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mosaics.sometimes unique
is not loud;
or bright, alive and raging,
possessed of a hunger for the atypical,
up front and too close,
or thrice-pierced and drenched
in the rebellions
particular to the latest generation.

sometimes it is a girl with
mouse brown hair and eyes
the color of weak tea,
who stands with her schoolbooks clutched
to her chest, in uniform shades of grey-blue
like the midmorning autumn sky

who has a wide mouth prone to nervous smiles,

pale lips and pale cheeks
and words that don't always come out
the way she means

who holds the universe
in the intricacies of her fingerprints
and laughs in treble clef notes
and u
Come Home: A PantoumYou'll always come back to me
when the lights in the far hills
are done searching. For, new beds

entice adventurers. Too,
when the lights in the far hills
come home, the homespun dream they

entice adventurers too,
but they can't. (Dream we're neither.
Come home.) The homespun dream they

turn pioneers to homebodies,
but they can't dream we're neither,
our wanderlust fit to turn

pioneers to homebodies.
We've always made love free, so
our wanderlust fit. To

turn ourselves towards our home
we've always made love. Free. So
when the last adventurers

turn themselves toward their homes
in faraway lands, I know,
when the last adv
Liquid Cityhere, at the bottom - lovers.
there are lovers disassembling
themselveslost in and to the
desperate motion in
of - waves.

- did you think the continents
moved themselves? see them slip,

in an open sleep. less go, come.
come and, and - again. trembling

here, at the bottom - their eyes
are lightless. hollow bodies left
restless,

          the sea does not sleep.
free agentwell she
told me
that she'd vanish
into the forest
for four years
to be-
come some secret dream
a si-
lent specter who'd
someday
reappear

to collect
all conscious thought
wanted or not
in the solitude
that shadows
brought

but still
burned bright
this tiny light
who taught my
dark
about her
night

and so I
made her name
the only
whispered word
our time would hear
and I dis-
played
only privately
the images
between my ears

yet the moon
often makes possible
one who
breathes
for two

or

orphans
proper principle
the way
that
lovers sometimes do

and we do
and we do
(we doot-doot-do)

oh! and dreams
can
PressureSomething broke.

A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.

You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.

You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.

Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.

You stand up,
homo erectus,
you consider your legs,
homo sapiens,
nothing feels wrong,
homo stabilis.

But you can break
more than your body.
grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there,  just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th
Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
                    lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.

In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
                         
Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
                   lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.

In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
                                   veins, arteries and nerves.

Sometimes it all flows correctly; sometimes everything becomes
    knotted up in all the wrong places.  Skin toughened by beatings brought about by the
                           
WanderlustI've been sleeping with my jeans on
and seatbelt unbuckled,
So I can leave early
before my regret wakes.

In the check-in, on the road,
I distract myself
Walk, go, leave
go further, leave again
I like my life
Oversimplified.

I never meant to break your
working-class heart
(steady and warm)
But truer ways of joy I found
on the road,
in long railways and stranger tongues
And I'm sorry that we never
Quite catch up with each other.

I never loved goodbyes,
but I love leaving all behind
In the movement I found tranquility,
easing for this burn.

Don't think I'll be able
To ever forget you, no

You're like Venus in th
Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlight
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.
if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the
earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

 
sci-fi stories about the end of the world1.

the species invents prophecies
all of which contain terrors

ex;

a beleaguered sun collapses into itself

2.

It's not yet night when the committee interrupts the regularly scheduled programming
and describes the inertia as unforgivable.

Outside the grief, the cardboard:
Every time you teach a computer about distance
the terrorists win.

In every scenario: No colorado left,
and survivors leave messages
for the future.

Before the last people on Earth forgot how to speak,
he thought of that day.

The committee was right
to describe space as an absence.

3.

The more artistic
of the species' prophecies include fields

Some
prese
Bits of Nothing 61On paper you're perfect.

Isn't it a shame the world isn't made of origami?
Talking to YourselfWind drove snow over the trees with such force they seemed to step into the distance. The whiteness in the air covered everything until it was as faded as an old scent trail after a rainstorm. The snow was already deep enough to suck in a man's leg past the knee if he wasn't wearing snowshoes, but the figure trudging through it was no longer a man.

