PoetsWe are the writers of the ages
The voices of the multitude.
The translators of nature
And the Mind.
We sing with scribbles on paper
Inky shapes on parchment
Our blood runs black
We are wanderers, adventurers
Our minds fly towards the sun
And let us see the world
We breathe the essence of life,
We drink the Earth's nectar
And let it flow through
We dream with eyes open
And see while they're closed
We can bring our visions
We bare our souls to the world
Write of what connects us
So that others may see
What we see.
We are not unique, we are human
Creatures with hopes and dreams
Inside us all is a poet, waiting
To be discovered.
When I'm gone, my darling...When I'm gone my darling,
Would you still turn to stretch out your hand to reach me, at nights?
Would you still swap blankets, as we did because mine smells better?
Would you sigh a little, when the breakfast is set just for one, not two?
Would you stand beneath the stars and imagine me there, beside you?
Would you hear my whispers in the breeze that softly pass you by, calling?
Would you get drenched in the rain, just to relieve 'those' times, past?
Would you walk down the street, and see me standing there smiling back?
Would you still pen our names on every book you buy, and two red hearts?
Would you still whistle the same tunes each morning, that I so loved?
When I'm gone my darling,
Would you be as lonely without me, as I am up here without you?
he writes mehe writes me
as if each letter was the last
in recorded history.
like literature would deign
to disappear without so much
as a wave of goodbye-
and i hang off his every word;
catlike concentration pawing
the loose threads of his conversation.
he doesn't speak in rhyme
(nor reason sometimes),
but his words speak to me
louder than a shot of epinephrine
and excites me just as well;
like it fills my arteries with
a longing to share your heartbeat
and breathe your air-
but then it's gone.
like a warm bathroom vapour
dispersing out through the open door;
the comfort fades and all that's left
is the cold condensate
dripping slowly down the wall.
Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community: Part 1Over a month ago I asked "Why do you love dA's Literature Community?" and I received an amazing response, with well over 60 participants! For the sake of length I'll be splitting this article into two parts, with the prize winners at the end of the second article which will be posted tomorrow!
SadisticIceCream and I decided it would be best that all the reasons remain anonymous
because it is easier. So without further gushing from me, and in no particular order, here are some
Reasons to Love dA's Literature Community:
I love dA's lit community because it is filled with kind, good-humoured, knowledgeable and supportive people from all over the world, who are passionate about their craft. It seems that dA attracts the most talented amateur writers out there, meaning that there is a lot of wonderf
Autumn's Echo of PassingRows of dried corn stalks bend
with the wind that
thirsts for rain
that will only come when it has died
and the ears of corn cease to rattle.
And the thunder's distant laugh
will chase after the snakes
heading for their mounds on higher ground,
their husks abandoned-
the flash floods may yet pass them by.
Bare sweptBare swept
Why do all words fail me
everytime I get the chance to speak with you?
My fear to make everything wrong
makes my heart weigh tons
and places it on my tongue.
While my wit and intelligence choke on it,
I feel so stupid.
I've always been shy and quiet
but you make me silent.
In my bare swept mind
too many thoughts overturn.
How can I ever tell you
that I love you?
PartingSlain upon the outlook
A crop of harbour wood
With broken blade deep in my side
And breath spilt out the hilt
White voices in the smoky mists
And carried off of air
That leaves as red as virgin rose
When cleft its feet in love
A heavy brow of curls and lashes
And eyes behind their rap
Upon my ribs with dulling pain
As more I have it be
Spray as clean as silty roads
And silk to trade the walk
The mountain caps with veins of blue
Come meet a garden parting
Winter Alliance Contest! Greetings, fair Allies! It is my pleasure to announce the Winter Alliance Contest!
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 reig