one of these! It's just to give you an idea. More Spring Inspiration can be found in our Favorites Folders and you are free to suggest Spring-themed pieces as well.


SpringtimeIt is winter on my breastbone,
Across my nose,
Down my arms,
Snowbanks of pale skin
At my shoulders, elbows, knees.

But a sudden spring emerges on my hipbone,
A rioting vibrant mass
Of blue-black-purple-green.
Brought on not by the warming of the weather,
Or a gentle rain,
But by a forceful collision with a table.

This bloom will wither soon,
Just like the real daffodils and irises.
The colors will fade,
And my skin will return to the tundra.  aphroditeclambering lips tumble over each other like
little deer stumbling into the headlights, where
blushing cupid's bows snap shut at the slightest
whisper of a touch; as summer's broken blossom
whistles into moss, suicidal and free-falling at a
twist of the wind, dripping through honeyed-hands and
trickling down wrists. words nuzzle breath, the air
staved of acoustics that choreograph faces closer; watching as
quivering eyes thrust new-born hope, where
restless hearts knock beneath a web of ribs,
screaming silently as bodies are poured into the
stitches of aphrodite's venomo(us) fly-trap.  Clair de LuneSometimes I imagine
That when Debussy penned this movement,
He hesitated with the title.
"Clair de Lune"…moonlight.
Perhaps he didn't have the courage
To add an "E" to the end of her name,
Immortalizing her in music.
The gentle chords pouring
From his piano describing
The peace with which she slept.
"Claire of the Moon."
She was the embodiment of dreams.
Indeed, with her hair spread out
In messy ringlets across the pillow,
The pale, spring-time glow
Of the moon hanging heavy
In the April sky
Gently casting its cool light
Through the half-open window,
Onto her faintly blushing cheek.
She looked ethereal,
Like a  RosesYou love too much, I am told by a man with a briar heart, thorny sinews and collapsed ventricles bearing down on him, hardly beating in his tight chest. He looks at me with flat, slate eyes, chipping and eroding. His hands are dark with cigarette burns and rough with calluses; I feel them on my shoulders as he looks down at me, face collapsing in at his eyes like a dead man's.

For the first time, I realize he is dead. His briar heart dried up when winter killed his rose; my father, he is all thorns.

He squeezes my shoulders, too tight. You look like your mother, you know, he whispers, eyes shifting to the garden, to the yellow rose I plante  BloomIt's normal, you know.
Bruises flower under skin like lilies in a garden
Tears find their place just like water in the soil
They seep into the black
Nurture seedlings
And hurt grows so green and natural.
Pearl skin is supposed to go purple
It's as right as the rain.

So don't worry, don't fret
I'm art, you know, cross-stitching on the wall
An ivory piano key
Just as I should be
Because battered things are beautiful.
Feathers torn from silk pillows
And stick figures on balance beams

Aren't as loved, nor as adored,
Nor as beautiful as me.  cypress lady.Lost in a fog, a stranger walks.
Dressed in shadows,
she creeps.

Alone, she whispers
nondescript words in a language
no-one hears,
for no-one cares to listen.

In the shade
of an ageing cypress tree,
she lies beneath the boughs.
In the soft, soft grass,
she sighs as she dozes.

The sun hides behind a cloud,
and the quiet shadows grow cold.
As she opens her eyes, she shivers,
her grassy bedding turning to ice
as she is lost to the pleasantries
of dreams.

She looks out,
and from the realms of her shadows
can see a faint light
past the leafy threshold.
Standing, she walks
slowly to the edge,
staring out.

She stretches her  PersephoneI fed her
pomegranate kisses

and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.

With cracks in my heart
and souls
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.  Stealing WednesdayJust this once,
let it be an angel plume
floating on the borrowed breeze.

Something living but also alive.
A bouquet of forget-me-nots nestled
in the arms of Alzheimer's …
the hands of hatred.

We aren't asking for a field-
No gardens.
The strength to take back tomorrow

Just this once,
Give us something we deserve:

Calm seas
The hidden dirt road

A chance  Grating RaspsIt courses and winds like air through veins,
Falls languidly through space, red as wax, drips
From barren branches full with leaves,
From sighs and outstretched fingertips.

It howls in silver song from the moon-top
Grips like ice and as ice does, lets go.
Stars and hollowness gently fall,
As it's all that nothingness will ever know.

It shudders and shatters in scarlet decay,
Breaks like waves of unblemished sound,
Until scattering, piece by crystalline piece
To the dusty, earth caked, green-strewn ground.

It leaves forms laying in beds of growth,
Traces rivers through rock before treading back.
It resonates through choking and g  Tree Of Rot she is but the
        remnants
             of
    the tree
   (of life)

that she
   has
 blossomed
   for so
  many years.

she was
(once upon a time)
graced with
 beautiful
  golden leaves

but now
   they have
browned.

supple, young
  flesh,
the eye
  of so
  many

is now the
 home of
 fungus
(addiction)

and
decay
(broken dreams)

she was once
       the
      tree
     (of life)

but now
 all that
  remains

    is
  mold  InstructionsWear dreamsong like a gown
wear rainscent like a cloak
no shoes, your bare feet know the way
in and out the twisted place
tell them you don't know your name
yet don't dare to actually forget
listen to the honey light fiddle
but forbid your feet to dance
for the music is enchanting
and your feet won't stop
when you want to leave
sing a homesong, follow your feet
through dark forest, over fragile bridge
unknown paths, an open door
you will never find back.  strawberriesdrops of rain explode
into colors on your outstretched hands,
blossoming as roses
like bright ripe strawberries.
and when you roam enchanted gardens,
nothing is ever as it seems…
one moment a blade of grass
and the next one of many feathers
on the wing of a bird
about to take flight.
no matter how you try
gravity is wiser,
and you are bound to come down from the clouds.
millions of heartbeats like yours
all search for the same thing
and will find each other someday.  Elegy Of A Lost SeasonI am the fall.

Broken in June, buried in August -
haunting September from the boughs of hazel,
where not even the rain could reach me.
How my limbs ached to feel its soothing caress;
but my limbs felt nothing, and I felt nothing.
And the season moved on, without me.

Once, long ago, I was spring,
delicate and pure; fragile as willow seedlings,
believing themselves strong, as they stretch toward the sun -
before the wind breaks their stalks, and they fall
defeated, drained, limp upon the ground;
crushed and forgotten as tears.

But no, I was summer -
when I looked into your eyes for the first time
and forgot to curse the sun.

Tin   Born AgainThe river, awake again, slips through the countryside,
violently vibrant like all things in the spring
as it drinks the snowy banks and swallows
the roads that did not read the caution signs.
The water heads for the coast in celebration
of the return of the warmth of the sun,
cause to laugh again, and dance barefoot in the grass.

The spring celebration is masked in religious pretext,
but the pagan appreciation for everyday rebirth
cannot be denied as even the most pious bare skin
and enjoy the sensuous flesh of the fruit that speckles
the lush green canvass with reds and blues,
The sweet taste has returned to the land,
the Holine  CamelliasThe carcasses
of pink camellia blossoms
litter the sidewalk,
a school of tropical fish
escaped from their captors' net
and gasping
for air.

I wait for them to rise
into the sky,
a flock of bright angels,
fins turned toward the clouds.

They will bloom again tomorrow,
this I know.  Atlanticyou were the ghost
who made the apple fall.

.

and no,
it's not you,

sometimes the seeds
turn into trees
or flowers, strange
incarnations of
the strangest force,
and, at other times,
the wind lifts them away
so they never
touch the ground.

there's nothing left but course.

.

of course you are, but i must know;

do you go door to door,
knocking on the stars?

reality: just
an architect's answer
to a philosopher's question.

.

over the atlantic you sing
like the end who just learned
he was a beginning.
over the atlantic you sing:

"god is an ocean,
and you can only pray
by kneeling on the ground."  Apple BlossomYour blush is fading;
windswept, you shudder gently
fragrant petal tears  One Day I Shall Lay Down And Dieone day i shall lay down and die

and so for now here is my kiss, my golden-ness,
my forehead pressed against yours
like two strange animals lost on a plain of
red sand. one day i shall lay down and die so
now here, let these birds pick me apart,

show you it all, the torn underwear
and the girl gazing at the soft glow
on trees, the ferocious lion-love
weeping under the kitchen table. one day
i shall lay down and die

so for now i feast on beaches, your breath,
the flutter of my dress sore against my skin
someday i will find that peace,
plant a spring-flower deep in my heart, land one last cool kiss
on the bow of your mouth and sl  SpringSoft licks of sunshine upon your breast,
delicate blossoms go down the flesh.
Besotted bumble bees swoon
for the newly opened flower.

How sweet the honey is
as it melts on the tongue.
Once sensitive shy buds
now confident, unstrung.

The lilting breeze climbs, climbs, climbs -
flooding the smooth air
with spring's exquisite gift.  Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.

I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.

Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could  spring haikusspring haikus

I.
blue eggs found in nest
tender green through frozen lace
spring’s sigh on the wind

II.
robin in bare tree
fragile notes dressed in crystal
winter’s farewell song

-SophieCT, march 19 2013
day .079.

                                                                                     

Now go and get creating! :eager: 

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:


P.S. Re-upping our Super-group subscription pretty much killed my :points: collection....^^; So any prize donations you guys can offer would be deeply appreciated. :worship: :D


33 Comments
Spring Alliance Contest! May 15 33 Comments 31 Favourites

The Kimareah Series - Featured With Exuberance!

Fri May 10, 2013, 8:40 PM


:iconbummyballoonplz: Today is the birthday of my good friend Kat, and so I am taking the opportunity to feature her new Facebook page for her book series! 
:party:

Here on deviantART, Kat goes by

:iconmindlesspuppettoy:


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

Kat is the author of 


This series is many years in the making, and Kat is working diligently to finish it up and release so we can all gobble it up. Just look at all those notes! :faint:

:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

The first book, Child of Thrae, is nearly completed, and so Kat has opened a Facebook page to allow all her adoring fans to follow her soon-to-be-illustrious literary career! 
:icondoctorthumbsupplz:

When Kat's page reaches 50 likes, she will be hosting a contest, the nature of which is super-secret but doubtless will be lots of fun. So please check it out! 
:squee:

deviantARTist ~medders is the cover artist for The Kimareah Series, and you can see some of his illustrations here. 
:dance:

As stated on Kat's Facebook page:

The Chronicles of the Ethrelian Era follows the story of a young human girl named Kimareah, who is kidnapped from her homeland by a group of rogue elves. She is taken to a mysterious new world which is in the midst of an ancient war. Kimareah soon discovers that the multiple warring parties are fighting to either control her or kill her. Upon her arrival, Kimareah must decide which side she will choose to fight for if she wishes to return to her homeland. Thus is ushered in the first novel of the Chronicles of the Ethrelian Era: Child of Thrae.

I can't wait! 
:iconpenguinhappyplz:

Now, I shall feature a sampling of Kat's work here on dA, so you can get a taste of her awesomeness:


A poem written from the 
perspective of Kat's main character.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

A piece from a villain's perspective.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

Righteous Baest: Introduction"Should I become what I was in my past, let me wilt away to the earth and die in shame.

Should I be persecuted for who I was in my past, let me stand against the torrents of doubt with unfathomable determination.

Should I allow such history as the past to craft my future, let me then become one more to the many who walk the beaten path.

Should I shame my elders with what I have become, let me turn away from their stares with pride and become persecuted.

I am who I am now, not who I was before, and let no one pass judgment upon me until the very works of time reveal what I truly have become.

Only when we remember the past do we remember t  Creator: TDW Round IIIDay thirteen. Time unknown; place known and yet unknown.

I just broke through the Fourth Wall a mere four days ago… I hope they'll let me back over it when I'm done here. I can see it now, my characters all secretly plotting in that corner over there – in the back of my mind – to tie cinder blocks to my feet so I can't climb back over. Look at me and my imagination running ramped again. They haven't been hostile like I thought they would; especially when I stated who I was… Traveling with the others has been quite the experience; I can only write so much but experiencing it is another thing: a pure and exhilarating joy. H
An intriguing pair of stories in which
Kat meets her own characters.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

:iconclappingraccoonplz:

And just a sampling of Kat's work that I particularly like. She's a talented photographer and digital artist as well. :)
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:



Thanks for reading and please go check out her page! 
:iconpenguinpleaseplz:




CSS credit goes to:
Stock: ~Dragoroth-stock, *little-spacey, *mimose-stock, ~Dralliance-Stock, *Dracoart-Stock, !gaiastock, *CAStock
Brushes: ~MouritsaDA-Stock
Coding & graphics: =kuschelirmel-stock
6 Comments
The Kimareah Series - Featured With Exuberance! May 10 6 Comments 2 Favourites

Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #7

Journal Entry: Fri Jan 18, 2013, 11:17 PM


 :wave: Hello my patient Allies! It's  (past) time again to showcase more of the excellent Allied Artwork pieces that have been making their way into our 


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!

This article features pieces that have been submitted to our Featured Folder, which is reserved for literature that is based on visual artwork on dA, and visual artwork based on dA literature.

As usual, this feature is the result of the member poll which asked you, our lovely members, to vote for your favorite Allied Artwork submitted to the Featured Folder to be spotlighted in the article as the best. :w00t:




There was a tie for first place. So our first first place goes to *EstrangeloEdessa's atmospheric interpretation of *Antony-Hell's enchanting photograph.






Our second first place goes to *nightshade-keyblade's humorous ruminations of a rueful knight, based on `Mirz123's adorably detailed stamp.





Next is ~Owari999's emotive poem, inspired by ~Jordan-Roberts' gorgeous photo.





=Wordeea's romantic French prose, inspired by *SylveryFox's exquisite photo of San Francisco's streets.

inspired by




*trip-to-zion's thoughtful six word story inspired by ~Charmed-Ravenclaw's paper valentine.





~Oniksu's literary interpretation of *Detkef's haunting image.