Wendigo had given up on snowshoes long ago in favor of simpler footwear. The straps challenged the clumsy fingers of his stolen human body, and he could never figure out how to move in them without tripping. He lurched onward with the tenacity of a wolverine gnawing through an inch of deer skull t
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More from ~skerd22

periferalscar breast
testing unrest
in waves;
breaths undressed
under recitation
shun graves'
crumble blessing,
excavation
of the once brave.
unchanged
exclamations
in the face
of dumb, festering
slaves.

shatter neck
beckons defects
in droves;
dreck delectable,
with affectation
imposed,
stumble unchecked:
invasion
of the sons drove
insane.
aggravations
in the place
of detexturing
woes.

there will be
no savoring
the sun-flecked
testament
to thumb-pressed
exit vents,
for she's
the one next
to you when your
lungs catch.
hipswitchbecause i could
shiver your spine
like new wounds
orphaned

my fire set
burning all mates
found open
to new tastes

skirting with cool grace
wandering
slung like wonder
on faces
engorging

all glances
adorning
heel pacing

sear drunk
and effacing
a lording
unlacing

believe me
you'd chase me
gutturalin bronze you
are goddess and
death.
one sun's
rays kept,
no need
for step
or bodice.

response to
your flawless
aspect.
one son
lays swept
and greed
stays epiglottis.
hoard occulti.
bitten
about the aspect

starling's woo
past the garden access

new math alathe
like the fire's had
the laxest

slow breathe
a lick of chaff
and hachet

ii.
stamen
emblazoned tragic

a fashion fragrant
and snaking absent

sweet nape ablaze
like a breathing
axis

roots pick
and grumble thick
like magic

iii.
stay abreast
and infest
the vested

lest
your immense
extension
be bested
scandalustback rifted

spat wrists
and half-stitch
lapses

caskets
in fractions
and fastened
tangents

an absent action
in the vast expansion

the waxing
tragic
of the last
romantics
sirenici almost
didn't recognize
the anchor
'round your neck

or the way
your ankles
dangle
circumspect

nearly missed
your tide inflect

the rise and fall
of buxom crests

but in the end
i chose to drown
without regret

Featured in Groups:

:iconword-of-art: #Word-Of-Art
Beauty is in the words... :iconobfusc: #Obfusc

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July 3, 2012
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[x]

ISLNDS

:iconskerd22:

you like the way
the i slants,
an error's
guidance
in a sea
of hyphens.

sans-serif
in cropped crests
made to full-
stop breasts
beating;
an obsess-
ion breathing
in lost chests.

now a motive
is seething
with options;
play thief
and proceed greedily,
often.

dive deep
and drink
the leap's froth;
breath is only
as sweet as the
speech that breeds thought.
:iconskerd22:
spake the drowned

+

---------------------
edit:

Oh my. This is rather unexpected! Thank you all you lovely people for reading and enjoying and generally being awesome. I am updating this from my phone on my lunch break (which thank goodness for dA updates that allow me to do that) so I will be thanking you all when I get to my desktop, but know that your visit to my little corner of the internet has made my day.

Also for everyone wondering, NicSwaner had the original meaning just about right. I stumbled upon the user Is-lnds and quickly developed a poetcrush something fierce. Be sure to click the + and give the inspiration some love!

Keep arting,
C
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Daily Deviation

Given 2012-11-02
ISLNDS by ~skerd22 is best read aloud. Don't forget to breathe afterwards. ( Featured by ^NicSwaner )
love 1 1 joy 1 1 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 1 1
:iconhayleyishayley:
~Hayleyishayley Nov 8, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
'breath is only
as sweet as the
speech that breeds thought.'

I love these lines. They keep popping in to my head unexpectedly since I read this :')
Reply
:iconskerd22:
~skerd22 Nov 8, 2012   Writer
I'm a virus.

:D
Reply
:iconsalmonella-poisoned:
~salmonella-poisoned Nov 7, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
the end is just so good I just don't even know man
Reply
:iconskerd22:
~skerd22 Nov 8, 2012   Writer
I'm glad it made an impression. :D
Reply
:iconprairiedaisy:
~prairiedaisy Nov 4, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
charles, you beauty! congrats! it's well deserved. :)
Reply
:iconskerd22:
~skerd22 Nov 4, 2012   Writer
Thank you, darling. I always love hearing from you.
Reply
:iconprairiedaisy:
~prairiedaisy Nov 10, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:glomp:
Reply
:iconsolaces:
~Solaces Nov 2, 2012
Wow, it is quite a treat to read aloud. Delicate, surreal, and exquisite!
Reply
:iconskerd22:
~skerd22 Nov 3, 2012   Writer
I like to think in spoken word ;D

Glad you enjoyed it!
Reply
:iconsaphyre-skies:
~Saphyre-skies Nov 2, 2012
Fantastic sound, rhyme, beautiful poem. Congratulations :hug:
Reply
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