|Poetry, prose, and photos.|
WebDon’t you hear that?Web by TalkativeMute
The whisper of the leaves and the hush among the trees?
Near silence: but you hear the heartbeat.
And can’t you feel
That your bones are made of ivy?
Don’t you know?
That you’re rooted to this place in an ancient kind of way?
You know you breathe with the cedar trees
In perfect synchronicity.
You know you feel the presence of the pines,
The web of the forest’s mind,
The silver threads of the slowed-down time.
Because you know you’re made of sunlight.
Here you’re lost and found and there is no hollow sound.
You learned the language they speak here,
Through pure intuition.
The evergreens are not just a home:
You know that this is where you’re from.
You know that this is where it’s quiet.
DustThis desert is a lonesome placeDust by TalkativeMute
No one walks here anymore
There used to be a traveler
Who wandered these shattered stones
He sang to the birds
And cried to the rain
But his salvation never came
The silence is a cold that kills
Those footsteps are no more
And never does the stillness break
Now that the traveler’s been turned to bones
He fell to his knees
A final plea
And the singing of the birds is gone
Flickeringthe forever hush of december airFlickering by TalkativeMute
a choir of doves weaves flowers through my hair
and the softness of silence still and alone
the hush of the soul right down to the bone
the words of a poet on the back of my eyes
droplets of ink slowly blot out the skies
and the whisper of stillness fresh and alive
when your body is weak but your essences survives
the faeries of summer can build my bones up
binding the sinews with honey from a golden cup
and the forest of demons traps lives in his hands
the lights flicker out and darken these lands
Ink and DiamondsWe used to go down to the lake. The lake of inky water with a surface that shimmered at dawn and glittered at dusk, like a pit of tar covered in crushed diamonds. We tread with careful paces; the bare soles of our feet snapping twigs. Standing in the deep and dark that surrounds me, but does not swallow me, that's when I can finally breathe. Breath like a cedar tree, deep and airy from paper bag lungs in a rib-cage of ivy. If roots could grow from my skin and burrow into the loose sand of this lake I would never leave, and I would never be alone.Ink and Diamonds by TalkativeMute
We used to sing with the birds. Voices like clocks and golden cellos. We were like a symphony, off key and blind to those who sit and stare at the sea like it's something marvelous instead of something cold and hungry for courage. They ignored us, and it was beautiful to be ignored. With words in ancient languages that only children know, with syllables that sound like the creation and destruction of worlds with a single sound. And the drumbea
|Poetry, prose, and photos.|
space hungeri took the moon hostagescheherazades
(i took the moon home)
sundered in lungsent young debts, sunsets
pale heart, failed start, stale art, endless
that strange sanctity in self-destruction
a holiness, a southbound train
in cracking, vasodilated veins
this moon says, my pixel resolution
is dimming, i strain so vast to see you.
this moon says, these mountains are
more effort than it is worth to be you.
this moon says, i want so badly
to be young again, muscled and vivid.
a trace, a space for a dead bird pallid
in a dead box. heartwood, not breathing.
i used to know a boy. that's
the end of the story. or: i used to
know a moon, and now she is
a girl. i told her, it's safe here, and she
believed me right up until they
sliced her up for moondust
and factory (reset). let's start
again, let's try these new tides.
let's not keep these tired eyes.
let's embrace our fumbled sides,
stop slipping out of our skins
when we go to sleep. let's up
that pixel resolution, love. let's
leave this ritual burning, love.
Snow Globeshe says, come live with me in my snow globe.GuinevereToGwen
an apartment has opened up across the street.
the bats won’t mind; they keep to themselves.
I’ll whistle through my open window every morning,
and you’ll wave from your balcony.
she says, there’s a sailboat with our names painted on the side.
biology demands a writer to accompany this soulless seascape.
the deck is splattered with bird shit, yes,
but the sky is our favourite winter-white,
and how lonely can a year at sea
be, with you for company?
she says, I would miss you if you killed yourself.
this cracked pavement wasn’t meant to house
hollow bones like your own.
I say, kiss me.
she says, not yet, not yet.
I'm a reader. I'm a writer. I'm a nerd. |
Nerdy Stuff I love:
-Books. Just books in general.
-Also, writing. I'm currently editing my third novel.
-Archery, my sport of choice and the nerdiest sports could ever get.
I know that I have been very inactive on DeviantArt in the past two years. I used to share all my writing here, and even some photography. However, as I have grown up I have stopped writing poems and short stories and now write novels instead. Writing is my passion and always will be, being a writer is my dream. However, the kind of writing I do now is not the kind I want to share on DeviantArt. I'm sorry for abandoning this site, I simply left the genres of poetry and short stories behind and have now started putting all my time into novels. Maybe some day I will make a reappearance here, but for now I'm trying to become the best novelist I can possibly be with the hope of someday being published. Thanks for everyone who ever said a kind word about my work here on this site, you are the people who encouraged me to become the writer I am today.