LauraLaura,
Why?
You  were at the Youth Ball. I saw how you owned the flaring spotlight, how you twirled, and how you pirouetted across the marble floor—a manner that I consider inhumanly graceful—like a shrimp impulsively dancing in prism-stained waters. Your locks and your dress created this little blue-and-yellow vortex that flew to every corner of the room. Hands shaking, golden hair fluttering, you danced on and on and on . . . all while your gaze was fixed on Theodore.
Don’t  you know that he eyed you like you were a madwoman? Theodore threw you looks of awe, yes, but he was only mesmerized by your peculiar actions. He cocked his eyebrow often at you—stupid, you knew he was fed up!—but you did not stop dancing. Soon enough everyone else did the same: whispering and muttering about the demented girl before them.
Then they sent you away.  I  remember you were crying, flailing, and begging to stay as they dragged  you t inspired by 




*Goldenwolf's illustration of ^JZLobo's character.

inspired by 




Followed by:



inspired by




Our next poll will be out soon, with another feature to follow! The more you guys submit, the more features there will be! :eager:

And to get your creative juices flowing, a sampling from our Exceptionally Inspiring Literature & Exceptionally Inspiring Visual Art folders:

Totems and Godhoodi. As a child, confronting giants.

I take the pine tree as my totem,
learn to love the nakedness of its nether-regions
and its northerly fibers stretched and waiting
for the weft to its warp.

Girlhood is still a part of me as the
learning what I am. In the end,
I haven't climbed a tree in a long time;
I am small, and scared, and ringed round with walls,
and I beg the moon to teach me
to use my pine trees as a ladder.

ii. In the way only young love can.

You, sir—
you are pine chips, and I carry you
like a fetish in my mind.

You are the first vampiric sweetness
to suck the breath from my body:
unknowing, the feeling of ye   The Mating Season
The copse was luminous and inviting.
Balmy winds shifted and the leaves swirled in tuneful coils.
He crushed the vivid ambers and yellows with grimy boots;
Feet scuffing the supple earth with each enthralled step.

She inhaled a surging gust
and spread her arms in temptation.
Her warm breeze thrust him in
and he clung to her, obsessed.

Undeniably beautiful was she, that he didn't comprehend
the brambles that curled around her legs
and the twigs that rose in the deep red of her verdant hair.

Her lips were soft and her touch bewitching,
like the undisturbed soil next to a water's edge.
That's where he laid her down
and took    The Page of Promise: A Winter Solstice TaleIn the depths of a night that's about to begin
with the feeling of snow as it melts on your skin
and it covers the land with a dream so intense
that it returns us all to a child's innocence
And then what you'd thought lost and could never retrieve
is suddenly there to be found on Christmas Eve
-Trans-Siberian Orchestra

The sound of her boots breaking the snow is delicate and light, like meditated, unhurried piano notes. She walks gracefully between the pine trunks, their needles making a cover for falling snow above her head. Her face, a frozen petal of porcelain, eyes of crystalline frost, is framed by the hood of her white, fur-lined    The Vanishing HatI warned him once.
"Don't go!" I said
when he placed that hat
upon his head.
He turned to the side
and gave me a smile
and whispered to me
"Be back in awhile."
In a puff of dust,
in the blink of an eye
he was gone from this place.
and I'm left wondering why.

We'd come to this moment
from a time further past.
It all hinged on a glance
through shop window glass.
He'd stopped for a look
at a hat on display
in a shop on the corner
on a street on our way
to a theater in London
where we'd first started dating
a romantic reprieve
and I wouldn't be waiting.

"Don't go," I told him
in a jocular tone,
"or I'll go by myself
and leave you alone."
His fa   Wail of the Welsh DragonThe dragon bowed his head in pain,
He'd fought many a battle and not been slain,
Neither sword nor lance could end his reign,
But now his time was ending.

Life had been a simple thing,
Patrol his lands on the wing,
In the mountain stronghold he was King,
And no one dared to doubt it.

But now the nights seemed so cold
And his flame was not so bold
Even dragons do grow old,
And he'd never felt so weary.

For many a moon he'd not been out,
A subject the peasants talked about,
And though they all may run and shout,
In their way they loved him.

Yes, they may have fled and hid,
But cruelty was not his to bid,
He just did what drago   Acid Girl 04She once told me that Mexican nights were shorter
With enough pills, October can be one long day
Those eyes never promised calm waves or Novocain

There's tequila in our mouthwash
The problem is I don't see this as a problem anymore
Nine out of ten dentists recommend swallowing the worm

An air conditioner is smoking somewhere downstairs
I breathed in the cold second hand and the minute stopped moving
We're only alive part time- cashing our rain checks in rubber boots

On the weekends, she doesn't know that it's the weekend
I'm always aware of footprints in the mud and snow
If they take the trash, it's Thursday

The puppy calendar on    Beautiful DayThere are some days that are inherently beautiful.
Hot green-yellow days in August-- or July, but never June-- where everything seems still, like you're the only person in the world, because all the normal people are inside with their air conditioners, and all the birds are resting, and you lie down on the grass and it feels like it's just you and the great growing plant world that surrounds you, and it's utterly still, the only moving air caused by your breath, and for a minute you know what peace is. And then the air stirs, and you hear a lawn mower in the distance and smell the fresh-cut grass, and some laughter or shouts in the distance because some kids are playing something, but it's still quiet in your empty space of green, even when a car goes by, even when suddenly a pair of twittering birds flies overhead, two dark spots against the blue bit of sky overhead.
Days in the winter when the clouds are thick and heavy, like a flannel sweater over the world, and they're shaking down   The Wailing: TeaserPart I: The Sirens
The sound of the sirens is what has stayed with me. I remember the explosions, the engines of the Messerschmitts, the screams of men trapped beneath the rubble. Of course I do. But it is the wail of the sirens that yet haunts my dreams, settles that same cold sickness in my gut, that same cold slickness on my palms. It is the banshee shriek of coming death.
The night was cold and clear when that sound prickled along my arms like so many icy fingers reaching out from behind the drapes.
Rowan stilled her hands at the typewriter and ripped the sheet from the machine, lest some unscrupulous eye should take advantage of her temporary absence. She snatched up a grey cardigan, a torch, and the requisite gas mask, and had nearly gotten to the door before she turned back to look at me. Her dark eyes were as empty as ever.
‘Are you coming?’ she asked as she stuck one arm into a cardigan sleeve.
‘I’ll follow later,’ I said.    SymbiosisApnoea reigns,
and love
is death in a mirror,
when a cold candle
lungs
for her burning breath,
and her fiery heart
strives
for his sacred chest.
Waxen tears bleed,
as immortality
breaks the mirror,
cursing them forever. 




Before I close, I'd like to remind you all about our Winter Alliance Contest going on right now! Deadline is March 1st. We need more entries, so please check it out! :please: I've also added more PRIZES! :squee:

I'd also like to bring your attention to a Story Illustration Contest being held by Alliance regular ^JZLobo. :D



That's it for now, guys! Thanks so much for being a part of the Alliance! :w00t:

For more Allied Artwork, please check us out at :iconlit-visual-alliance:

'til next time,

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:






Skin by Hanafae
22 Comments
Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #7 January 18 22 Comments 18 Favourites

TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - January 2013

Fri Jan 4, 2013, 9:49 PM


:wave: Hello, dearest members! =LadyofGaerdon here to continue our series:

Featured Deviant of the Month 


 for

 :icontalentedwritersguild:

 January's Featured Deviant is..........:eager:

 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

#TalentedWritersGuild is a literature group committed to the encouragement, collection, and archival of high quality prose and poetry works. To find out more about the group, please click here.


 Here at #TalentedWritersGuild, we encourage deviants to select only their best pieces of literature for submission. As judges, we look for pieces that simultaneously move us, challenge us, and inspire us as readers; pieces that stimulate us emotionally and intellectually; and the pieces that display true technical skill. When we vote, we consider all these things, and let only the pieces we deem up to snuff through to our gallery. This pushes our submitters to excel, challenge themselves, and improve their craft, and provides our readers with high quality literature to read. 


The Featured Deviant of the Month is a member whose submissions meet and surpass this criteria.   

:icontalentedwritersguild:

~winterkate is a new and highly promising young addition to our literature community. Her words are filled with passion and utilized meticulously, to create thought-provoking, highly satisfying poetry.

 ~winterkate has 15 pieces in our gallery to date! They are all wonderful and I encourage you to check them out.




to a womanYou see it coming from the men.
You see the ways their eyes linger on you
When they're looking around the room
The way their bodies brush yours when you're walking through the hallways to class
The way they stutter and look away when apologizing for the accidental contact of skin to skin
You see it coming from the men.
You never see it coming from me.

God, was the world not complicated enough already
Without causing me to notice the interplay of textures in her hands
The calluses like mahogany mountains carving ridges of stone
Into her palms softer than Impressionistic sunlight?
I'm not supposed to feel this way about another woman
In the words of ~SCFrankles:
A piece about unexpected and mostly-unrequited love.
This blew me away. The maturity of the
writing, the evocative imagery, the
contained emotion. Very, very moving.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Poem for the TransgenderedAnd I am not one of you, but
I know what it's like
to want to crawl out of your own skin.

I am not one of you, but
I want to shed this 173.2-pound body, I want
to hear the smack, the boom, the crash
as it hits the floor and moulds gray, I want to see
the bruise flowers write blue and purple obituaries across my white skin
before it dissolves into garden soil, I want
my body to, for once, create something beautiful.

And I am not one of you but
sometimes I have wanted to cut off all my hair.
To lop off this shit stream that's coursing down my back,
to bury it in the back and become some
pixie/lesbian/dyke/whore/boy
I have ne
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak:
This piece is about a topic that is very close to MY heart,
and though other members of the trans community may
find that it doesn't quite hit their experiences on the nose,
there are moments, to me, where she gets it exactly rights:
To keep scrubbing till you could pick locks with my tibias, till
my bones are small enough and sharp enough
to sew myself back together with
And above and beyond these moments of terrible, painful beauty,
she treats the topic with respect, compassion, and a
sense of being kindred spirits, and for all this I am grateful.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Artist Discretionbreak

Oh,
Muse,
Please
No.

I don't want to I can't let me go leave me alone Ican't Ican't Ican't not knowing
all of the things
He will do
to make me
a beauty
all of the things
He will do
to make me
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon:
Poor splintered-up poem! A creative look at the
way a poem might feel about the rather brutal
treatment it often receives at the hands of its creator. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat –
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.

You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.

If not, try and see t
In the words of `thetaoofchaos:
It is not a locale that has magic, danger, depth or purpose
as much as it is a catalyst to shake those things alive within us.
With this poem, the writer delivers such a place, both
outside and in, and with rare skill. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


what if this was the song of myself?1. god laced your eyes with opium
stitched them shut with cotton fog. wake, love – cough
like a gunshot, breathe
like the blood eagle
has been carved into you. time didn't mean
to blind the moon's great eye, to
collapse it into the static horizon.
my lips can no longer pronounce the word mercy. wake,
love. please.
just breathe.

2. the days crack like porcelain dolls
under my father's boots. there are skulls
hidden in the cabinets, & shadows too, hung in the closet
like thin-pressed coats.
like suicide.

3. razor, rohypnol, rope. bathroom,
bedroom,
basement. if i touch all three
before i leave
i won't pick one up
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon:
This is horror in the best way -
the creeping, psychological skin-crawling way.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 









Stephanie - Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inch
              of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin
of a kindergartener high off oxygen,
mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,
black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak
     as I fell for your gypsum nails,
              white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

scribbled flesh tells no love story
but three layers of skin
worn thin along the length of our feverish bones.

(Garden flowers tucked away worms and dirt,
     my ribs hoarded misspellings of my mother's name).

dipping your origami limbs into my ink
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon:
A gorgeous example of a well-executed
collaboration, in which each artists' skills
and styles blend into and complement
each other in perfect synchronicity.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Please check out our Featured Gallery, which shall be hosting all of ~winterkate's submitted works. Please also peruse her gallery for yet more awesomeness and remind her of what an amazing writer she is. Oh yes, and please :+fav: this article to spread the word!


 Until next time...

The :icontalentedwritersguild: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconangeljunkie: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconnngross: :iconoritpetra: :iconladylincoln: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo: :iconemocinderella: :iconangelstained:


14 Comments
TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - January 2013 January 4 14 Comments 7 Favourites

Winter Alliance Contest!

Journal Entry: Wed Dec 12, 2012, 8:22 PM
Profile Gallery


:wave: Greetings, fair Allies! It is my pleasure to announce the Winter Alliance Contest! :party:

:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!


Because I, your founder, have a deep and abiding love for the seasons, this group will now host seasonal contests, and as the Autumn Contest is now over, it is time for Winter to reign. :aww: 

The contest starts right now, and ends March 1st. At that time, the Spring Contest will begin. :la:

The rules of the contest are simple: create a work of art, centered loosely around the theme of Winter, based on another work of art (literature based on visual artwork or visual artwork based on literature, in keeping with the theme of the group). The theme is very open to interpretation. As you can see from the rather ridiculously long inspiration feature below, there are a multitude of winter-related subjects out there. Just a small sampling would be: snow, ice, cold, holly, ivy, Christmas (and the associated stockings, Christmas trees, Santa, elves, reindeer, tinsel, ornaments, presents, etc,), all the other various holidays that occur this time of year - Hanukkah, Kwanza, Yule/Solstice (actually the Solstice can be a winter subject separate from the Pagan holiday, just as the shortest day of the year). This contest is going until March 1st, so Valentines Day also counts as a winter holiday for the purposes of this contest, and is an accepted subject. These are just ideas, however, and I've no doubt you can think of things I didn't. :D


This does NOT have to be a new piece! HOWEVER, what I really don't want you to do is find an old winter poem or painting and then search for a corresponding artwork that you think kinda sorta goes along with it. That's cheating, my dears. This contest and this group is all about being inspired by different types of artwork! Also, it's unlikely to help you win. 
Entries will be judged on the following criteria, in order:
 :bulletred: How well the deviation ties into the inspiring piece.
:bulletgreen: How well the deviation ties into the Winter theme.
:bulletred: Impact
:bulletgreen: Quality
:bulletred: Creativity


PRIZES:


1st: 200 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

2nd: 150 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

3rd: 100 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance

Deadline: March 1st
Entries are unlimited! Go wild! :iconlawooplz:

Please submit entries to the Winter Contest folder. 

