Signal by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Signal
We are
The street lamp, carving light
through the vain dark midnight.
Our signal binds the curve
of the blue veined lamp post,
the pebble mirror puddle in the street,
and the street passed over
by hushed tires going somewhere.
We are
The insects, pinging bodies
off the warm smudged glass.
Our yearning pulls our hearts from
that distant dew dropped leaf,
the hollow energy of life,
and the ink thick skies passed over
by hummed wingbeats going nowhere.
We are the call.
We are the answer.
We.
i by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
i
Nurtured and turned,
fed and opened up
to let the heat rise out,
Or a throat strung tight
against the spine, and breath
caught up and catching,
Or dragging against itself,
a righteous unholy mess
tuning pitch into resolve,
Anger is justice
That hasn't yet been given a voice.
Fireflies and Bats by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Fireflies and Bats
The mystic cords of memory
are a human affliction.
Bats instead dive, careless
of the sins of their forefathers,
on summer nights in June.
And the gentle gnaw of
a firefly light exists, pulsing
warily, now claiming this space
and this moment for the species.
Only people ponder the past.
That crisp and sullen air,
that same which slips beneath the bats,
feels heavy. The children in the swamps
of Rosewood, who had been that day
turned back by the Sheriff
for their safety,
watched night fall like this.
Watched fireflies speak in light.
Watched, perhaps, the distant glow
of their homes on fire. Quietly.
Myth is a burden.
Bigotry is memory
The Givers by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
The Givers
We are finite creatures.
The light inside me can be yours
but then it will no longer be mine.
And who gives to the givers?
Crossing the world,
Breathing the dust,
Calming the spirit,
Braving the heat,
Being the peace,
Steeling the jaw,
Facing the dark,
And smiling?
Spread yourself beyond your skin
And bleed, marvelously, into your fingertips.
Let the emptiness satisfy you,
Coming to gather in your chest and let it
rest, rest, and ache and rest -
The culmination of your joy and peace
Now in the hands of others.
But.
The world is better now,
And you're alone in your car
On a highway fringed with wildflowers
And the grasshoppers explode
A
Wild Strawberry by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Wild Strawberry
You raised it up to me,
an infant fruit.
Red on green on pink.
So impossibly small.
The leaves around
the little heart spread wide
to best drink up the damp air,
the soft speckled sunlight,
and welcome a bee
who had brushed by before
where, before the strawberry,
there had been a flower.
White on yellow on green.
So impossibly small.
And you held it high
for the walkers and bikeriders,
and the children on scooters.
They smiled at your display.
A perfect thing.
I had not seen a perfect thing
before you.
Mother by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Mother
Two moons, celestial children
tug at my ocean skirts, pulling tides
skyward with string swelling songs
and mounding waters up to meet
their intoxicating gravity,
revealing craggy pockets and
slogged places in me
at the opposing face of me,
filled with nothing and aching
with the dusky stench of
what was there before their pull.
.
Two moons, orbits discordant but
then aligning incidentally,
they claim me with urgency
to their tiny hearts, and so
to one and then the other
I am swung and stretched so
I grow into the space between them.
.
One sun, red with a deep wash of heat,
is my source and keeper, his
flares my unexpected aurora, a
Deserve by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Deserve
I endured it like a bloodletting, her talk. No tools were left to fight it, but vibration in my jaw like a wire snapped tight to a hum, the space shrinking between my shoulder blades and my breath, which I bade steady me against her gentle eyes. Kindness and mirrors - so rarely kind, so often used. Kindness to self, moreso. But here, again, she turned my face towards it. Again, the air stopped moving and the shimmering dust hung weightless. All I knew, again, came true, and she was wrong, again. I resisted, as if cutting a burning fuse. Thursday morning, I forgot not to feel. The pain of them all saw my open soul and fell in, as it had. But in moments I noticed much later, it thinned like fog. I walked alone in the sunlight with my keys. Shadows fell. Leaves trembled. Air hung. I was apart. Kindness and mirrors. After space had been given, she came back to it. Her words now a curious treasure. It balanced, delicate on a far away pedestal, three and a half feet from
She will not be silent by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
She will not be silent
A glass carton, crystalline, is the larynx.
The cracked cradle of humanity,
stretched finely around breath and
hope, she waits to sing.
A single bowed bone, her anchor -
intricate wirings strung about it -
the voice swings away and falls
against our thoughts, encoding.
She uplifts, selfless, to pit
ourselves against senselessness.
Overshadowed, shadowed, endowed
with secret sacred purpose,
She is aware. She fires, shivers
beneath the sheen, boldly.
Unique and the same, her truth
is her story emerging. She whispers.
She will not be silent.
The Leash by phoenixmemory, literature
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 m
Over by phoenixmemory, literature
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.
