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Cards of SpainMy arms are clubs
My legs, they are spade
Of diamond my head is made
Its namesake my heart rubs
The other, they are my mason
They build upon me
They build for me
Of me, they make their bastion
Delicately, oh-so delicately
A red seven is tilted aptly
Against a black three
As I look upon this artistry
This frail tower finds itself between
A black ace and a red queen
This castle is for me
This castle is me
Might I be the better architect
Of my own project?
Irrelevant is the notion
Compared to your devotion
You dare to add another floor
Cards add up, defying gravity
Nothing for me to deplore
But this moment's brevity
To see you toil for me
Care for me
Is the grandest Castle in Spain there can be
Humonculous Delight_______"Humonculous Delight"______
Red stone................................. 2.00
Red stone & bacon..................... 3.00
Red stone, bacon, red stone........ 3.50
Red stone, red stone, eggs,
bacon & red stone.................. 5.00
Devil's nest eggs........................ 4.50
Red water................................ 2.00
Red water & miso...................... 2.25
Red water w/ red stone croutons. 2.25
Famous state alchemist arm*..... 10.50
Famous state alchemist leg*...... 10.50
Famous state alchemist
naughty bits*.................... MARKET PRICE
Armour limbs (w/ digestive
Scar's ass platter...................... 14.00
Remains of the person brought
back during your creation....... 18.00
Red strap spaghetti w/
The Once PlumThe once plum________________
The plum, so succulent
A taste so rich and opulent
Juice seeping in sensual rivulet
Tantalizing feast for my palette
Is it the acidic tease I crave?
Or the overflowing sweetness?
Why question the savory caress
It should be enough that I so rave
And yet it isn't...
As I devour this fruit supreme
I irrationally expect a hint
That it shows for me equal esteem
Should I be to blame?
No other crop ever let me claim
Such an intimate complicity
Normal that I should seek mutuality
Yet food cannot taste the holding hand
It soaks in praise embarrassingly
Wishing the repast be not so heavenly
More functional, sometimes even bland
Yet forward I plough, selfishly I bite
Digging deeper without respite
Until a mistake is made, rather rash
And onto the hard pit my teeth crash
As agony overwhelms my dentition
My bliss turns to admonition
Despite my own boldness
Having caused the duress
Unmoved the plum remains
Expected as it is to have a core
Can it be faulted therefore
Is it genuine captivation
That compels all my attention
To be drawn to this philosophy
Or is it merely morbid curiosity?
My fleece is but one of my companions
Keeping me from the weather's variations
But as platonic as we remain
Is it wrong for me to wish for rain?
Rhubarb makes a strong contention
That bonding with its roots is perfection,
But with its poisonous leaves would only be cried
I say: who can tell until we've tried?
The bluebird may well be right all along
Certain of what its heart wants in song
But would it be abject impertinence
To point out it has little experience?
Doesn't the arlequin comprehend
That despite our creative differences
Happiness, our time together can apprehend
And with love tear down all fences?
Vanity, over the raccoon, holds no sway
And yet, in all its imperfection
I can never look away
It is, to me, most beautiful in creation
Am I then such a flawed mirror
That the eagle fails to see its striking grace
Last night I met Miss Trust
But blind faith puts me on my guard
I made the acquaintance of Miss Use
Who wished to abuse me, and not well at that
Miss Conception was under the impression
That I was ready for parenthood
Miss Communication shared a lot
But I couldn't understand a word
Miss Interpretation was quite a performer
With too many liberties in her work
Miss Carriage had a coachful of stories
All of them ill-fated
Nothing panned out with Miss Information
Because too much is as bad as too little
Miss Fire had a blazing personality
But threatened to explode at me any time
Miss Guided knew where she was going
Unfortunately away from my home team
As for Miss Age-in-a-Bottle
Her years were utterly unreadable
Only a glance at Miss Demeanor's conduct
Told me of her criminal past
Miss Spell put me under an enchantment
But she wrote the word as 'insanmant'
Miss Led was just that, however astray
Miss Stress' adultery was unnerving
I had doubts about
I can not rhyme
This I say for the last time
I can rhyme with the ease
Of an egotist saying "please"
"What's this I hear?" you wonder
"These suffixes he deftly affixes
Their consonance have little discordance"
So "Can he not rhyme?" you ponder
He who hunts and not consume
Hunts not at all I dare impune
She who swims with no destination
Merely performs mental masturbation
So if my rhymes abandon meaning
Their purpose is lost in the void
But if there's really a point to my meandering
Flaunting it, I try to avoid
So I maintain what I said earlier
But it may not suffer repetition
As that was its last iteration
And masturbation is niftier
AutumnWhen in the graying twilight
crude rough winds
with roars and screams
the frantic pale
stars after the copper trail
of the exhausted
when the entire land is like a dried-up
with nothing but
a cracked horizon to gilt its knife-sharp edges,
when a damp and silent autumn
wraps the day
in shrouds of gray
and puts the world in a grave
illuminated by a pale lightning,
when gentle birds fly with fear
somewhere far away from here,
when the drunken summer passes over
Nature's sleeping off her hangover.