To help you guys get into the spirit and start those creative juices flowing, here is a feature from our brand new Winter Inspiration favorites folders: Please note that the inspiring deviation does not have to be one of these! It's just to give you an idea. More Winter Inspiration can be found in our Favorites Folders and you are free to suggest Winter-themed pieces as well. Soon I will be opening up folders for the other seasons that you will be welcome to submit to also. 


perpetual decemberwould you give me your december?
i am holding out my frail plywood wrists
and begging you for something
too heavy for either of us to hold

[though you are somehow cradling it
in your fractured celestial mind].

would you sing december to me?
would you play it in thirds
and mold it into something i can see?
i would give the dying bamboo
on my window sill to feel you again

[like when you cut your hands on raw selenite
but they don't bleed].

december is slipping out of our reach.
she is slipping quietly out the door
and i have my hands held high
like sentinels of the sky
and my eyes closed in patient rapture.

but you  I Have Always Loved WinterI have always loved winter
With its caressing touch of icy-bright fingers
That stroke past my flesh with a tingle that lingers
A crystalline splinter
I have always loved winter

She was constantly cold
Her skin was of porcelain, her hands were of snow
And timidly soft into my hands they’d go
But her lips were more bold
She was constantly cold

Like embers her kisses
That latched onto mine like a coal hotly dropping
Down fast onto ice sheets without sign of stopping
And sputters and hisses
Like embers her kisses

But I liked the cold best
That bit of her most like a clear, frozen shard
And it pleased me to see her grow palli  Of treesDeep ghost-groves of freckled aspen
burn white beneath the winter sun,
whisper hoary adulation,
canticles for the Holy One.
And in the trees, the spirits dance
betwixt the motes of starry snow
illuminated by the lance
of lightning flash and candle glow.
All lights within this place combine,
reflect in splendour, white on white,
and mingle in a trance sublime
that breathes in peace through winter night.

The lofty heads of stately pine
rear up and brush the lowered sky
as if they could, by straightened spine,
so please the God who built them high.
Their incense needles, fragrant, fall
in silence to the chapel floor
and still a   Winter's Kissi saw winter dancing
nude

so i grabbed her
wrist

and pulled her in for a kiss.

with a sweet, slow
retreat

i swept her off
her feet,

and carried her down to summer.  MY WINTER EQUINOXFalling, slowly falling, snowflakes intertwine
themselves with the crystal maelstorm in my veins,
I feel them melt the noisy grime from my skin
moonlight pale, sometimes I wish I could glaze me
in the tears and haze of Spring's gentle unfurls-
but Winter has always been more real to me, her
bloodline pulses with the essence of Purity,
and Eternity pine-scented, her snowflakes help me
to find my tears as she melts me into an endless
kiss, but I still wish for the frosty Stars to
smile their light on my bruised lips and cleanse
away the blemishes from my warm white interpretations
-then I would be free, I feel her compel my hurt
to  to be born in the rainThe sky's cold tears fall
mingling with the salty trails on my face.
I am born with a winter's rain
caressing my newly formed cheeks,
stiff limbs taking first steps through puddles -
tiny oceans gracing black pavement.
So this is what it feels like

to
b r e a t h e

fresh, cold air floods tender senses,
tingling and full of a thousand new smells
connected with sights and sounds.
Birth is a cold, fresh, marvelous thing
pulsing and swaying to the discordant music
of new life.   Frozen MemoriesBy accident,
I found her tombstone.

It lay buried beneath snow,
encased in ice,
under a canopy of white held aloft by the trees.

I had been walking,
focusing,
as I often do,
on the clouds of steam rising from my mouth,
and what they meant to me,
when my foot caught hold of the crumbling cross,
and sent me tumbling down...
down...
down...

I caught myself on hands in a sea of crystal white,
flesh stinging from the cold,
my foot aching in pain,
burning hot in the winter wood.

Why would there be a grave here?

What poor soul would be forever lost in this hollow?

Carefully,
in the cold,
throughout the fading light,
and into a  December BuddhaDecember cracks open like hazelnuts,
crinkled brown and brittle, dry from the fire,
cold-crisp and crunching as needles of pines.
As usual, wisdom comes just in time,
reminder to hold on to my forest,
to my stories, to make myself buddha.

I am lacking, no quiet rain-buddha,
born, as I was, a tight-curled hazelnut,
but I do send roots into my forest,
and in summer spread Colorado fire.
I find that more and more I pass the time
among the kings that are my totem pines.

In North Carolina, December pines
not for sun but for a softer buddha,
a figure to remind the month that time
ends not with January; hazelnut,
it curls in on itsel  Winter PeopleHere
the skies are grey and
soft and soundless,

the old hills rolling slowly
frozen solid and
impenetrable,

the trees bare
ancient bloodless fingers
grasping at the horizon.

We move slowly and without precision and
our tongues twist and turn and whisper secrets,
our language a huge bright thing

we wield always like a
dull weapon.
We are a winter people:

the seasons shape us strangely, we become
old ghosts of ourselves,
thick-haired and lumbering

through the darkness except sometimes
we are roused by circumstance or occasion,
we catch a glimpse of the blue mediterranean

and feel ourselves
come
wonderfully alive

our skin  a cardinal's pleapretty bird, it flutters
just beneath the clouds,
it teases the trees and whispers to the sky—
       hold me catch me, do it  now,
       there
       will be no later, for i perish.

meager bird, its wings
are melting blood-red
teardrops in the snow, it wails—
       steal me keep me, there's not much time
       the days are longer and the nights are shorter and
       i fear that i'll be
&#  Peace On EarthFreedom is not free

                                     Love, it never lasts

Forgiveness has its limits,

                                               We are trapped within our pasts.

After
all the bodies fall,
After
al  Santa versus AtnasAtnas the bad, mysterious, sly
Travels the world on his sleigh in the sky.
Santa's old friend, now inglorious foe,
This age old story is something to know:
They started out well, as partners in crime
Until one Christmas when Atnas got time.

Santa and Atnas were felons you see,
They robbed, plundered, stole - things so dastardly.
The plans were devised and thought out by Old Nick
As getaway driver he drove oh so quick.
The strong and fit Atnas brought life to the schemes,
And there was the set up of our daring team.

Their usual targets were the rich, banks and stores,
"We have little money, you won't miss some of yours"
This was   Christmas DollIridescent pearls slid along
silken strands of ebony lock
Garland and feathers enhancing
The fragrance of pine encrusted misery
A young girl sits, back arched,
Hands clasped, nails preened
Christmas ruffles and bows
Encompass her small form -
A merry little doll of seasonal fluff
Her eyes, limp, with sullen pout
Her smile a painted decoy
Santa looks down at the child,
"and what would you like for Christmas?"
The camera flashes; her eyes glinting -
A seeming merry sparkle.
She just asks for the picture.   why i'm scared of ghostsdear ghost of christmas past,
it's christmastime.  christmas eve, to be exact.  i can't look outside without seeing the shimmer of the snow, like tiny fireflies etched into each flake.  glistening strands of colorful bulbs christen the neighborhood, like they're declaring us worthy of a little light.  
i'm shivering like i got caught in a snow bank, and i'm blinking like i'm hoping my eyelashes will tangle together and pull my lids closed.  
i was wondering; if dreams are so pretty, why do they shatter like sherry glasses against tile as soon as we open our eyes?  maybe they aren'  Holiday TableauCrushed tinsel, sunken
spirits littering
the melancholy
atmosphere of the
holiday after-
glow - It does not shine.

Torn garland, empty
bottles strewn across
abandoned party
rooms, reminiscent
of the previous
night's festivities.

Colorful wrappings,
packaging tape, bags
stuffed with boxes and
tissue paper - trash.
Re-gifted rejects
left behind, thoughtless.

Filled coffee cups the
morning after - warmth
to replace fading
cheer. Resolutions
revised, for the fast
approaching new year.  The Thin HoursI.

Those of us here in this skeleton time,
this time of the year when the nights are thin
and dark, and dark with anxiety, peeling
as layers of an oyster shell, brittle and effaced
and somehow iridescent.
When the bell tolls out the time the sound is thin
and reaches into fractured air and softly
seeks the spaces between the atoms and
misses the vital Os and CO2s in a lasting,
failed pinball. The bell sound dies in
some space between midnight and thereafter,
and each tock tock of slipping cogs is
a repeat and not a moving on.
The air is filled with each dull sound,
each tock a repeat and a repeat again. And the
slip betwee  we should celebratei.
i tried to think of pain as a flower,
first it blossoms

  and then

  it wilts away.

but i won't let myself disappear
along with it,

i won't
give you that.

(it's not the agony that makes
me scream, it's the flavor).

ii.
and you whispered softly
"i'll rip your heart out and replace it

with a song,

it's christmas soon, and
we should celebrate".

  you've always used my scars
  as a calendar,

  as a way to remind yourself

  "today is tuesday

  and i still exist".

iii.
(it's morning now because
i can see
the sunlight

through my eyelids

and imagine   Phantoms Of Another UniverseLook.
I'll tell it like it was.

black.
cold.
wretched.

Static clung to the air
like ornaments on a Christmas tree
and we were graced with the odd arced lightning.

Oh, it was cold.
so cold.
I remember not seeing,
my fingers frozen off as
feeling receded from them
like waves on a beach.
how could I even be sure
they were.
still.
there?

the forgotten memory of a sunset
lay imprinted on my brain,
and its absence made the night
emptier than ever.

we waited.

we waited for the moon to rise,
for the clouds to shift,
for the e-lec-tri-ci-ty to stop
(like lost travelers stumbling
in the desert waiting for an
oasis mir  EnoughI'm holding on to secrets so tightly my hands start to burn.

Winter has come full-force, wind sending the windows quivering against their panes and snow blanketing the Earth in an ivory sheen.  We're all bundled up inside, pressed together for warmth to maybe give a bit of it to the not-still-living locked up in a metallic casket no bigger than a shoe box. The mix of flowers –yellow roses, her favorite– and the musty smell of the funeral home permeates everything, makes my nose crinkle up and eyes sting, spilling over with tears.

The sea of nameless, faceless acquaintances part as I walk forward, cold hands on my back and muted, g  Stories From the Psych Ward (2 of 3)I'm so cold I feel it down to the bones,
sitting in the dining hall trembling
over my cup of tea. A huge Christmas
tree twinkles merrily beside me in red, blue, silver, pink and gold.
Patients huddle together outside to talk,
but I'm forbidden to join them,
trapped inside the ward on a category four.
They're all strangers to me, I've spoken to no one.
Smoking their cigarettes in faded pajamas,
looking tired and worn down,
lips twisting into smiles as the smoke
curls down into their lungs.

Nurses find me hiding from evil spirits in the cupboard.
They let me stay inside, safe until the panic stops and
the shadows disa   Sojourner III.

The icicle crests of pine-needle tiaras
Had settled onto the crisp craniums of pale
Rouge and foundation-frosted pinecones.
The multi-faceted snow-tipped noses were open
To the hushed aria of breathing with undertones
Of whispers suggesting: sway… shatter.

He registered ashen snow and Fibonacci sequences
In the scales of the pinecone, in the evergreen
Needles, and in the steadily increasing flurries.

At a stalemate for minutes past dusk and hours
Until dawn, the evening's lunar fluorescence had
Peaked in reflective moonlight and begun to dim.

Skyward flurries took of frost as he overtook
Diminishing footprints; the soil   FrostbittenWinter is her favorite time of the year.

It's beautiful. Silver and blue dance around with one another in a waltz of freezing passion as snow and ice douse the land in a blanket of boreal glamour. Glass windowpanes become easels for falling snowflakes, frost etching into the smooth surfaces in intricate and unique patterns.

Winter has always been her favorite time of the year, and it always will be.

It is not because of Christmas--no, even though she loves the holiday, it is not what sparks her strong fondness for the star-colored blanketing across the land. Her infatuation with the snow and ice and everything cold has to do with something :thumb214099159:    The Angeli am no winter.

~

walking behind tombstones
so i can't see the names

i try remembering
this place
from before.

~

someone indebted to me stands on the far side of the water.
i watch them as they lift their hand to me, then turn away.
they no longer owe me anything.

~

i trace in blue
a white seashell.

~

to look at myself
i must look down.

i am a notion
inside myself.

after a few years
i look back up.

~

the river floods every spring,
the water doing the impossible, taking every path
at once.

~

the wind flattens my clothes against me.
emptiness comes and pulls away.

~

too intelligible
to merely exist

we have our own  FrostWhich of these may kill me first,
pure madness, or this thirst...

My soul can't thrive without your word
say something--scream--if you are spurred
send message through a little bird

Without you I am cursed.

-

I was immortal in your glow,
so empty as I watched you go...

If I said nothing, is it real
I'll never know just how you feel
your silent will, like hardened steel

Unworthy, I won't know.

-

Do you ever think of me
close your eyes, what do you see...

If you say nothing, is it lost
beyond your window was it tossed
in pain, on pane, both wear frost

What dreams may bring to thee.

-

Fluttered thoughts may you retrieve
per  Winter's SongMy grandmother used to tell me that on a clear summers day you could find the colour of everyone's eyes in the surroundings.  I could never find the colour of mine, on those beautiful days where the sun spun my hair into gold and the wind tickled my cheeks.  I could never find the exact shade, but I didn't tell her.

At dusk today I found the exact colour in the sky.  I have winter song eyes.  They are the colour of the sky when the birds have sung their last note and tiny snowflakes have just begun to fall.  Snowflakes so small that you can never catch any; if you did I'm sure they would taste of magic.  Maybe winter songs only come along on  DecemberMy hands are
black with soot
and shiny with grease;
the embers lie low.

The air grew teeth.
We sit alone
in our separate dreams
and entertain the shade
of what was lost.
Our fingers will twitch
with phantom pain-
our mouths will run dry.