See All
Signal by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Signal
We are
The street lamp, carving light
through the vain dark midnight.
Our signal binds the curve
of the blue veined lamp post,
the pebble mirror puddle in the street,
and the street passed over
by hushed tires going somewhere.
We are
The insects, pinging bodies
off the warm smudged glass.
Our yearning pulls our hearts from
that distant dew dropped leaf,
the hollow energy of life,
and the ink thick skies passed over
by hummed wingbeats going nowhere.
We are the call.
We are the answer.
We.
i by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
i
Nurtured and turned,
fed and opened up
to let the heat rise out,
Or a throat strung tight
against the spine, and breath
caught up and catching,
Or dragging against itself,
a righteous unholy mess
tuning pitch into resolve,
Anger is justice
That hasn't yet been given a voice.
Fireflies and Bats by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Fireflies and Bats
The mystic cords of memory
are a human affliction.
Bats instead dive, careless
of the sins of their forefathers,
on summer nights in June.
And the gentle gnaw of
a firefly light exists, pulsing
warily, now claiming this space
and this moment for the species.
Only people ponder the past.
That crisp and sullen air,
that same which slips beneath the bats,
feels heavy. The children in the swamps
of Rosewood, who had been that day
turned back by the Sheriff
for their safety,
watched night fall like this.
Watched fireflies speak in light.
Watched, perhaps, the distant glow
of their homes on fire. Quietly.
Myth is a burden.
Bigotry is memory
The Givers by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
The Givers
We are finite creatures.
The light inside me can be yours
but then it will no longer be mine.
And who gives to the givers?
Crossing the world,
Breathing the dust,
Calming the spirit,
Braving the heat,
Being the peace,
Steeling the jaw,
Facing the dark,
And smiling?
Spread yourself beyond your skin
And bleed, marvelously, into your fingertips.
Let the emptiness satisfy you,
Coming to gather in your chest and let it
rest, rest, and ache and rest -
The culmination of your joy and peace
Now in the hands of others.
But.
The world is better now,
And you're alone in your car
On a highway fringed with wildflowers
And the grasshoppers explode
A
Wild Strawberry by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Wild Strawberry
You raised it up to me,
an infant fruit.
Red on green on pink.
So impossibly small.
The leaves around
the little heart spread wide
to best drink up the damp air,
the soft speckled sunlight,
and welcome a bee
who had brushed by before
where, before the strawberry,
there had been a flower.
White on yellow on green.
So impossibly small.
And you held it high
for the walkers and bikeriders,
and the children on scooters.
They smiled at your display.
A perfect thing.
I had not seen a perfect thing
before you.
Mother by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Mother
Two moons, celestial children
tug at my ocean skirts, pulling tides
skyward with string swelling songs
and mounding waters up to meet
their intoxicating gravity,
revealing craggy pockets and
slogged places in me
at the opposing face of me,
filled with nothing and aching
with the dusky stench of
what was there before their pull.
.
Two moons, orbits discordant but
then aligning incidentally,
they claim me with urgency
to their tiny hearts, and so
to one and then the other
I am swung and stretched so
I grow into the space between them.
.
One sun, red with a deep wash of heat,
is my source and keeper, his
flares my unexpected aurora, a
Deserve by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Deserve
I endured it like a bloodletting, her talk. No tools were left to fight it, but vibration in my jaw like a wire snapped tight to a hum, the space shrinking between my shoulder blades and my breath, which I bade steady me against her gentle eyes. Kindness and mirrors - so rarely kind, so often used. Kindness to self, moreso. But here, again, she turned my face towards it. Again, the air stopped moving and the shimmering dust hung weightless. All I knew, again, came true, and she was wrong, again. I resisted, as if cutting a burning fuse. Thursday morning, I forgot not to feel. The pain of them all saw my open soul and fell in, as it had. But in moments I noticed much later, it thinned like fog. I walked alone in the sunlight with my keys. Shadows fell. Leaves trembled. Air hung. I was apart. Kindness and mirrors. After space had been given, she came back to it. Her words now a curious treasure. It balanced, delicate on a far away pedestal, three and a half feet from
She will not be silent by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
She will not be silent
A glass carton, crystalline, is the larynx.
The cracked cradle of humanity,
stretched finely around breath and
hope, she waits to sing.
A single bowed bone, her anchor -
intricate wirings strung about it -
the voice swings away and falls
against our thoughts, encoding.
She uplifts, selfless, to pit
ourselves against senselessness.
Overshadowed, shadowed, endowed
with secret sacred purpose,
She is aware. She fires, shivers
beneath the sheen, boldly.
Unique and the same, her truth
is her story emerging. She whispers.
She will not be silent.