Humming BeautyCaught in action
beauty of motion
a blur to the eye
that instills emotion
fast buzzing wings
can just been seen
looking so serene
long slender beak
good for the flowers
delving so deep
watch a humming bird
it`s great agility
as it hovers there
with awesome beauty..!
© Lissie Bull 2014 All rights reserved
EARTH: Acrostic PoemE ons old
A planet like no other
R eplete with resources
T hird planet from the sun
H ome sweet home
Moth DreamsCounting beats of the moth's wing
hidden here is the truth to which we cling,
the taste of rain lures us into a dream
where souls of the night softly sing.
As opaque white ghosts they seam,
nocturne butterflies caught in moons gleam,
the drink our sorrows and sip our tears,
let your thoughts drift down the stream.
In our slumber we travel through years,
within shadows all is not as it appears
beauty may adapt a more subtle shade,
just breath in and exhale your fears.
Luna angel dawns hues of jade,
light cuts the darkness like a blade,
weep not for loss of temporal bliss
the veil lifts and our phantasm begins to fade
Если поднимется ветер.
В свете происходящего,
В серебряном сентябрьском свете...
Держа за шиворот ветер,
FrogThere was a frog, his skin as green as grass.
With amber, cat-like eyes,
and a belly as yellow as brass.
The one thing not on his diet is flies.
Three webbed fingers and toes,
and scales of various shapes and sizes.
Everywhere I go, he goes,
from when the sun sets to when the sun rises.
My frog has a name, it’s Ponder.
He’s very soft and cuddly.
I gave him the nickname Froggy, but I wonder,
when did he get so dirty on his tummy?
There was a frog, all made of stuffing.
I love him to death and I’m not bluffing.
Rabbit HoleIs silent, undisturbed
A word, it is never heard
No one will know it is there
Full of fluff & air
Soft silence, easy to touch
It's home, I love it so much
I can peep out now & then
Only when I have a friend
Mostly don't, stays in my hutch
Love it there, it's easy to touch.
The Rotten TreeGo over by the waters edge
There is a rotting fallen tree
It may seem insignificant
To the wandering eye- but no
You just have to look more closely.
In this lump of decaying wood
In the bark it has been written
By time, since it was just a seed
To the day when there was a storm
And by lightening it was smitten.
Oh, the stories this tree can tell
Never seen by the naked eye
From dragons with one hundred heads
To Norse Gods and ten-eared foxes
Don't miss the chance- soon it will die.
On the Late-Summer SkyThe sky is the gold of a funeral hymn;
He whispers to me and I listen to him:
"I've tasted your sorrow, and every last drop
Of blood that you shed when the pain wouldn't stop."
The trees are as black as still-glistening ink
Against the warm lilt of a moon clad in pink;
He chases me through every shadow-laced road,
A painted-glass circus that day shall corrode;
He stops me, and speaks with a voice just as new
As memories seen from an eagle's-eye view:
"With you I have thirsted; with you I have yearned
To fight for the love you have rightfully earned.
But grieve as you must when your grief is at play;
He comes not to visit with friends but to stay.
What longing you suffer is mine to endure;
You have my affection in lieu of a cure."
I run, and he watches with eyes of the gold
Of winter turned gentle and summer gone cold;
The trees become gray and the sky becomes dim:
He whispers to me and I listen to him.
Autumn LeavesAutumn leaves
The sight is breathtaking
And yet so dreary
A cruel bout of mockery
That beauty be so waking
In ruin lay smoky huts
Dry are the watering ruts
Toys abandoned in yards
Nothing here left to guard
Admittedly, a crestfallen village
With nary the merest breath
In its streets that scream pillage
And yet no outward sign of death
Collapsed are the roofs
But foundations remain aloof
Life leaves an afterimage
In the absence of bodily ravage
Gone is hope, without regret
Gone, somewhere, secret
For it to return with all reason
When chimes the right season
Such force laid this torment
Inexorable, cold emissary
Yearly repeating the event
And so, such morose beauty
Such morbid, guiltfree happening
Metallic tools rendered glistening
By sterilizing flaming fealty
Ephemeral smoke abounds
Always shifting, full of tricks
The precise chaos of bricks
Toppled over in mounds
Painters, know what you depict
Before to the brush commit
Splendor in full volition
Of its fatalis
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More