Everything I am,
outweighed, overcome
by a fistful of
words with teeth;
as heavy as gold,
as poison as lead,
and I can't write poetry
because I said I would
leave you alone
and you never leave the lines-
you are there between them,
every one.  WinteringIt's a canvas of mouthings,
of open throats, that wave of grey.
Storm clouds pass like sails torn,
loosing their limbs to the wind
with each stroke of the brush.
There's a symphony in the rush
of them, howling their wolfcry, O -
breathings holes into the fabric,
Lethe leaving their lungs. And low,
tugging at the hymns that line the sky,
the moon, sister of a stone,
rises, rises with her hood of bone.  ghostin cold air
breath lingers
like a ghost  AirYou do not have to be empty.
Go, now, to the high places, the thin spires
of mountains and skyscrapers
the roof of your house, tipped with snow,
and fill yourself up with the air.
Drink it in, taste it, roll it around
on your tongue, feel it settle
in the caverns of your lungs. Feel the dust
and the ice crystals and the scraps of newspaper
brush your lips, and fill yourself with them, too.
Fill yourself up with the moonlight, the frost,
the dusky rose of the rising sun,
the night, the morning, the calls of birds,
the sillhouettes of telephone poles,
the shadows of people and clouds and alley cats
that dance across the pave  l'hiver.(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
the grand church of dizzying space - )

and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the sky
to the ground and around and around.

listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of the
churches i'd never attend.

and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardice
of the ground. never frown, never frown.

listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snow
burning up on silk and splendor.

and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of the
ground, and they drown and drown.

(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
a grand church of dizzying space w  the promises of winteri will wear gloves from
now until march.  this is something
i decided last year and i am
determined to stick to it.
if there is anything to which i will
adhere, any self-set rule i will follow,
this will be it.  and i will
know myself better for it.

when i am handed a
hot white mug of peppermint tea
i will not be burned because of
these gloves.  and when there is
snow all over the place, when the
streetlamps are cold with it,
my hands will be
ecstatic with heat.

my only fear is the wearing-out
of fabric.  my hands are put to
good use every day and i can see this
becoming a kind of problem.  i will
have to guard my hands  immortaland i used to lie beneath the winter's still morning,
watching the cornflower-blue gently bleed through cloud.
there's something that glistens in your eye, so subtle
but i don't want another lover, don't let me take your hand.

and i used to need you always, my lover, oh butterfly
flutter by me so softly, like silken stolen kisses
we used to hold hands by midnight candlelight but now,
i wish you would not return, for i will not survive you.

there is something secret and untouched in your story
something that stones will turn their heads to listen for;
you were the beauty ground up into dust, darling-wilde,
and i don't want you to be  Radioactive Snowflakes                                          Oh boy, boy, boy
For the last shall be,
and that arctic disposition will melt away in time
written on a hearth rug, read it and then
turn the dial back and tune into Goodbye FM

                                        "Oh boy, boy, boy
               Goldilocks should have been clad in HazMat,
               bear in mind the Gouda enacts the rat trap"

For the last shall be,
when fractals free fall from the sky
thickening icycle eyes, cementing prisms with time
...and I
measured it all in half-life

                                          Oh boy, boy boy
That arctic disposition will melt away in  -My Song-At this, my most precious hour, I am the one who moves
February breathes a morning sigh over the sleeping streets
As my footsteps echo through the loneliness, and splash softly through puddles
Tracing the slow moving constellations with my fingertip
I'll sing for you
Though my voice cracks on difficult notes
I keep singing for my love who has no love
Because tears don't suit me, I will not cry for you
My song is a melancholy melody
Floating though the darkness of this town on a hill

At this, my most precious hour, I am the one with a pulse
A racing pulse pounding through my body like lightning
Beyond pain, beyond the anger a  Memoir Of A Summer GirlI've been called an ice princess.
A frigid queen that couldn't shake the icicles dangling from her heart or even melt the first crust of snowy powder along these veins long enough to feel something... anything at all.
And every time someone would say these things to me I would smile sweetly, numbly because I couldn't feel.
But yet, their eyes dance over my breasts as if to a staccato tune only they can hear, and their tongue wets their lips as if tequila were thrust in front of a recovering alcoholic that is still thirsty.
Again I tilt my head and smile, unfeeling, knowing their eyes are burning holes into my skin.
The seams of my clothi  December RainDecember Rain

1.
So it was the end of December.
There was a steady rain touching the peaks
of our eyes' tiniest lashes
to shroud them in cracked drops
that would ice over as your breath did.
(why was it so cold?)
It was to make them as strong as steel,
though they crumbled like dust, nearly
collapsing from the wind flurrying around.
(I could trace it from the rain and
carcasses of leaves that stuck to its sound)
And each and every note that left your pharynx
was the color of a dead blue, blending in
so it was invisible under all the noise in the background.

2.
And I stood, waiting for the time your mouth would just stop and
  FrostI am devouring chaos,
chasing it down with winter's chill.
Spare me your fingerprints,
summer's lovechild.  Those knowing owl eyes
have me second guessing the wild churning
in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps
my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.

When was it...
that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?  Th' Braw MountainsCome to the wild places, the high and lonely places.

Inhale beauty, in the form of icicle air and pine dust.
Touch it, the cold mountain soil, and rejoice.
Let the wind fill you and find the point inside all of us,
Where you reach out over the forest,
And fly without leaving the ground.
Sure and proud, like the eagles around you.

Let your hair lift and whip, flushing your cheeks
And awakening your bones. Spin at the peak of mountains,
Glorying in the cold clean height. Laugh for it.

And when you are tired from the air,
Come and rest on the rough hills, amongst the brown and gold gorse
And feel sunlight thaw the wind-seeds. Wat  thawingmy love,
i swear, there is a ghost beneath my bones.
she slides around the rungs of my ribs, gentle like a lover's hands but cold, so unlike yours. i lay in bed at night, days after you have gone, your jacket and seven blankets struggling to keep me warm -but her arctic touch seeps deeper, slides its way past my lips and settles in places i swore only you could touch. and i am left gasping, arching, desperate for a body one hundred and thirty eight miles away, a voice that doesn't seem nearly as warm after traveling through the airwaves, a spring that only exists in your arms.
because i miss laughter, i miss your eyes, i miss the feeling of thawing after forty days in the tundra of my own heart, and two in yours. 


                                                                                             :thumb285923984:                                                                                                                                   
Now go and get creating! :eager: 

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:


P.S. YES there will be new features and polls published soon! So keep submitting to the Featured Folder all you like! As always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask! :D


83 Comments
Winter Alliance Contest! December 12, 2012 83 Comments 74 Favourites

Results of the Autumn Alliance Contest!

Journal Entry: Thu Dec 6, 2012, 11:22 AM


:wave: Hello my beautiful Allies! It's time to announce the winners of our Autumn Alliance Contest! :la:


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the 
dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping 
about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant 
Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!


Your judges: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconevlydia:


We didn't have an extraordinary amount of entries, but the entries we did receive were extraordinary. 
We had a tough time choosing the winners, but choose we did. And here they are. :)




In First Place


 
 
by ~Synnic
 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

 
based on 

 

 
 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

The judges agreed that the author really 
took the original photo and made the idea their own, 
wringing every last ounce of imagery and inspiration 
and weaving it into the poem.


of the inspiring poem, had a similar feel,
 and that the influence of the 
poem was readily apparent.


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

The judges were impressed with how well the author
interpreted the inspiring image, especially
in a fixed form.


Honorable Mention


:thumb335648165:
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:  

based on

:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   

The judges loved the originality in form and style
in this image, and how it captured the dark 
atmosphere of the inspiring poem.


Our other entries were also fantastic! And so we shall feature them here as well. :aww:


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:

based on

:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   

This piece has such a wonderful fall feeling. 
The original prose piece obviously 
inspired the artist greatly.


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   

based on


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   

The whimsical, fantasy style 
of the drawing is lovely; much of the 
poem made it into the image, while the artist 
still made it her own interpretation.



:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   

based on




Thank you so much to everyone who entered! We are thrilled to see our members inspired by one another and hope that you'll continue to create inspired art 
and submit it to our featured folder. Our Winter Contest will be announced in a few days! :eager:

Until next time...

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:


17 Comments
Results of the Autumn Alliance Contest! December 6, 2012 17 Comments 7 Favourites

TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - Nov. 2012

Journal Entry: Sun Nov 11, 2012, 5:54 PM


:wave: Hello, lovely members! =LadyofGaerdon here to continue our series:

Featured Deviant of the Month 


 for

 :icontalentedwritersguild:

 October's Featured Deviant is..........:eager:

 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

 
:iconnicswaner:
 
^NicSwaner 
 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

#TalentedWritersGuild is a literature group committed to the encouragement, collection, and archival of high quality prose and poetry works. To find out more about the group, please click here.


 Here at #TalentedWritersGuild, we encourage deviants to select only their best pieces of literature for submission. As judges, we look for pieces that simultaneously move us, challenge us, and inspire us as readers; pieces that stimulate us emotionally and intellectually; and the pieces that display true technical skill. When we vote, we consider all these things, and let only the pieces we deem up to snuff through to our gallery. This pushes our members to excel, challenge themselves, and improve their craft, and provides our readers with high quality literature to read. 


The Featured Deviant of the Month is a member whose submissions meet and surpass this criteria.   

:icontalentedwritersguild:

^NicSwaner is not only a dedicated leader of the Lit Community, 
but a brilliant writer himself. His words always prompt the reader to think harder, to ruminate 
on the themes and messages he presents and come to our own conclusions. Constantly pushing 
himself and his writing to evolve and grow, he inspires us all to do the same.

 ^NicSwaner has 20 pieces in our gallery to date! They are all wonderful and I encourage you to check them out.


Red ShiftI. Stasis i.
"I need to hide a body,"

The crispness
Before a question is asked
Is interrupted

"Yours."

I. Stasis ii.
I hang up on him

And hesitate;
Wait for vivisection
By vibration;

Wait for him to call back
To confirm
What he heard.

I can hear him
Go back to sleep.

II. Intravenous i.
He is alive.

Photos of him
Have a distant red shift
In his eye.

Photos of me
Have an approaching blue tint
In the iris.

I wait for him to call back
To confirm
What he heard.

II. Intravenous ii.
I'm digging
For the others

I had hid a town or two away.

The shovel
Won't break the cul-de-sac asphalt
Where forest floor
Had been.

II
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
As the author says "Red Shift is the theory
that stars with a reddish tint are drifting away
from us, and those with blue tints are coming
towards us". This metaphor is skillfully employed
to create an absorbing,  moving narrative.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:  


:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


HeadfirstHeadfirst is the only way to fall when you're the barrier between unconsciousness and brain cells. Lungs contort— my breathing won't come— doesn't come fast enough. My aorta scoffs at me, tsk tsk, and I can perceive that I am so acutely aware with what is left of my five senses and of my surroundings that I cannot register— cannot assess the situation. Everything is now, and now is for everything that will continue to be now.

I pick myself up.

Blood: I taste it and it smears dry on my facial features. I have no sense of vision; it is not that I see black; it is that I imagine I must be viewing black to have no sensation of li
In the words of =angeljunkie: 
The first line plunges you in without hesitation
and each line after locks you into the narrator's
experience, pairing rhythm, description and narrative
to give an unflinching insight into personal experience.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Retrograde          Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine.

         I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands.

         She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however.

         Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the univ
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
A strikingly original concept, written
in an abstract yet captivating style,
this piece paints strange, vibrant
pictures in your head, which linger
with you long after reading.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
The striking alliteration and consistently
wonderful aesthetic quality to this narrative poem
leaves the reader with the sense that they have
dreamt of a fantastic voyage in wild colors.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


The technical skill visible in this piece is just amazing.
The imagery is just breathtaking, with everything from
nature imagery to rival Wordsworth to pictures that
ground the piece in things we experience everyday.
Though it's a long piece, it is well worth sticking with it to the end.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.

I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.

Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds—
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could
In the words of `Halatia: 
^NicSwaner presents a well-detailed
snapshot of a life-altering moment,
and has a truly wonderful closing line.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
The author dedicates this vivid, enveloping
piece "to all the artists who have ever
worked with color, and who know what a
blessing or a curse it can be. If only we
could just find that other color."
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


CompathyI've been told it's irrelevant;
An acquaintance is a friendly face
Whether I reckon I hold them
As confidant or coincidence.

An acquaintance is a friendly face;
I hail friends from crosswalks
As if a confidant or coincidence,
In reference or in reverence.

I hail friends from crosswalks
Whether I reckon I hold them
In reference or in reverence;
I've been told it's irrelevant.
In the words of =angeljunkie: 
This elegant example of a pantoum 
(a tricky thing to pull of in itself) 
echoes the often sketchy 
definitions of human interaction.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

The Cuts on the Back of my HandsOn my Saturn-ringless finger
I have an accidental cut identical to one
that was indexed on another knuckle;

the cuts heal at different rates.

On the finger I point at couples with the cut
from cuticle to wrinkled knuckle now has
the seamless texture of skin, but with
the mark on the finger the ring slides,

the marriage of incision
and post-op still lingers.

The digit I point with is always busier
than the ring finger I plan to use,
someday, every day.

And whether it is the scientific method
or a quirk in my hallucino-genetics
that has inflated my interest
in the cuts on the back of my hands,

I consider the possibility

that healing doe
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
An original, thought-provoking
metaphor exploring scars,
healing and the passage of time.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

The Gospel in the GroundTaos hum hymnals
With banjo twang,
Pick-guard scratches
And raspy voices,
Tambourine hip-hits,
Muffled mumbling
Of backing vocals
And bare-knuckle
Bone-clap hi-hats.

The skeletons can't sit still
When the gospel in the ground
Is the only sound in the sod.
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak: 
The use of sound and rhythm in this
piece is simply delicious. I just love
the use of alliteration. Such a
delightful, rich piece in such few lines.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Let the Sparrows InI.

Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.

Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.

Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:

Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family

So let the sparrows in.

The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor

In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
Subtly brilliant, with imagery crisp enough
to taste, quiet yet forceful emotion, and
a gentle, pulling rhythm, that pulses
throughout like the heartbeat of the poem.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of =TwilightPoetess: 
Blending beautiful language with an intense tale
of the pressures that young romances put upon
us, ^NicSwaner takes readers down a trail
that many relate to easily, and reminds us that
even the people we dream about aren't perfect.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

Drift SestinaDoce me quod est verum; quis amat in amatores?