The Leash by phoenixmemory, literature
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 m
Over by phoenixmemory, literature
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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Collection
Favourites
I will never settle into love by ShadowsofLight777, literature
Literature
I will never settle into love
I enjoy evisceration - my own fingernails are the best; though foreigners flaying feels like a hellish heaven - far and far from a healing that I fall so unworthily away from 'Cause the anguish is acceptable I rest my soul in it's lawful claws and need not dwell on unmerited peace... peace that flees my molded mind; or things that hang so awkwardly on me...I am not one who can pull off a look like joy If I am torn, I am torn so rightly Though if I am loved, I relish the taste but vomit from guilt I cannot let the warmth absorb... ...and this is the darkness that will always drive me.
pretend by rakda, literature
Literature
pretend
I can’t pretend to understand what you see watching hands pulled back and fingers clench feeling the weight of a place built to break your spirit before you knew life the iron may have fallen but the shackles haven’t left I can’t stand beside you (as my pale skin burns) but I’ll stand nonetheless in love and solidarity with a pen and a soul and the echo of your voice in my heart ‘I can’t breathe.’
open mic by YouInventedMe, literature
Literature
open mic
and oh there were nights when the love would pour out of you when the world was still wicked but spun elsewhere and ours was a compact unspoken but woven in every fiber (electric) and you would decorate those book-lined rooms with your words hung above the heads of those who'd seek to untie their tongues to growl and bear teeth unprepared for the moment when the mountains would speak and I would watch their faces fill with a shared wonder as they became aware of the same spells you put me under . I know the nights now still mostly stretch in countless infinities that the future looms heavy an unimaginable design (but if we stick together we'll be fine) . I know your eyes still don't see your own scope your own shine so love (please) borrow mine
not with a bang... by YouInventedMe, literature
Literature
not with a bang...
the past
is a pit
I pulled
myself
out of
cast off
all aspersions
left the molehills
for the mountains
use them skeletons
as stepping stones
the snakes
become the ladders
sure the closet
remains
cluttered
but it doesn't
really
matter
I'm a
haphazard
collection a
jigsaw
given sentience
this after-
life's gone
unrequited
but the dam(n/m-ed)
still bursts
with sentiments
found
the love of
lines
but lost
my interest
in the circles
this heart
bared the book
left
open I
don't
pave my path
with hurdles
I still
hunger
for the
stars
and I've got
a few
million
spare
forevers
I could be light
I could be heat
I could b
Fireflies and Bats by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Fireflies and Bats
The mystic cords of memory
are a human affliction.
Bats instead dive, careless
of the sins of their forefathers,
on summer nights in June.
And the gentle gnaw of
a firefly light exists, pulsing
warily, now claiming this space
and this moment for the species.
Only people ponder the past.
That crisp and sullen air,
that same which slips beneath the bats,
feels heavy. The children in the swamps
of Rosewood, who had been that day
turned back by the Sheriff
for their safety,
watched night fall like this.
Watched fireflies speak in light.
Watched, perhaps, the distant glow
of their homes on fire. Quietly.
Myth is a burden.
Bigotry is memory
The Givers by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
The Givers
We are finite creatures.
The light inside me can be yours
but then it will no longer be mine.
And who gives to the givers?
Crossing the world,
Breathing the dust,
Calming the spirit,
Braving the heat,
Being the peace,
Steeling the jaw,
Facing the dark,
And smiling?
Spread yourself beyond your skin
And bleed, marvelously, into your fingertips.
Let the emptiness satisfy you,
Coming to gather in your chest and let it
rest, rest, and ache and rest -
The culmination of your joy and peace
Now in the hands of others.
But.
The world is better now,
And you're alone in your car
On a highway fringed with wildflowers
And the grasshoppers explode
A
Deviation Spotlight
Think Me by phoenixmemory, literature
Literature
Think Me
Think me cold,
innocent soldier,
To deny you
a compassionate voice,
To cast you off
as a surgeon
washing her hands.
Think me strange
not to ask you
What gunshot or siren
commands you abruptly
To abandon the call
Like a butcher
slitting a throat.
Think me hasty
to hate your war,
The one you fight
for me, for us,
To confirm an ideal
as a designer
painting in white.
Think me bold,
then, to beg you
Not to battle again
and leave me helpless
To hold my breath
Like a child
watching her pet
chase a butterfly
Artist // Hobbyist // Literature
- Mar 5
- United States
- Deviant for 19 years
- She / Her
Badges
Favourite Visual Artist
God
Tools of the Trade
Pen, Wordprocessor, Shabby notebook... And the little birdie that tells me my secrets.
Other Interests
Trying new things, risk taking, learning about the world, Wondering, Watching, Being
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Thank you for collecting <3
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