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Deviant for 12 Years
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Literature
The Leash
She's such a curious master,
humming silent songs beneath all the royal blues
and magenta yellows of life. She breathes
in and out, away from here to there.
I am taken in, wound twenty seven times,
by the swinging.
If the number were sixty,
would it be enough? Can so many years, thrown immediately,
mercilessly to the echoing walls of memory
be enough? I imagine not. Yet,
she lead us on, tugging gently at the
ephemeral leash slung tightly around our necks
Grieving nothing.
"One hundred and four," she declares,
perhaps asks, grinding her words as crystalline pebbles
rolled smooth with the vibration of age
and frustration against my mind.
No. Even still, I would want more.
One, then. My daughter sleeps, having bled
all the red life out of living for this
one rainy day. One, thought so small
and still, survived with more violent
sparkling shards of passion than me.
It strikes me, and death smiles to herself,
is pacified, grows stiller at the thought:
it is time. My fear should be not of th
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Literature
Over
The audible breath, and me
gasping, grasping vainly for reality,
we break against each other
in that moment of waking.
You hang there in the air
tangible despite the fading
and the echo of your voice
saying spitefully, "Never."
I blink, a pitiful attempt
to bring the distant corners
of the room closer,
to feel protected.
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Literature
Moment of Clarity
You gave me breath.
I took from you the peace
I carry between my shoulder blades,
arching my back as I walk.
You bleed into me persistently,
a transfusion of soul
from one friend to another.
I wonder, then, if I renew you,
or if you sift away:
an hourglass, filling slowly,
top to bottom, bit by bit, with air.
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Literature
Transitory
I stare up
between the downtown towers at all forms of stone and glass, gracefully balanced.
I imagine millionaires (a woman adjusting her stockings, persuading
a man on the efficacy of her abstract ideas, on percentages)
and wonder
what it feels like to be caged unwillingly against the sky.
Me,
I can drive beyond cobblestones to the river, so I do,
to the edge of the boundary of what I know. Now is undefined,
the bottom of the pendulum swing past the death of
winter
and the brightly looming entrance of spring.
Now is grey, limbo, uncommited, like the river.
I expected
ice, flowing from the north, and carrying with it the
apprehensive memory of another human settlement
No,
the water is bare, and from here it looks still,
like the color of stone: a horizontal tower touching everything
but the sky.
I am reminded all at once of a frozen grave
and the warmth of life within me. I shiver and breathe.
Turning back
into the city, I take comfort in the familiar feeling
of being trapped.
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Literature
Chemistry
I am the clarity of chemicals,
blended grotesquely with the energy of
nerve bundles and the way they gather
just outside my spine, firing.
I rub my eyes with my fists.
The bones in my ears knock together
at the patter of leaves across asphalt.
This is life. I live now,
with formaldehyde and mercury in
my muscles, fluoride in my water.
I look down at my skin, remember
using petroleum lotion, and
I don't want to die.
What a tragedy, I think,
that I can't perceive oxygen.
I drink the thick milk from cereal
for calcium and vitamin D, since I
don't like the sun. Counting calories
is complicated when you're not sure
who made your food, and with what.
The trees claim their chlorophyll,
watching as lesser creatures kill
to eat. Simple and enormous.
We survive on their waste, on the
filth they spew back below them.
I survive by forgetting: that silk flowers
are pressed plastic treated for texture
and synthetically colored, that caged
halogen lights my way, and that "natural"
is a word carefully
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Literature
Visionary
I see women everywhere,
in abstract silhouettes:
signatures, curved in branches,
painted with sand across the sidewalk.
Hips there, a breast from the side,
hair flowing freely behind.
I see them, defined like
laughing evangelists
by the ephemeral concept of knowing.
They curve their figures back and up
with energy I only remember.
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Literature
The energy of the sky
Here, the sky has room to mound
in smart electric fits across the prairie.
The Rockies kept it caged. I heard
the grunts of God bounce off the backs
of mountains, saw lightening bolts fall
carelessly and lavishly slender
like satin robes to the ground,
and even fires were quelled in days
against the spirit of crackling pine cones.
Then, the storm was pregnant but pale.
On the grass, the fury stops for nothing.
Drones of sirens fade before the find
a wall or an ear to rest viciously upon.
Echoes can't sustain themselves, flying up
against the blackened clouds
and never bouncing back. All this, and yet
the stark horizon looks lonely
without the energy of the sky
to make us look up.
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Literature
Metacognition
Constrain me like a thought
passing hushed through the
forest of your mind.
With a look, bind me,
and fail to beg my counsel
regarding wishful thinking,
flexible though, and
vicious imagination.
No. Nurture. Soften your skull
to the weary strain of perfection.
Save me. Be my transparent protection.
I'm afflicted (with consciousness),
just as I never predicted.
But you did.
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Literature
To Quartz:
I just wonder how you manage,
what with no child left to you
to stare longingly, afraid to touch
- and then, to touch serenely
with two fingertips and a palm
as she would a breathless goldfish.
I miss you, lying piled along the trails
between clearings. You were forgotten
treasure, booty left by pirates, secreted
into the forest by gypsies, who never
existed, save in fantasy. That is how
I miss you, as magic in periphery.
I can’t forget the color pink,
as you see it – murky and bleak,
with the poise of marble, the
harboring whirl of a thundercloud,
the obscurity. Roses are transient;
before time and rocks, they fade.
If you have a soul, if a crystal has
a name, don’t resent me. I left you
to your brothers, to line walls of
canyons, gleaming. You never needed
me. The rivers will take over where
I left off, polishing your back.
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Literature
Valkyrie
                                                     Valkyrie,
I find air in your sleeves, sand-salt rattling
maniacally in canteens, and cold perdition
whispered on the cusps of your lips:
redemption.                                     Relish
in the purity of your buttressed sanctuary
like a virgin. Braid diamond charms into your
everlasting robes. Wash your feet; forget the
masses.                           &
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Literature
Eternity is an Instant
In these moments, I am brilliance,
              shimmering on the back of
a shadow. Swells of light slide nearer;
              I lay them to rest.
              Eyes dilate beneath their veils to
                            the mirrored cries of breathing,
              of singing a heady soprano
                            melody. Luminous cones
              