Before the sun has stretched its rays I have drifted
Upon her. My eyelids fall open and note her palms
Are curled in crescents as if a lighter and its fluid
Needed sheltering from a breeze or breath. The balm
On her hands shimmers a lunar blue; I'm kindled
To awaking her by the twitch and vague resistance

Of my calf twisting around her heel. I cautiously resist
Brushing the bristles of seductive words into her drifting
Dreams and speechlessly talk her awake with kindly
Offerings to cup her hands in my curling palms.
Drawing my knuckles into her in spirals, the balm
On her fingers feel
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
A wonderfully ambitious and effective use
of the sestina form, where subject and
form perfectly compliment one another,
seasoned with intriguing use of Latin. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 

Disposable KitesI don't wait for
Tomorrow morning.

Kites are sheathed
In moth ball plastic,
Unanchored
To reels and wrists,
Breezes and drafts.

Attic musk
Wafted through
The lived-in rooms
When the kites
Are retrieved
In the early evening.

On the backyard patio
Kites daubed with
Finger-grime
Are constructed
From kits.

Moth-nibbled fabric
Is stretched over
A spinal framework,
Tinker-toy sticks
And hexagonal-
Holed spools.

Porous, the kites
Are acutely aware of
The barometer's breath;

I handle the mast
And sails like steering
Wheels in a skid
When a breeze propels
A kite and I towards
Patio steps, expediting
A passerby parent

In the words of =angeljunkie: 
With his trademark line brevity, Nic leads
the reader through a nostalgic reminiscence
that delivers its punch smoothly and
unexpectedly with the last three stanzas. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 




In the words of ~reflectionsinwater:
It's a complex poetry with the relationship of both the artist 
and poet between thoroughly explored. The interchange of the 
imagery and structure are absolutely brilliant.

As put by the author:
Hayling, the title of our story set about two hundred years in the future, 
centers around a satellite repairman, Carter Riaz (Rise), who deviates from his 
tasks one day to investigate why one satellite has never been put in to be repaired, 
despite its state of disrepair. What he uncovers sends him into a realm of an 
abandoned project turned experiment which he will not be able to escape 
without the help of Hayling, whoever or whatever they may be.


Please check out our Featured Gallery, which shall be hosting all of ^NicSwaner's submitted works. Please also peruse his gallery for yet more awesomeness and remind him on his profile of what an amazing writer he is. Oh yes, and please :+fav: this article to spread the word!


 Until next time... 


The :icontalentedwritersguild: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconangeljunkie: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconladylincoln: :iconnngross: :iconvigilo: :iconoritpetra: :iconangelstained: :iconemocinderella: 


22 Comments
TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - Nov. 2012 November 11, 2012 22 Comments 6 Favourites

Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #6

Sat Nov 10, 2012, 10:09 PM


 :wave: Hello my admirable Allies! It's time again to showcase more of the excellent Allied Artwork pieces that have been making their way into our 
Featured Folder  over at #Lit-Visual-Alliance. 


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!

This article features pieces that have been submitted to our Featured Folder, which is reserved for literature that is based on visual artwork on dA, and visual artwork based on dA literature.

As usual, this feature is the result of the member poll which asked you, our lovely members, to vote for your favorite Allied Artwork submitted to the Featured Folder to be spotlighted in the article as the best. :w00t:




 First, =DrippingWords presents a poignant interpretation 
of a popular image on dA, based of course on the iconic myth of Hades & Persephone.:





Next, a brief yet memorable narrative gleaned from the work of *burdge-bug:





Next comes a witty, darkly comic narrative poem on the perils of rabbit revolts from *SubjugatedSandwich:





Companion art for ^JZLobo's Fan Fiction:





~agramuglia offers a gleeful, quirky narrative for *resuki's image:

 inspired by 




Followed by:


 inspired by

 inspired by

 inspired by



Our next poll will be out soon, with another feature to follow! The more you guys submit, the more features there will be! :eager:

And to get your creative juices flowing, a sampling from our Exceptionally Inspiring Literature & Exceptionally Inspiring Visual Art folders:

  Polishing VenusI wear a blue plastic retainer at night. It's painful, tight on my teeth, as if my mouth has outgrown it. I don't put it in often enough, so the shape of my jaw twists and changes, until I remember how much I despised braces and consent to slip it in, and I lie awake at night, loathing the imperfection of my teeth and the ache that pulses there as my mouth readjusts to the wires and plastic that force my jaw into the correct position.

I wear glasses too – ugly things, dark maroon on top, with a thin, squishy plastic wire on bottom instead of another rim. Not many people know I have them. When I was a kid, I had the rimless kind – s   The 100 Things That Rammstein Left Behind - 01The 100 Things That Rammstein Left Behind - A Rammstein Fanfiction

Let's face it, you learn a lot through life. Mistakes are lessons too, of course, you learn the best from mistakes.
But really. You'd rather learn without the pain, wouldn't you?

One hundred vignettes of six lives woven into a single story. Till POV throughout - mostly. This is as of June 2012 the darkest thing I've written and is honestly not for the faint of heart; I won't pretend that this isn't offensive. If you don't like death, for one (out of everything else discussed), this fic is not for you. Contains a lot of concepts and incidents that will make you feel uncomfor   The Hottest 30 DaysThe traffic never bothered him until he had nowhere to go.  
It took two hours to get across town and he forgot the applications.

There wasn't snow on the ground, so he pulled over
and parked in a tow away zone.  He walked around
the center of that city and thought about his father standing in line
with him at the Hartford shopping mall twenty  seven years earlier
in the town where he grew up.  
Middle-nowhere, Illinois.

It's Christmas time and all of the other children are
pissing themselves with anticipation.  
Over the scent of plastic evergreens and candy canes,
his father still smells like motor oil and top shelf bourbon.

The   Tanka Ia swan, snow-feathered,
you seemed, until you molted
to reveal a duck
with feathers like the mountain:
snow melting, lilies blooming   Appetite Comes with the Eating1. The real horror of October
is the winter, the rising darkness.

It's said they caught him weeping,
heard him babbling about the steam in the snow,
the brown mass that had been a person—
his little girl, dead from the cold.

He ate his wife and daughters.
And when the villagers came for him,
he let them take him—to the tree
in the center of the square, where he hung,
discolored with frostbite and gangrene.

They called him Wendigo,
gave him to the spirit of the Dying Season,
and hoped that he would rest.

2. My ancestors had a word for his kind—
Strigoi.
They would have cut out his heart
to stop him from feeding.   Bless the AutumnLet us lie among the autumn leaves
And listen to the whispers made
By the slow-flowing hearts of trees.

Give thanks for fire and woodsmoke
And clandestine caresses under blankets
Piled high beneath the naked oak.

Bless the waning sun and warm chocolate
And the heat of lovers' hands and hearts.   Nightdance and ShadowplayCome on, all you ghosties – let's make one last stand.
Dive through the mirrors of our hands,
wonderland the way we script our souls
into the spine of each woman we love
like an arpeggio, like a broken chord
splitting the night sky of New Orleans
two months after Katrina painted the town.

Blue as the cracked and jagged line that snow-
shuddered mountains draw in the memory of sand
between sky and shattered, the calligraphy of the earth
we lie and say isn't our own, come on, all you ghosties.
Let's pretend that when the glass menageries broke,
they didn't become snow, that every time
the sky writes you a love letter, yo    WaldeinsamkeitA murder of ravens
spits black
on a vermillion coloured day,
as a spine of leaves
crumbles under the pressure
of ghostly weight;
Its pieces of autumn,
borne by a whirling breath,
brush a lonely thought:
This winter will be cold.  


Before I close, I'd like to remind you all about out Autumn Alliance Contest going on right now! Deadline is December 1st. We've got some great entries already but we can always use more, so please check it out!

I'd also like to bring your attention to an exciting project `TimberClipse is holding called The Visual Narrative Project. The project invites writers to pen a 2-15 page script that will then be filmed! This is very exciting so I hope you all give it a look.

Finally, *F0rmaldehyde is holding a Tell Your Story: Fiction Challenge. The challenge encourages writers to write about a series of sci-fi illustrations and the prizes are excellent. Please take a look!

That's it for now, guys! Thanks so much for being a part of the Alliance! :w00t:
For more Allied Artwork, please check us out at :iconlit-visual-alliance:

'til next time,

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:





Colorful Autumn Skin © =SoulFighty

14 Comments
Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #6 November 10, 2012 14 Comments 18 Favourites

Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #5

Journal Entry: Fri Oct 12, 2012, 11:30 PM


 :wave: Hello my glorious Allies! It's time again to showcase more of the amazing Allied Artwork pieces that have been making their way into our 
Featured Folder  over at #Lit-Visual-Alliance. 


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!

This article features pieces that have been submitted to our Featured Folder, which is reserved for literature that is based on visual artwork on dA, and visual artwork based on dA literature.

As usual, this feature is the result of the member poll which asked you, our lovely members, to vote for your favorite Allied Artwork submitted to the Featured Folder to be spotlighted in the article as the best. :w00t:



 First up, is, as the author puts it "a silly little rhyme about a serious little cat". Pure, for-the-fun-of-it, inspired poetry:





Next is a somber, Tolkien-inspired tanka based on a stirring drawing:





A rich, vibrant interpretation of a rich, vibrant image:





A poignant poem based upon a simple yet elegant drawing:





An enchanting collaboration between ~PondDreamer and `creativemikey:





Followed by:

:thumb320269957: based on 

 based on 




Our next poll will be out soon, with another feature to follow! The more you guys submit, the more features there will be! :eager:

And to get your creative juices flowing, a sampling from our Exceptionally Inspiring Literature & Exceptionally Inspiring Visual Art folders:

Of Virginia WoolfYou filled your pockets with stones,
a seed-sower sowing nothing,
nothing to cast away.

It must have been cold as you went down.
The bite of March water
must have brought blood
rushing in panic to your skin.
A gasp, perhaps,
as your chest submerged.
(Were you beyond gasping?
Were you so far behind the veil?)

And then the silence.
The hiss of water against the ears,
the stirred up mud against your startled eyes.
The water cold in your palms
and cold in your unravelling hair
and cold through your clothes
to your naked skin. And
the weight inside would hold you,
stronger than stones.

You stood, perhaps, for a time,
a naiad   Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back              1.  I say nothing I am thinking.

For twelve years I have wanted
to do exactly this, but suddenly
pronouncing my own name calls up
the question of who it belongs to
in the same breath Like
Solomon I was born a singer
but in the wrong key and my
chords will not carry me, will not
summon the wolves to me only
packs of hungry dogs
stupid with domestication
but nearly feral And like
a hungry ghost I have learned
not to speak against those
who will give me food

             2. A sketch of myself.

                                 He says I must have been born
in the wrong culture, he says. I got a taste of
the crack   Of Half-Filled WordsShe is not a flutterbird.
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.

Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
necessary.

When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.

A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."

Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.

Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.

Her heart is not a rabbit.

When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder     To Sleep, Per Chance to DreamThe horse dragged his hooves against the ashen soil.  Behind Prince Quentin, the bridge to the capital continued to collapse.  The great wall of thorn bushes were alight with fire, many of their branches chopped down with the sword the prince squeezed tightly in his fist.  Inky sap still clung to the sharp edge as the sun above reflected off its metal side.  His armor was smeared in the blood of the hellspawn he had chopped down, in his hand the head of the witch who had cast the spell on his beloved princess.  His fingers had bunched up the fiend's raven hair, strands coated in her own bile t  CausticYou wish you had
a caustic tongue. Sharp?
Yes. I don't deny it.  
You could separate the layers of light
and slice up a rainbow
with the flat side of your cant,
though you don't -

you just try
to pry the diamonds
from men's wedding bands
when things don't go quite
as you planned,
half-cocked
and too passionate again. Does it sting,

your singing? Perhaps. I'd sooner French
a black scorpion
than suck that snake
sliding between your white teeth.

Sharp and stinging,
but caustic? No - not quite.
For all you've tried,
you've never caused anything.
Sorry.    The Greatest TreeWhen I was just a tiny seed,
    my mama said to me
That I could grow my rings and soon
    become the greatest tree.

I listened to my mama's words,
    and I was very good.
I tucked into the soil at night
    and photosynthesized my food.

My mama said that God had wrote
    instructions just for me,
Written in my cells on how
    to be the greatest tree.

I grew a sapling, small and slow,
    no larger than a twig.
I figured I could wait some time
    before getting to be big.

She planted me along a hill
    where ashes blew dull gray.
She said that sometimes fires helped;
    it'd be good for me to stay.

It was



That's it for now, guys! Thanks so much for being a part of the Alliance! :w00t:
For more Allied Artwork, please check us out at :iconlit-visual-alliance:

'til next time,

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:





Skin by *endlesssly | Brushes by =Lileya
Code of minigallery by `thespook
10 Comments
Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #5 October 12, 2012 10 Comments 15 Favourites

TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - October 2012

Journal Entry: Sat Oct 6, 2012, 10:19 AM


:wave: Hello, lovely members! =LadyofGaerdon here to continue our series:

Featured Deviant of the Month 


 for

 :icontalentedwritersguild:

 October's Featured Deviant is..........:eager:

 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

#TalentedWritersGuild is a literature group committed to the encouragement, collection, and archival of high quality prose and poetry works. To find out more about the group, please click here.


 Here at #TalentedWritersGuild, we encourage deviants to select only their best pieces of literature for submission. As judges, we look for pieces that simultaneously move us, challenge us, and inspire us as readers; pieces that stimulate us emotionally and intellectually; and the pieces that display true technical skill. When we vote, we consider all these things, and let only the pieces we deem up to snuff through to our gallery. This pushes our submitters to excel, challenge themselves, and improve their craft, and provides our readers with high quality literature to read. 


The Featured Deviant of the Month is a member whose submissions meet and surpass this criteria.   

:icontalentedwritersguild:

~ExistenceWeSummonYou does not simply stitch words together to build complex imagery and intricate wordplay - he makes you think, makes you consider every word, every cadence, every overarching theme. A brilliant wordsmith and philosopher, ~ExistenceWeSummonYou is always challenging himself and his readers to think harder, further, more.  

