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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
December 24, 2008
The suggester says, "Lake Windermere by ~tangerinedreams utilizes concrete imagery in such an exceptional manner. It definitely tantalizes the reader's senses!"
Featured by lovetodeviate
Suggested by fllnthblnk
Literature Text
We are sometime tourists,
forever wanderers
in open topped buses
tie-dyed amongst Mercedes’.
Stringy haired,
smelling of campfire smoke,
our pockets filled with menthol cigarettes,
tin whistles,
and skipping stones.
We find ourselves
basking in the glow of laughter
under the dripdrip
of cave music.
Beers and sticky chocolate bars
fill our tattered canvas bags,
alongside leather flip flops,
discarded for bare footed expeditions
amongst spiders
bloodchilling streams
and daisy chains.
forever wanderers
in open topped buses
tie-dyed amongst Mercedes’.
Stringy haired,
smelling of campfire smoke,
our pockets filled with menthol cigarettes,
tin whistles,
and skipping stones.
We find ourselves
basking in the glow of laughter
under the dripdrip
of cave music.
Beers and sticky chocolate bars
fill our tattered canvas bags,
alongside leather flip flops,
discarded for bare footed expeditions
amongst spiders
bloodchilling streams
and daisy chains.
Literature
The Breath of God
I.
My bones have been like cabinets;
the hinges all dust, wood punctured.
Breathe, hope, stamina (the grains wheat enough to take on
absence, sweat, and nausea) were misplaced.
Their dearth rearranged my skeleton in certain places,
and I stuck out heresunk in there.
The nonexistence was pushy
bored with the fractures,
ignorant of setting the bone.
I was ignorant of setting the bone, too.
Mirrors were poor reflections,
wasted glass, unable to diagnose.
I was intact. It appeared
that way. The angles spoke of it
they expressed the wholeness of body. Sure they did.
They did.
II.
It spoke of other images, t
Literature
Scrutiny
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic prin
Literature
Biology
Biology
They didnt teach us anything important
in high school. I remember you,
negotiating with your back to the class
in those giant 80s glasses,
as the teacher took a break from his boys own stories
of pissing tigers
and Vietnamese cobras swaying in the tall grass
to expose himself: Being beautiful isnt enough
to get you through life,
sweetheart.
Now at his age, I sit in front of my laptop
at an upscale bar and lay you open
over a California roll, chicken tortilla soup, and coffee
with cream: It seemed like life would be easy
for you. Has it been?
You reply that you were in your twenties
before you started
Suggested Collections
Have just discovered this- I wrote it last year in the Lake District.
© 2008 - 2024 tangerinedreams
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