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Literature
Omen
Through the shadows, I can’t see
the growing cracks in the corner
where one wall is falling away from another.
I can’t see anything; my eyes are closed.
The dog moans. His sound is long, gloomy
and ominous, with a shallow intelligence
I seem to have forgotten. My left eye
twitches as it echoes up at me,
wedging between my dreams.
My spine curves toward you. I breathe.
I pause in the shower, wondering
why it seemed so natural. In my numbness,
my wrist had brushed your throat. So why,
had I thought about choking you? Twice,
I blink. At the pull of the curtain, I see him
smiling calmy at my feet. His tail
rests on the tile; his tail never rests.
This morning, you were hurried. I regret
letting you go without a kiss, and worry.
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Literature
Curiosity Man
Strike, blind to vengeance
like pack-hunting dolphins.
Instinct is a curious remembrance.
In the haphazard silence, I mourn
the glaciers. If our sins
are forgiven, they are not yet reversed.
Mercy pains me,
and virtues are ironies
in human hands. Ask me again:
What is the meaning of life
lived by ego? Ask me, and listen.
The owl is death.
His beak snaps eggshell skulls,
Shamelessly swallows faint bones.
Still, he sleeps without pills.
In context of now, our fathers' rebellions
are condemned. Still, we repeat them.
We are processors, humming, buzzing.
Sacrifice: the paradigm of love.
So, we prove her with force.
A thousand coastal cities glow,
And surviving is a curious tribute.
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Literature
Like you mean it.
Dance:  Then stop,
remember to avoid clichés,
and change your mind.
Stretch: Because cats and dogs
do it best, take notes. Find a rug.
Squint. Make your ears hum.
Play: Take notes. Children
do it best. No, monkeys. Go
to the zoo and ride the elevator.
Salivate: When the phone rings,
When the sun comes up. Bite your lip
on one side, so you look extra hungry.
Hoard: Postcards, seashells, dust, shoe
boxes. Never open the shoe boxes
for fear of memory. Remember anyway.
Love: What have I told you
about clichés? Don’t.
Pretend not to love.
Define: weave strips of
your life into words, or at least
some notion of self. Sort and/or tag.
Claim: To be. Your past.
Like gold-rush miners and
Conquistadors, claim,
like you mean it.
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Literature
Go
I can’t stop cleaning house.
Dirty socks and empty cups are
everywhere. We’re children without a mother.
Then there’s you, following me silently
with peace on your face.
It all disgusts me, but I don’t remember why.
I’ve long since stopped
playing the violin, but even now I stir my
wrist to a silver-tongued vibrato.
I work a picture frame, pencil, flashlight,
the bones beneath my other breathing wrist.
That song is steadily fading. Still, I try.
You stop me with a grasp from behind,
because I’m swinging my hips
a bit like a colt. When was the last time
I glanced at the stars without
tracing constellations?
The movie is still playing;
I tell my lips to rest. They do.
Today, I walk to the bus stop,
not pausing to sling the sleet from my hair.
I am pleading, as usual,
like the skeleton trees with their
last scraps of sanity.
But this time, I’m silent.
I stop short of being still.
The grace of doing and thrill of falling
are fantasy.  I throw a
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Literature
How to Grow
I.
We named the tree because it seemed alive:
a girl’s name. Like our mothers, she looked worried.
She had a naked arm, as if stretched from an Easter dress
over the edge of a cliff. It was big, which is really
just another word for strong. Ask anybody.
We brought the rope we found; he hid
the scissors we stole; I tied the knot,
because I was better at tying my shoes.
By the time I climbed down, used spit
to wipe the sap onto my jeans, he was gone.
And then he was back, screaming through a smile
at the joke of hanging over nothing. Risk and refuge; in and out.
II.
I arched my neck to see the Weeping Rock.
It was a periwinkle eye, smooth and slowly dripping,  
stark against a bristly face of evergreen.
I stared back, strained to see the treasure I knew was there.
My brother stood silently beside me; he was looking too.
At dawn we left the trailer park. In those days,
we didn’t need excuses to peel away from the world
of rust, exhaust, and synthetic music over the dus
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:iconphoenixmemory:phoenixmemory 4 3
1. Open the gallery.
2. Close your eyes.
3. Move the mouse around wildly.
4. Click. Read.