 ~ExistenceWeSummonYou has 11 pieces in our gallery to date! They are all excellent and I encourage you to check them out.




:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of *archelyxs: 
A pristine example of the delectable paradox 
and rich, philosophical nuance that characterizes 
much of ~ExistenceWeSummonYou's corpus.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Over Three Stories and a Complete DiscordanceThe serious intent of a mirror wakes the world. Of the mirror that makes the world we know very little. Just rumors of an open mouth vibrating up and up to the clouds. So the bright grey cracks the dull grey and something, we'll call it the sun, reaches through and grabs us by the skin.

:::

The members of an invisible happiness swim colors between one another. They cannot tell the difference between windows and mirrors, light coming and light going, places where the light has been. They hold the air with both hands and speak with sounds of trees, their language a lifting flock of hallelujahs.

:::

From beneath tongues, mirrors exhume light
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
This poem is the very definition of inspired. 
The author took reference from a visual image and 
built upon it to create something deeply profound 
and intriguing, a thoughtful piece that will surely 
inspire the reader.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
Captivating in its intricate simplicity
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


 Endlessly fascinating, both in concept and execution.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


The Poet Is Sentenced to Death by ObscurityThe rhymes that have now made me fit to die,
those crimes that lift me with prophetic error,
have chiselled my mind into a stony why,
and all the world sprawling, laughing - none the clearer.

The dictators of definitions tense
as to the gallows they me quickly bring
for taking of languages accidents
to corrupt to madness our true, brave kings.

"To the whirring world our words must agree.
The mechanics won't change at your behest.
Doesn't reason deserve our loyalty?"
So goes the fearful cry of all the rest.

But when reason melts the verse will flow
to wash away wisdom so new meaning can grow.
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
A charming yet darkly accurate
use of the sonnet form to
describe the perils writers
often face in the quest for recognition.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
The words are smothering and swaddling 
and cooling all at once. Beautiful.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
Wonderful correspondence with our fond Nemesis.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 




Please check out our Featured Gallery, which shall be hosting all of ~ExistenceWeSummonYou's submitted works. Please also peruse his gallery for yet more awesomeness and remind him on his profile of what an amazing writer he is. Oh yes, and please :+fav: this article to spread the word!


 Until next time...


9 Comments
TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - October 2012 October 6, 2012 9 Comments 5 Favourites

Autumn Alliance Contest!

Journal Entry: Sat Oct 6, 2012, 1:29 AM
All right, boys and girls, and variations thereof (woo Doctor Who reference...:woohoo:....note to self: don't type up contest blogs while hyper!) :typerhappy:

Yes, that's right I said CONTEST BLOG! :iconpanicatthediscoplz:

To try to make up for my most woeful absence of late (and also because it will be FUN) I have decided to hold a #Lit-Visual-Alliance contest. Contests, actually. Rotating contests based upon the seasons.

:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!


I love seasons, you see. I love to watch them change and revel in them and my very favorite season of all is Autumn.

So this group shall now have rotating contests, beginning with our Autumn Contest, which starts today and ends December 1st, at which time the Winter Contest shall begin! :la:

The rules of the contest are simple: create a work of art, centered loosely around the theme of Autumn, based on another work of art (literature based on visual artwork or visual artwork based on literature, in keeping with the theme of the group). The theme is very open to interpretation. Autumn is many things. It is the changing of seasons, the coloring of the leaves, cold air, pumpkins and the Harvest. It is also back-to-school, Halloween, Thanksgiving and many other things I probably haven't thought of. So Halloween-based entries are very welcome! As are entries involving typical Halloween entities such as ghosts and witches and demons and vampires and bats and so on.

This does NOT have to be a new piece! HOWEVER, what I really don't want you to do is find an old autumn poem or painting and then search for a corresponding artwork that you think kinda sorta goes along with it. That's cheating, my dears. This contest and this group is all about being inspired by different types of artwork! Also, it's unlikely to help you win. 
Entries will be judged on the following criteria, in order:
 :bulletorange: How well the deviation ties into the inspiring piece.
:bulletorange: How well the deviation ties into the Autumn theme.
:bulletorange: Impact
:bulletorange: Quality
:bulletorange: Creativity


PRIZES:


1st: 100 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from =robostorm

2nd: 75 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from =robostorm

3rd: 50 :points: + feature by =LadyofGaerdon and #Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from =robostorm

Deadline: December 1st
Entries are unlimited! Go wild! :iconlawooplz:

Please submit entries to the Autumn Contest folder. 

To help you guys get into the spirit and start those creative juices flowing, here is a feature from our brand new Autumn Inspiration favorites folders (yes, I also found a use for our Favorites section! I've been busy!) :w00t: Please note that the inspiring deviation does not have to be one of these! It's just to give you an idea. More Autumn Inspiration can be found in our Favorites Folders and you are free to suggest Autumn-themed pieces as well. Soon I will be opening up folders for the other seasons that you will be welcome to submit to also. 


Transylvanian Reveries
You’ve been here before…

The mist is rolling in,
Curling over the crests of distant hills.

You know this place already…

A chill is setting into your bones,
The smoke of a dying fire sweeps across the fields.
You have dying embers laid out before you.
They’re crackling,
Cackling.
Deep crimson flickers through the charred blackness.

This land knows you already…

A chorus of mournful howls begin.
The air comes to life with the haunting cries.

They’re chanting your name…

The fog gets ever deeper,
The howls come ever closer.

You’ve been here before…
Your imprint is ready-made in this sce  I am as autumnI am as autumn,
dropped barefoot into some fleeting role,
self-destructing in the sterile cold
while passersby note only
the colours,
their ephemeral beauty.

I was meant
as an actress, diaphanous and
wraithlike,
bridging the small gap between
summer and
winter:

I was born to wither and
die
without blooming,
to sink and
drown
without struggling.

obedient as a child,
I tried to die
in that space before snowfall,
that melancholy breach—

but there must be something in me
that is not yet dead,
that refuses to rot.

when the snow finally came,
I was stale and stagnant,
wretchedly vernal
when all else was newly
cold.  GHOST SONGBeneath a hollow Sky I lie far below,
cold under the sleeping daisies, colder
under my silent gravestone, as the
Fire stirs up from the ashes of old,
what is dead in the world I can see-
whispering through the velvet velour
of my mind, I feel the secrets that
slumber in the dusky gaze of Forever,
they speak to me in the Moonlight wine
I drink, brewed by the beasts who walk
the landscape of visions only I can
see, I see them even on a Moonless
Eve for I exist in the celebration
between Dusk and Dawn, in the heart-
beat every spirit hears between Death
and Rebirth-there I will be, I exist
in the rays of the Midnight Sun that
i  sonnet of a changeling childstale pumpkin spice and cinnamon alight
upon this cold expansion of damp air
this untouched day before it trips the snare;
what simple turns can mark the fae's soft flight.
and of this changeling child on wheat-bare earth
who'll flit from fold to field at merry whim?
a swaying dance upon a tree's high limb
will beckon over every call to hearth.
today a brisk and rapid north gust flings
him from his perch within the sweeping oak:
a fallen boy with bruises fresh, and yet--
what mother's hand can pin his fledgling wings
when swath in autumn's auburn leaflined cloak
he'll flee: a seed, a passing silhouette.  offerings of a ghostand there was a vague veracity
in the whisper of your touch
that faded like feathers of frost
before the fevered kiss
of my breath.

winter settled slowly
down the curling knots of my spine
the same path
where your lips once burned
like candles in the night,
shadows tossed high
as autumn leaves riding reckless
on the wind.

at times i feel
this cup of bones
will crumble, blood and ash
and only that
and heavy hearts too full to bear
will break against the cool,
upturned cheek of earth
bare of greenery
but veiled in sinking snow.

your every echo is a curse
limned in regret
and the sting of dark hair whipping
in my b  the pumpkin patchshall we head to the pumpkin patch this year,
parade the candy-free costumes
we picked up this afternoon?

even though it's a drive up north now,
a sharp turn off the highway
next to a

caravan,
painted jack-o-lantern peeling
over its rusted ankles;

even though we're all grown up now,
sifting through
superwoman and scullery skanks,
bartenders and Lolitas in the
"young adult" section?

shall we head to the pumpkin patch this year,
past the Halloween Depots with their
fifty dollar loincloths and
hundred dollar sheets,
calculated stitch by China-stitched stitch,

and call sweet nothings to a great, great pumpkin
all-loving, im  AfforestLast darkness will fall like autumn leaves
(wandering)
Dusky ground covered with many coloured twilights
(do you see all the lovely greys?)
Underneath which ghosten happiness lays buried
(spring was too far away. Alas)

Last darkness is falling like autumn leaves
(wondering)
Dusky ground covered with beaten light's corpse
(do you see all the dimmed colours?)
Underneath which darkened May Day lays buried
(spring is too far away. Alas)

Last darkness has fallen like autumn leaves
(withering)
Dusky ground covered with still-frozen time
(do you see all the solemn blacks?)
Underneath which deadened Freya lays buried
(spring will be   Dark MotherBleed your colors to the ground,
let them swirl in the vortex of your breath.
The gathering chill escaped from your lungs
whispers the green earth into death.

Dark Mother, keep the spirits
you hold within your hands.
Souls eternally bidden,
soaked and seeped into the land.
Dark Mother, keep your fury
quivering deep within the ground.
Harm us not, but let us hear
the power of that sound.
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the sun falls from the sky.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Dark Mother, stir your cauldron
deep living waters of rebirth.
Wash clean this wretched wreckage
we have wreaked upon the earth.
Dark Mother, shall we reap
all that we have sown?
When spring returns will you be there?
to light our path toward home?
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the seasons slowly die.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Will you exhale a merciful breath,
to warm our world once more?
Or stop the wheel from turning,
leave us trappe  ghostin cold air
breath lingers
like a ghost  Leaves and LeavingTurning leaves remind me that some people change along with the seasons.

Leaf. Leaves. Leaving.

-

Hush. If you listen real close, you can hear leaves laughing as they let go of the twigs that adore them. They flutter quietly to the ground, their graceful suicides silent to everyone except their beloved branches.

-
Look, the world is orange and jagged and rusted. It is decadence and leaves and leaving. It is home, it is heaven, and it is hell.

-

One by one, the trees ignite themselves and we watch their soundless self-destruction unfold. Whole forests seem to go up in flames without smoke. Sometimes we take pictures.

-

We are only lef  L'OMBRE I - SHADOW I (+ audio reading)
(English adaptation below) version audio ici

Pour Neura

L'ombre I

Quand vous verrais-je au sortir des songes et des tombes il ne reste que des lisières
Frangées d'or et d'herbe coupez vos désirs d'au-delà lorsque l'écume affolée efface la tempête et
Si vos yeux glacés sur mes mains stupéfaites j'aurai voulu vos chants sous des feux de
Tambours et l'ombre de vos danses enroulée sur mes cuisses un éclat de vermeil la
Ménade mâchant le coeur de nos combats des tonnes de serpents silencieux sur le sol et la crête
Des dunes rayée d'horizon morne votre bouche à la lune reste la nuit vacante et mes rêves
Blanchis l'automne est déjà là dans Retraction of ChlorophyllLonger nights,
                 and shorter days,

Sinking towards the horizon,
the sun stretches itself against
pulsating veins – retracting
from margins to petiole
to stems –
           unmasking
                     green
                            When the World Begins to DieDo not leave me,
Like the golden dreams of summer.
September escorts her out and
they part as ageless friends.
You will feel our freedom,
As it retreats from this land
and fight to retrieve it.
Please, let it go.
Let it rest and take my hand.
We can still be beautiful,
in an autumn sunset.
More so when we realize,
every crimson leaf,
is a brand new twilight.
Do not leave me when our breath,
dances across the morning breeze,
for it is proof that we are living.
Celebrate this harvest like the
brave, endless love we have created.  
Share with me a glass of cider,
As warm against your pallet,
As the memories of sun against yo  30th October 1999Slice.
Fingers shock cold. I pull the knife
from the pumpkin and open my hand.
Bella mouths um like
I’m in serious trouble now.
Mum’s back is turned
at the kitchen counter.
“Mum?” I nudge her arm,
“I’m stupid,” and she sees the blood
and drags me to the car and
the pain starts.  The Third SeasonFall, the annual
carnival of gold and red,
leaves gilded and stained.

They partner the wind, dancing
in their bright funeral robes.   Radioactive AutumnRadioactive Autumn

Draped in maple leaves and white gold,
her somber eyes hidden from the mounting ash.
Lack of contact labors a mutual threshold,
restless desires bred amongst odious machinations.

Staid throat drunk on her ambrosial sap,
more reverie to dirty all our neurons one by one.
Guttural cries rattle through shared visions,
depicted in blossoms and ignoring the damage done. Autumn Renaissancesilence--
as loud as a bee
to a sunflower

          >::<

orange crest glowing;
the stench of fire
heralding in the season

          >::<

before the deluge;
dust devils dancing
in the twilight of their lives

          >::<

morning fog condensing--
beads of cold sweat
on parched leaves

          >::<

leaves fainting from their hosts
perish on the way down...
their purpose ended?

          Witch TrialI believe I was a ginger headed poet in a past life,
who wrote love through magik spells—
burning candle wax, whispering incantations
under a full moon and painting pale,
naked flesh with dirt and ash.
Dancing with ghostly ravens through flames,
to the thumpthumpthump of my storm heart,
as it became one with the earth.
I roared my passions and my glory
to the heavens above, laughing
like a crazy eyed crone for the sake
of those who feared me.
My witches tongue, hissing, 'Come hither!'
as heat licked my shoulders like an old lover,
come home.  Witch of SalemThey brought me from the West Indies.

They feared the night of my skin
but came to me for their love potions, anyway,
for their charms of luck and wealth.
Many doves and chickens
lost their lives at my hands.
I always had white feathers for my pillows,
pale flesh for my belly.

I could not call the De'il by his name,
but they sent me down by hellfire, anyway.
They burned my tongue
to silence its secrets.
They breathed sighs of relief like a cloud—
lifted my ashes into the eaves
of their houses.

Here, I rest,
here I keep all the sweet little children company,
drip belladonna dewdrops in their eyes,
make all Mummy and Dadd  Like a Leaf on the Wind...He exhaled slowly,
his lungs tangled in October air,
his mouth like a wrinkle
in the hospice sheets.

His granddaughter reveled
in bringing him lilies;
they sat on the windowsill like a memory.
Half-dried in their vase,
they were pungent as mortality.

Those flowers were dying
and so was he;
what was this room if not a vase,
his wilting on display?

He sat, a drooping bloom,
contemplating the Maple by his window;
how its foliage resembled anything
from God's golden mercy
to hellfire.

They whispered secrets through the open pane,
about dropping from the branch to dance again;
how it must feel like being in love.
He remembered  she, withshe with her
dress of autumn leaves
woven together like
a sheath of feathers
once alive,

radiating scents of
rain and breathing earth,
swaying with cascading
crackles.

she with the
snowflakes in her writhing hair,
feral and boundless as it dances
beneath the pale sun,

and from pale lips
she whispers in sighs
and sings in moaning gales.

and she, with the hissing flames
at her hearth.  Autumn KissKiss me softly in the autumn,
For Indian summer's glare fades too soon,
And the wolf-wind winter
Is fast approaching your eyes. A Kiss of SidheA Kiss of Sidhe

In the amber rush of autumn glow
down mossy paths through crimson groves
the fireflies like faeries float
Her footsteps faintly lead on

Through pinion seeds of cottonwood
That dance with leaves from thinning hood
of canopy brushed gold and blood
She calls me deeper within

An arbor lined in Ash and Thorne
hides a witching well and cup of horn
in loneliness, her whispers mourn
and beckon me to drink

She presses chalice like a kiss
Indulgently, I take a sip
like nectar from her honeyed lips
Ambrosia coursing within

With glossy eyes and sinking feeling
The cup spills blood and sends me reeling
The maiden fae sh


                                 


Now go and get creating! :eager:

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:


P.S. YES there will be new features and polls published soon! So keep submitting to the Featured Folder all you like! As always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask! :D



Skin by ~alealara
67 Comments
Autumn Alliance Contest! October 6, 2012 67 Comments 45 Favourites

Look! An Actual Update! From Rain!

Fri Sep 14, 2012, 12:16 PM
Profile | Gallery | Favourites

Pretty pretty skin, huh?

Hey guys. I haven't done a journal update in FOREVER, I know. I'm still here, of course, sometimes posting work and doing tons of featuring of people. I know I'm doing a terrible job at replying to comments and such, and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I really don't want to be that person who never replies to comments, but I think I'm becoming that person who just takes forever to reply to comments. I read them all immediately though! And cherish them! I swear. 

My replying will be getting a little worse because I'm going on vacation this week! To Maine! I leave Saturday and return Monday the 24th. I am so excited! I've never been there before and I'll get to see the ocean! It's been way too long. Feel free to leave me comments and all, I will read  them all immediately and reply at some point. Promise.

Also, hello to all of my new watchers! :wave: Happy to have you here, and please forgive my haphazard updates, deviations and comments. Your support really means a lot to me. :heart:

I have a few poems and prose pieces in the works. All about half-finished. Not feeling terribly inspired lately, but I think the change of seasons will likely help me with that. Here's hoping.

I suppose I've been trying not to delve too deeply into my psyche because I'm rather devastated by the fact that my Grama just died. Great-Grandmother. She was 101. I tell people that and they say "Oh, well that's great, isn't it!" And I just think "Well yeah - until she died. I do realize that most people never make it anywhere near that age, and that considering she was 75 when I was born, I'm lucky I knew her at all, but honestly that doesn't make me much less sad. She practically raised me. She's just...always been there. And now, she's not. It's hard to adjust to. I'm lucky that I've never really lost anyone I was that close to before, but it still really hurts. 

For me, strangely, the worst part of it is that she wasn't even sick. She was just old. I was kind of in denial about it, because how can someone die just because they're old? We always thought it would be so awesome when she turned 100 - instead, what did she get for it, except death? My mother says, however, that that is how it should be. Everyone should be so lucky as to simply die of old age. And she's right, I know that, but I still haven't made peace with the idea.

On a happier note, there is a kitty sleeping next to me. :meow:

I feel like I should have more to say but I can't think what that would be. So here, have some pretties, many of which are fan art from my recent obsessions: Doctor Who, The Hunger Games and Vampire Academy/Bloodlines.

Paint the DreamsEvery night, on the insides of my eyelids,
I paint the Universe with the ink set of imagination
And the charcoal sticks of memory,
Then flip it upside down and the wrong way round
And let it snag into focus-
On my sleeping synapses, the branches of the Inspiration Tree .

In my ivory skull-box of random echoes,  
Every melody, every voice, is re-written and rescored,
For a symphony of electricity, crisscrossing nerves ,
And running down, like liquid lightning
Into the ears of the dormant soul.

Here, this is that part of my chaotic desk
Where I re-write physics to suit myself,
Redesign monsters and angels to my own speci :thumb310928425: Man of ScienceOne day, brilliant men and women, with full minds and gray hearts, will redefine the meaning of life.

A Tibetan monk will rise from tending his garden to meet the mail courier. After six decades of daily meditation he will learn that humanity has reassigned the roles of abstract thought.

I picture myself being asked to adorn an unbecoming lab coat. I don't own a shirt that isn't black, so I'll put up a fight. But, when my fist hits the sterility of refrigerated logic my knees may bend.

I have one more chance to kiss the hand of Professor Petri Dish. I remember lips tasting like strawberries. Now, as I bite my own, they taste like bleach.

 :thumb250495842:




Header © *Songes-et-crayons Skin CSS © =SoulFighty

14 Comments
Look! An Actual Update! From Rain! September 14, 2012 14 Comments 2 Favourites

TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - Sept 2012

Journal Entry: Wed Sep 5, 2012, 12:19 AM
:wave: Hello, dearest members! =LadyofGaerdon here to continue our series:

Featured Deviant of the Month 


 for

 :icontalentedwritersguild:

 September's Featured Deviant is..........:eager:

 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:
:iconavallynh:
~Avallynh
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

#TalentedWritersGuild is a literature group committed to the encouragement, collection, and archival of high quality prose and poetry works. To find out more about the group, please click here.


 Here at #TalentedWritersGuild, we encourage deviants to select only their best pieces of literature for submission. As judges, we look for pieces that simultaneously move us, challenge us, and inspire us as readers; pieces that stimulate us emotionally and intellectually; and the pieces that display true technical skill. When we vote, we consider all these things, and let only the pieces we deem up to snuff through to our gallery. This pushes our submitters to excel, challenge themselves, and improve their craft, and provides our readers with high quality literature to read. 


The Featured Deviant of the Month is a member whose submissions meet and surpass this criteria.   

:icontalentedwritersguild:

~Avallynh weaves her words with thread like gossamer - her poetry is breathy, gauze-like, fragile - yet her imagery is so strong that it will remain in your mind, leaving you a heart swelled with longing. 

 ~Avallynh has 13 pieces in our gallery to date! They are all phenomenal and I encourage you to check them out.



In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
Soaked in sea-swept imagery and rich 
with heartbreak, this poem will leave you 
with a glowing, nameless longing.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:  


Like a withered lullaby, this poem
speaks of childhood wonder lost,
but still glimpsed, just out of reach.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of ~teenyxtinyxtina:
Dropping memories across the page, this short 
story strings together random and seemingly 
unrelated images. In doing so, it mimics the 
way in which memory works. An interesting 
look at moving memories onto the page. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


name-keeper.she remembers other lives:
fragments of myriad pasts
that might once have been her own.

they shift, like shards in a kaleidoscope;

catch the light
and s p l i n t e r a memory
into bright and broken chaos

of galaxies spun
from shivering mirages of worlds long-gone
and the glitter-glass symphony
of wind-chimes, gently stirred
by passing ghosts

wakened from unslumber
and dragged, blind and weary
cross time-worn trails, forever trapped
in a music-box waltz
to her wretched sigh[and someone else's elegy.]
and she's the girl watching, holding fast

by silken, poisoned threads
by a plea, a promise
to let go the silvered whisper
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon:
It is truly astonishing to know
that this poem is ~Avallynh's
first attempt at poetry, when the
way she plays with words and rhythm
and cadence form a brilliant representation
of just what poetry should be.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of `Halatia:
With quiet, lyrical word choice and stanza structure, 
in aeternum by ~Avallynh captures all the 
mystery and misery of the sea. 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of =LadyofGaerdon:
You can feel the soft rhythm flowing
through the words. The breathless quality
of the writing and the masterful use of
alliteration make this an enchanting read.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
is heightened by the semantics, the use of intricate and 
beautiful lexis, and the imagery throughout which leaves you 
almost breathless. It's wonderfully written, with the format 
and structure again leaving the reader feeling sensitive and touched.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
 a half-remembered dream.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Please check out our Featured Gallery, which shall be hosting all of ~Avallynh's submitted works. Please also peruse her gallery for yet more awesomeness and remind her on her profile of what an amazing writer she is. Oh yes, and please :+fav: this article to spread the word!


 Until next time...


Skin by; *NishithV
12 Comments
TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - Sept 2012 September 5, 2012 12 Comments 6 Favourites

Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #4

Journal Entry: Thu Aug 16, 2012, 12:29 PM


 :wave: Hello my dearest Allies! It's time again to showcase more of the amazing Allied Artwork pieces that have been making their way into our 
Featured Folder  over at #Lit-Visual-Alliance. 


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!

This article features pieces that have been submitted to our Featured Folder, which is reserved for literature that is based on visual artwork on dA, and visual artwork based on dA literature.

As usual, this feature is the result of the member poll which asked you, our lovely members, to vote for your favorite Allied Artwork submitted to the Featured Folder to be spotlighted in the article as the best. :w00t:



 First up, is this deeply thought-provoking piece from ~angeljunkie

  based on 



Next up is this intense interpretation by Alliance newcomer 
agramuglia




Next is this fearsome illustration by smilinweapon

 based on 



Next up is an invigorating interpretation by our very own =AzizrianDaoXrak




Next is a lovely haiku/photo collaboration by CelestialMemories and FinalLegacy1




An eerily beautiful take on a gorgeous image, from writer agramuglia and painter Taiyo85




Enchanting collaboration between afterthelastday and BellumX

 based on 



Followed by:


 based on 

 based on 



Our next poll will be out soon, with another feature to follow! The more you guys submit, the more features there will be! :eager:

And to get your creative juices flowing, a sampling from our Exceptionally Inspiring Literature & Exceptionally Inspiring Visual Art folders:

  Paint the DreamsEvery night, on the insides of my eyelids,
I paint the Universe with the ink set of imagination
And the charcoal sticks of memory,
Then flip it upside down and the wrong way round
And let it snag into focus-
On my sleeping synapses, the branches of the Inspiration Tree .

In my ivory skull-box of random echoes,  
Every melody, every voice, is re-written and rescored,
For a symphony of electricity, crisscrossing nerves ,
And running down, like liquid lightning
Into the ears of the dormant soul.

Here, this is that part of my chaotic desk
Where I re-write physics to suit myself,
Redesign monsters and angels to my own speci   GameAnd here I am, holding on for dear life
(but since when is my life dear to anyone, anyway?)
while you roll the dice one more time.
"Two," you say, and I sigh in relief because I'm number four. Number two gets dragged on the floor towards you and you kiss her on the forehead
(with a bullet)
and she falls to the ground and the men carry her away to the pit.
A new number two comes forth and she's prettier than the last one. But I look away. There's no point in finding beauty in this.
I actually heard the future being preached sometime before it happened.
"The gods are angry," the old priest said, "they'll turn against us."
And they did, alright, when they gave conscience to our robots and made them overtake humanity, that they enjoy torturing.
I know this is not your fault.
You're probably suffering even more than any of us
(after all, you're the one holding the gun)
but I don't know if I can forgive you.
Yet, I loved you once. It was a pretty and shiny dream. But also a crazy one. I was   Exhale, AmaryllisMid-summer heatwave,
I push through humid air,
like dreams of swimming, graceful,
through the streets. 
Chest aching, I
inhale heavy, tangible air
thick with scent of summer's bounty.
Honeysuckle vines tangle in my lungs, 
perfume my breath.
My sighs exhale nectar
past my lips;
words glint in sunlight.
Berry brambles twist into my veins,
thorns prick for blood from inside-out;
honey-suckle oxidized breath,
painting white blossoms red:
My heart was a pure-white bloom once,
but I inhaled arrows of golden sunlight
and bled forth Amaryllis.

     Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat –
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.

You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.

If not, try and see t   Hunger-Second VersionFire in the wild isn't the color you think it is.

It's all amber and terra cotta,
one  great  roaring  tower  of
orange  like the Wrath of God
in a chestnut tree.

I  can't  go  back   again  to
Devil's   Hollow,   the   small
rock - vale,   all    cinnamon
and nutmeg and  dried  pine
needles,  where we used  to
dance—-just  like  so  many
wolves  old   Nick  will  wait
for    my    return,    blazing
burnt  sienna   and  shining,
all teeth.

I am not ready to  give  up
the ghost  yet;  I  am  still
waiting    for   an   excuse
to    travel    the    galaxy
empty-handed. I  want  to
see those  bronze  nebulas
gleamin 



That's it for now, guys! Thanks so much for being a part of the Alliance! :w00t:
For more Allied Artwork, please check us out at :iconlit-visual-alliance:

'til next time,

The :iconlit-visual-alliance: Team: :iconladyofgaerdon: :iconevlydia: :iconazizriandaoxrak: :iconquiestinliteris: :iconvigilo:



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23 Comments
Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #4 August 16, 2012 23 Comments 18 Favourites

=LadyofGaerdon has limited the viewing of this artwork
to members of the deviantART community only.

You can log in or become a member for FREE!

TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - August 2012

Journal Entry: Fri Aug 10, 2012, 9:59 PM
:wave: Hello, lovely members! =LadyofGaerdon here to continue our series:

Featured Deviant of the Month 


 for

 :icontalentedwritersguild:

 This month's Featured Deviant is..........:eager:

 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:
:iconvigilo:
=Vigilo 
:iconstardivider1plz::iconstardivider3plz:

#TalentedWritersGuild is a literature group committed to the encouragement, collection, and archival of high quality prose and poetry works. To find out more about the group, please click here.