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Activity


deviantID

phoenixmemory
Amy
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Interests
  • Listening to: the voices in my head.
  • Reading: the news.
  • Watching: language therapy sessions... tons of them.
  • Playing: Halo 3
  • Eating: trail mix.
  • Drinking: SoBe
I am looking for a visual artist to create an ID that reflects my love for poetry... and my love for phoenixes. This is certainly not my area of expertise, so I need a little help. I've been here way to long to not have a proper ID!

I am currently willing to offer a 3-month subscription or it's equivalent in dA dollars. If you have any ideas or suggestions, comment or note me. I'm excited to work something out!

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconadriennefaye:
adriennefaye Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2015
Thank you for collecting <3
Reply
:icongrace-face-97:
grace-face-97 Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the watch!! <3
Reply
:icontigermoth99:
Tigermoth99 Featured By Owner Mar 5, 2012
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconpretty-yin:
pretty-yin Featured By Owner Aug 3, 2011  Student Writer
Thank you for the fave on Bipolar!
Reply
:iconzebrazebrazebra:
zebrazebrazebra Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2011  Professional Writer
Hi there! I'm here to:

a) Tell you all about #transliterations' latest contest,
b) Remind you about #transliterations' latest contest,
c) Force you at gunpoint* to start writing for #transliterations' latest contest.

That's right, there's only two weeks left to enter the Photocopier Contest; only two weeks to take up your camera, take a photograph of whatever you please and translate it into the best piece of literature you can. There's fabulous prizes to be won and the adoration of your peers: what are you waiting for?!

With love,
:icontransliterations:

* Gun is made of toffee.
Reply
:icondrachenmagier:
drachenmagier Featured By Owner May 1, 2011  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you very much for the watch! Always an honor when someone likes my works! :heart:
Have some Llama while they are still warm!
Reply
:iconphoenixmemory:
phoenixmemory Featured By Owner May 2, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Why thank you. Llama are always appreciated.
Reply
:iconzebrazebrazebra:
zebrazebrazebra Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2011  Professional Writer
Dear ~phoenixmemory,

I'm here on behalf of #transliterations and to be frank, also myself. You may not know that we're currently running a contest to translate music into literature (be it poem, flash fiction or other) via a 'musical map'--a visual representation of a chosen song or piece. We have a little under five days left in the running for this contest, and I personally would really love to see you enter.

All the necessary details, including the all-important prize list, can be found in this news article and this blog. If you have any questions or indeed, want to slap me about for messing up your page, please don't hesitate to contact me.

Many thanks for your time!
Sarah :peace:
Reply
:iconphoenixmemory:
phoenixmemory Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the invitation. However, right now is a tough time for me. Just finishing my student teaching at the beginning of next week so my energy needs to go into that.

Please let me know about future contests!
Reply
:iconzebrazebrazebra:
zebrazebrazebra Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2011  Professional Writer
No worries--I will do!
Reply
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