 Here at #TalentedWritersGuild, we encourage deviants to select only their best pieces of literature for submission. As judges, we look for pieces that simultaneously move us, challenge us, and inspire us as readers; pieces that stimulate us emotionally and intellectually; and the pieces that display true technical skill. When we vote, we consider all these things, and let only the pieces we deem up to snuff through to our gallery. This pushes our submitters to excel, challenge themselves, and improve their craft, and provides our readers with high quality literature to read. 


The Featured Deviant of the Month is a member whose submissions meet and surpass this criteria.   

:icontalentedwritersguild:

=Vigilo's poetry does a tremendous job retelling and referencing myth and fantasy, while always making it her own. Whether she employs traditional forms or free verse, her words come alive with a rare vibrancy that permeates everything she creates.

 =Vigilo has 18 pieces in our gallery to date! They are all most definitely worth your time.




On Ariadnethe loom of lust:
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.

the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.

the death, or descent:
Spin,
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak: 
Many of the pieces in Vigilo's gallery are exquisite,
but this one particularly stands out to me. She is
able to seamlessly weave together ancient myth
and a rich earthiness through her amazing descriptions.
Even if you don't know the myth, she tells the story
in such a way that it becomes yours.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Rapunzel: A RecountingAsk nothing from the azure sky, and the
blinding sun that burn bronze locks to gold, and
corrupted me with candlestick and sunlight.
Do you recall the child you delivered and deserted?
Exile, I entered, and you left me to my evermore.
Father, did you falter, when you followed her - my
good mother, the witch? (Gather ye rapunzels and go.)

Halt there, hurrying prince,
in my ignorance, you steal my bliss.
Joker, surely you jest?
Kings and kin - kill me now if I am ever
late - late! in love, in lie, and in line!

Men are mountains: mote to crumble away.
Never will the tales near normalcy:
Omniscient is the overlord, and the
princes
in the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
It takes skill to make alliteration look good, but 
=Vigilo does so much more than that. 
She has made it an art form itself.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:  


Ode to a TrainI am a stop sign. Old and aged, I stand upon earth.
You are a geometric line - tearing away from earth.

I do not know the charm of gentle rust, only peeling paint,
but I have known you and held you dear as my earth.

Desert wind found me, found me weatherworn.
But when water will fall, I will behold earth.

You are patient, for all that you race to and away,
dreaming of quicksilver flight, yet bound to earth.

I am all yellow jealousy for what the ground hears,
the beats you tattoo away, a drummer of the earth.

How must I tempt you away? I have no language, and in vain,
I insist on loving. The sky cherishes bitter, bitter earth.

I am
In the words of =angelStained: 
=Vigilo has poetry that weaves webs in my mind-
and stunning ones. There are subtleties winding through
it from the rhymes to the repetition and the voice is
quietly magnetic.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


CoppersmithI caught a sun gold.

Trembling old in my cupped palm, quiet copper,
as my rage on our queen, for so crippling me.  

And how too did I rail –
against you, Cyprian beloved?

Understand: I grow too old
for bows and arrows, Eros.
In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
Multi-layered mythology in less than fifty words.
The author employs impeccable rhythm and warm,
brittle longing to imbue each word with the
power of hundreds.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 



In the words of =LadyofGaerdon: 
The nursery rhymes many of us grew up with
are often quite disturbing when we hear them
again as adults. In this vein, =Vigilo presents
an eerily rhythmic - indeed, the rhythm pulses
throughout, like the steady heartbeat of the poem -
new nursery rhyme about a most disturbing topic.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Three SinsTreachery: the act of betraying.
Jealousy: the feeling of envy.
Disloyalty: to break faith.

Tell me, tell me, which is the greater sin?
For he spoke of treachery so sharp,
And she told of jealousy, grass-green,
And he sang of disloyalty of the worst type.

And he said:
You think I do not know? Treachery so violent,
A thousand rose thorns would have stung less.
I close my eyes, and two faces appear behind my eyelids,
O! Beautiful face, gallant heart: why have you conspired against me?
Tell me! What have I done to deserve such unfaithfulness?
If it is truly my fault, say the word and Excalibur will turn against me.
Tell me! What ha
In the words of *Kassi-Kamira: 
I do like the Arthurian
references. The piece in general is a strong read provocative
use of lexis and form to reinforce the thematics and context. Brilliant.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Me Men o' th' Land and SeaMe man o' th' land
is a fair and true lad,
but I love better me man o' the sea.

Me man o' th' land
has hair o' gauld like th' sun,
but me man o' th' sea loved me lang.

Me man o' th' land
has een o' bauld blue,
but me man o' th' sea has een o' bonnie, bonnie green.

But oh, but oh, me man o' th' land,
if yer heart brak', lit it nae be for me,
lit it nae be for th' weary wurld.

But oh, but oh, me man o' th' land,
I love ye sae, but I love me man o' th' sea mair,
for auld lang syne, I will min' ye,

me man o' th' land, but oh,
but oh, there my true love bides,
an' I love better me man o' th' sea.

Dae tell, my bairn, dae tell ye
In the words of =norui: 
This poem is based on an old Scottish
tale and delightfully includes the dialect.
The ideas it portrays wonderfully and the
rhythm suits it well. The addition of the
old words works to make it more interesting.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


The Salt of the SeaI.
The sovereign man has sunk bitterly;
he opened his mouth calmly
and swallowed the salt.
Swallowed it all.

I expected – fresh waters.
My hat flopped about;
like a goldfish, I was
crowded and troubling.

The word on the street for writers:
for my sake, put some words in my mouth.

II.
The King drowned the pillars in brine.
He knows the tiredness of the terra:
the tension hides in his shoulders,
his shoulders are pillars for the blue yonder.

Still his salt mill grinds.
Still the seas are brittle.

The pillars have become
skeletons of shipwrecks,
but as tall as mountains,
and as swamped as salt is bitter.

III.
Salt
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak: 
This piece is really the happy medium between
"pillars of salt" and "salt of the earth," and yet
somehow manages the be about neither of them.
Beautifully tactile, this poem makes me think longingly of the sea.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


Copperwater: with your face bent to a book. Your fingers have shingled around it, forming a steeple. Sometimes you find we turn into copperwater when we are not looking for it, our bones shiver down to water and russet, and a clamour of ripples travel on ourselves: are you unruffled underneath? Already, we are clumsy, for again, the ripples rush faraway to another set of bones, something rasps, and your bones creak in response, rattling with a sad firm sound. Our eyes are made of the deepest dreams that cause our eyelashes to sweep down. You find, you fear that there is a river in books, with sirens; there is a river goddess who shares her name with the
In the words of =TwilightPoetess: 
Using the technique of prose-poetry, =Vigilo takes
readers on an intriguing journey through the pages of
her favorite books.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 


The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.

   Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.

   On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechle
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak: 
For anyone who has ever read T.S. Eliot's
"Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," this piece
is a must-see. =Vigilo has both created a
perfect reflection of the original piece and
written an elegant and meaningful poem in its own right.
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3: 






Summer WomanWoman, you are my burnt sienna sculpture on Sun-days.

You are hiding my strength in rufous hair
and I feel you: russet-flushed to the touch,
jagged collarbone curving into neck,
easing into shoulders, into breasts;
woman, you are the warmest stone –
you are summery stone
to my water-drenched hands.

Woman in deepest reverie, you are hiding
my strength in pacific oceans of titian;
in running veins. My grasp
slips from skin slopes of sun and stone,

slips from you.

Woman of ragged flint and oil,
in sleep, your wind-kissed stone-neck drifts,
surges into a soft arch in air –

and does not meet ground;
and does not bow.
In the words of =AzizrianDaoXrak: 
"Summer Woman" is really lush and tactile, both in
terms of images and sounds; it is a really beautiful
story created for another deviant's sculpture!
:iconfineevehelp1::iconfineevehelp2::iconfineevehelp3:   





Please check out our Featured Gallery, which shall be hosting all of =Vigilo's submitted works. Please also peruse her gallery for yet more awesomeness and remind her on her profile of what an amazing writer she is. Oh yes, and please :+fav: this article to spread the word!


 Until next time...


Skin by; *NishithV
35 Comments
TWG's Featured Deviant of the Month - August 2012 August 10, 2012 35 Comments 11 Favourites

The Favorites Project #159, #160, #161

Journal Entry: Sat Jul 28, 2012, 11:50 PM

:iconlitplease:
Presenting the #LITplease Favorites Project!


Quick Notes

Anyone can (and should) suggest any piece of quality lit! Scroll below for our guidelines and details.



Feature #159


Writers Who Do Not Sleep Properly by `PinkyMcCoversong

....an email to herself because
           late-night head poems
           are butterflies.....read more

Suggested by: =LadyofGaerdon
Featured by: 
~Raneva =LadyofGaerdon
`ATrue =awholelotofflowers ~A-Rose-In-Misery 



Feature #160

The Last DreamerBack when Evelyn Taylor and most people still had daddies, she used to lean on hers in the dark after he'd passed out, steal his potato chips, and watch hours of television about men moving, selling, picking, and pawning trash.  She'd never pictured herself as the type.  She'd been a little girl in pigtails with too many plastic ponies.  Somehow, though, she'd become something that her daddy, had he lived, would have scorned: a scavenger.  "Billy," she drawled into a sat-phone she'd lifted off a telecom factory floor.  The sun, moon, and stars could all drop dead, but so long as there were sat
The Last Dreamer by ~LittlestFish

....You're too stubborn to change.  Just look at you."  His voice and his face started to turn darker with every word.  
"You're tanned.  You're moisturized.  You're…plump."  When she looked down at her midriff with a frown, he scoffed.  
"You would take that as an insult.  God help me, I've saddled myself with the last woman on earth who wants to lose weight."....read more

Suggested by: ^neurotype
Featured by: 
=LadyofGaerdon ~MaddyJordan 
=awholelotofflowers  ~A-Rose-In-Misery `ATrue



Feature #161


10 Reasons To Buy Toilet Paper by =realARTIZT

....To clean my glasses and see the truth on your collar...read more

Suggested by: `ATrue
Featured by:
=LadyofGaerdon ~MaddyJordan
`ATrue ~A-Rose-In-Misery ~insomaniac55


About TFP

The Favorites Project is dedicated to featuring a quality of literature to which other writers can aspire. TFP features worthy literature by way of a special panel of judges called Appraisers, who read and vote on all the suggestions sent in by members of the deviantART community. Our system is as democratic as possible for fairness sake: the Appraisers are instructed not to vote "yes" for a suggestion if they're not completely sure that it is a worthwhile piece of literature, and only a suggestion with at least five votes can be featured.


Quality Literature

In terms of what we consider "quality literature," we've outlined some points below with brief descriptions of what we mean, a list which is by no means inclusive. Each Appraiser uses their own discretion, but here are some of the qualities they are looking for:

1) Technique: Use of elements such as imagery, rhyme, and meter in poetry or dialogue and characterization in prose, for example, should represent the skill level at or above that of the writer. Proper use of spelling, grammar, and punctuation is expected.
2) Relevance: The message of the piece should not be obscure or overly personal; it must be able to appeal to a wider audience. In other words, a page out of last night's journal will be too narrow in focus and perspective.
3) Innovation: Literature should be clear of cliches and over-exposed opinions. The writer should always choose a fresh perspective and not be afraid to make the reader think or challenge conventions.
4) Organization: The content should be organized in a way that is deliberate to the purpose and scope of the piece. There should be no wasted space that adds only length and no significance.
5) Clarity: A writer should express themselves in a way that does not confuse the reader. For example, using large words may make a person sound intelligent, but it may also lose the audience.
6) Creativity: Literature is nothing if not creative. Wow us!


Suggestions

Anyone can suggest a piece of literature at any time. We are always open to suggestions!

If you have a piece of literature sitting in your favorites that you'd like to see featured, go to our Gallery of Favorites and click "Suggest a Fave. From there you can select one or more faves from your own collection to suggest. We feature literature of any genre, style, or subject, so suggest anything you think is worthy and we'll take it from there. All we ask is that you don't suggest a piece that has already received a Daily Deviation or a Daily Lit Deviation (occasionally, we will favorite something shortly before it is featured). Also, The Favorites Project will only feature one piece per deviant author. :)


Archive

Want to know what poems were featured by TFP before it came home to #LITplease (and before we featured prose too)? Check out the archive!


Design by ~andokadesbois
4 Comments
The Favorites Project #159, #160, #161 July 28, 2012 4 Comments 6 Favourites

Lit-Visual Alliance Allied Artwork Feature #3

Thu Jul 26, 2012, 8:16 PM
 :wave: Hello my lovely Allies! It's time again to showcase more of the amazing Allied Artwork pieces that have been making their way into our Featured Folder over at #Lit-Visual-Alliance. 


:iconlit-visual-alliance:

What is the Alliance, you ask?

The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!

This article features pieces that have been submitted to our Featured Folder, which is reserved for literature that is based on visual artwork on dA, and visual artwork based on dA literature.

Since the always amazing `ATrue gifted our humble group with Supergroup status, we are now able to do polls! As such, I felt it was time to give our members the chance to select which artwork submitted to the Featured Folder would be spotlighted in the article as the best. So I put ten choices into the poll (that's how it's going to work - when we get to ten submissions, I put out a new poll), and here are your results! :w00t:


 First up, is this wonderfully atmospheric Poe homage by our very own =QuiEstInLiteris



Next up was this whimsical rumination by loyal Ally ~Synnic



Tied with ~Synnic's poem is this eerily lovely story by Alliance newcomer ~MiugiKayo

:thumb274635427: based on 


Next was this gorgeous photomanipulation by Alliance enthusiast ~somenightowl



Next up is this emotional Fan Art piece by ~Nightenscythe, based on work by Fan Art CV ^JZLobo


Finally we have a sweet little Fan Art piece by *DanikaMilles made for me! Based on a story about one of my characters. :aww: