|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
HelenaFlames cross the horizon on stilts of cast iron. Hot winds gust from seams in the earth. An old man babbles about salvation. There is no business here. No dreams. No illusions. What was is long lost and the remnants are not memories, they are daggers through the soul.
Repentance is for the weak, I said. Well, the old girl is sure to bleed my resolve.
Late to the PartyAt quarter-past one AM, dispatch sent me a noise complaint in Somerton Tower, a ritzy place four blocks south of Granville Street. Every so often I'd receive this sort of call, and head up to some obnoxious cocktail party attended by thirty or forty upper class men and women listening to pounding electronic music. This one was different though; there was some suspicion of domestic violence.
I pulled up to the sidewalk out front and hopped out of my cruiser. It was Friday night--little packs of young people stumbled along on their way to the bars and nightclubs of Granville, or to underground shows to see some of the hundreds of death metal bands. Most of them became instantly nervous around the sight of white and blue, and even more so when the red stripes on my pants told them I was RCMP.
They weren't in any danger. A cop in Vancouver who wants to bust everyone with more than an ounce of weed in their pocket or a couple ecstasy tablets is a very, very busy fool. I craned my head to lo
The Day of the Falling SkySand fell through the earth, invisible and intangible. In every corner of the world, confused and uneasy people listened to its strange sound, like white noise on a television cranked up just a little too loud. Very few of us understood what this heralded: the vanguard of our new masters was near, and humanity was soon to suffer the agony of enslavement under crazed despots. I had to spare my wife and son the misery.
When I first heard the Sand, my team was in Hawaii, scouring a beach covered in a strange sort of mass suicide: thousands of dolphins and sharks had washed up on the shore days earlier. Voluntarily, in a mass migration we had surveyed from above as it happened, without concern for the prey they passed up, the creatures of the deep sea threw themselves onto dry land and died. I was walking alongside an associate, Dr. Ehlers, both of us clad in MOPP suits, carrying cases of tissue samples.
For a little over a year, we had known what was coming. They spoke to us, They spoke t
Neither Death Nor Reincarnation Can Destroy LoveWith morning comes dread. Once again, I open my eyes and find I am still trapped in this small body, my hearth and home a mere black pit at the heart of an oak tree. I unfurl from my own bushy tail and clamber out of my nest of twigs and refuse, and creep to the opening through which the sun pours its taunting light.
I must go on. This I tell myself every day when I scan the skies in fear of a bird of prey. I must go on, for Clara and the boys. They have no idea, of course. It would be an absurd tale even if I could vocalize it for them: their husband and father, reincarnated in the body of a rodent with all memories of his past life intact. I must go on, so that I may help them in some small way, but I can never again know Clara's warm embrace or the joy one of my jokes gives to the kids.
I zip down the tree and onto open ground. Look left and right; nothing has spotted me, but the neighborhood tomcat always lurks through these parts before noon. Clara is getting the boys ready for an
Duel on Tsymenadae-7Yuri locked his eyes to the creature's sensory bulbs. It couldn't make any facial expressions he could truly comprehend, but the second it scuttled out from behind the chipped shale and into brilliant purple daylight, he knew there was only one way this first contact was going to end. He darted his eyes to the neon map in the corner of his helmet visor: everyone else was backing slowly toward the ship.
This monstrous little alien shimmied its weight a little closer, a little further into the open, and it slid one of its pseudo-pseudopods into the sleeve of what could only be a disintegrator. Yuri's hand hovered over his own, strapped to his leg. What he wouldn't give for a personalized spatial distortion field! If only the new equipment had actually arrived before they were sent to this godforsaken chasm of savage space!
Gradually, the human slowed his breathing. He needed a steady hand; if he drew too quickly he'd miss by a mile, and there was no way of knowing how accurate a bolt fro
Pants Down and Red HandedGrandpa built an owl, with analog clocks for eyes, that smoked a real pipe and hooted when spoken to, and spun its head around entirely to amuse myself and the other grandchildren. At night it would guard the chickens from weasels and the cats from coyotes. A trained owl wouldn't have been as good because real owls don't smoke pipes or tell the time or fire little plastic rockets from under their feathers.
One night, when I was on grandpa's farm and all the adults were asleep, I snuck out to meet a girl. I was fifteen at the time, which I suppose meant the owl had been around for about four years, and something of a trouble maker. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the girl I for whom I risked the next month's privileges. I do recall that she was stunningly beautiful, a short redhead with steel gray eyes and larger breasts than anyone else in our grade--a vital part of the body for the uninitiated sophomore.
Grandpa's owl followed me, though I didn't know it at first. It m
Cashbox-Part OneOn a hot and muggy, gray day, the brutish kings of the docks dragged Murray Fisk from his cell and into the square where all trials and executions took place. Weeks spent in a cellar, flogged periodically by the monstrous mountain of a man who presently shoved him forward, rendered him a gaunt and grimy, bearded figure. His hair was matted, greasy and tangled with dried blood, a far cry from his well-fed, Mohawked guard.
A boot to the back of one knee told him where to kneel and so he did, collapsing onto his knees before a small crowd of raggedy dock-dwellers. Most of them were hardly any better looking than he; only the rich fishermen, who had the few boats seaworthy enough to leave the bay, lived in anything better than squalor. He'd been deafened in the left ear from a heavy blow, but Murray recognized quickly the voice of Luis Dominguez, ruler of the docks, as he approached from behind.
"What you see before you is a dead criminal." He stepped past Murray and turned on his heel to
Unconventional Love StoryA ring of men, women, and children stood around the crater, police officers struggling to keep the order while others could barely push back against the crowd enough to keep themselves from falling in the pit. Burrowed ten feet into the earth beneath Times Square, the softly pulsing blue pod hummed and split, and the folds were pushed back by turquoise hands with four digits each--two fingers, two thumbs.
The creature that emerged stifled all the chatter throughout the square. Thousands of people, from those who stood looking down to those blocks away watching the video feed on their phones and the electronic billboards, all fell absolutely silent. For the thing that emerged was only a few steps removed from a human being: it was a tall, muscular creature, clothed in a loose-fitting white uniform, seemingly made of wool. It, or rather he, gazed up at the open-mouthed civilians above, and rose to his full height of eight feet, six inches.
A police officer drew his pistol but was quickly
First Grave on TerratuWhen he came to Terratu (named after a fictional planet in an old Ted Sturgeon story, meaning "Terra Two" as well as "Terra, Too"), Clancy Konrad was not a young man. He was forty-three, a lean fellow who had only recently swapped his potbelly for some true muscle mass for the mission. His job was chronicler, the modern version of a bard, for he was a writer of science fiction on earth and it seemed fitting that he get a place on the first interstellar voyage.
He was in the first wave of people to populate that primordial world, with its vast, empty oceans and landmasses bereft of life. He lived in Prefab One, which today sits at the center of a small city of prefabricated homes, surrounded on all sides by fields of grass and flowers that took happily to the nitrogen-rich soil and carbon dioxide atmosphere. While now the gilded domes are the norm for the populace, Prefab One was a small trailer he shared with five other men and women.
When the first rotation was switched out, Clancy de
Our Wings Flutter And SingOur Wings Flutter And Sing
my feet graze texas plains
southern currents hitting my back
and my body is left
as my soul follows what feels right.
my arms spread wide,
eyes closed and
i let the thought take me away.
i love this cliche
because i have wings with you.
i can fly because of you.
and no matter how many times
i scribble your name as a title of this poem,
i can never mutter it enough
because i’m addicted
to how it rolls off my tongue.
i miss you when i wake up,
when i sleep, when i dream,
because at least there
i wave in the morning
and kiss you through the night.
even departures there feels like
i’m leaving my home
to return to my house.
i think of you first and last,.
of your yawn and laugh,
how you scrunch your nose
and your little grin
even when you try to refuse it.
and i know you hate smiling in pictures,
but i make it my mission
to make you smile as much as possible.
i love how you keep your hair to one side
with the part in the middle.
i love how the l
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
if we were to never speak again.In silence absolute
I almost forgot you,
I almost remembered to forget
you, lonely afternoon
of naked breath,
the softness of sunset
as it rakes along my skin.
The nonchalance of the sky
almost unbearably falters
an outbreak of tears
weigh down my hair
memory of your touch,
memory of your heart,
eyes blinking through the rain
glimpses of turquoise-
blue souls dancing, but
not quite entwined.
claws into my brows,
furrows the flesh
rivulets of thought
that tear through my nervous system
cellular tinnitus, reverberations
in my spinal column,
raising mountains from
my body, darklight clouds
ghosting in the peripheries
of my vision
memory of your touch,
memory of your heart,
a lyrical tattoo
of ripened countryside
a vibrant concerto
washed between us
tidal colour drowning,
from your sweet humour
to my aching sternum
the cliffs fall away
and autumn breaks in upon us,
auburn sorrows of light
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
I Write to a Lover Who Doesn't ExistYou must've noticed how I was left bleeding
Because all you could do was stare
At me with those gemstones you call eyes.
We danced around bookshelves in the mystery section
Pretending not to notice each other
And ignoring the fact that our eyes kept meeting.
I wonder now that if we'd danced in the romance section
Would we have still ignored that part of ourselves?
And after all, aren't mysteries ment to be solved?
You must wash your hair with sunflower petals and pomegranate seeds
Because your aroma is that of a goddess
And I was attracted to you as quickly
As if you had called my name.
Would you call my name?
And would you say yours as well
Because although I have a feeling you go by Aphrodite,
We have not yet acquainted ourselves.
BellsNote how we've never really touched,
how only our elbows grazed each other in the darkened theatre.
No intentions, never;
only accidentals that skewered the phrase.
But darling, if I have ever not craved your chewed down fingernails grazing my cheek,
the memory has been long lost in a time of happier melodies.
lukedon't leave me again;
the seasons flutter by with
the blink of spider web eyelashes
twirled around the pieces of
my decaying heart, molded
and renewed with the dawn
of your spring palms.
my senses spark in a
drunken flood of desire;
i refuse to wash away
our finger-painted memories
into the grasping swallow of
an atlantic undertow, but
the stale taste of vodka
sleeps under my palette.
you don't arc your silver
tongue to sip my salted
gums or latch your fists
into bird's nest tangled curls
--anymore, and the shivers
of shadows spin down my
splintered spine, the snap
of a twig between your
i'm alone; your cosmic dreams
and galactic eroticism treads
underneath another damsel's
breast, an arrow to her heart.
I wallow, naked and discarded,
drinking and drowning in the
alcoholic buzz of your sweat
on my tongue, all along knowing
you and i will never love again.
Make me a soulMake me a soul next to yours,
Make it small so you can hold it in your hands,
Make it blue like in the morning to wake up in you,
Make it strong to cry in silence when you've gone.
Make me a heart as big as the sun,
Make it warm, make it good,
Good to love, good to give, good to pray,
Make it beat for us, for you, for God.
Make me hands to feel,
Make them pure to touch,
Make them soft to caress,
Make them hard to live.
Make me a voice to sing your beauty,
Make it calm when you fall,
Make it sweet when you're mad,
Make it say 'I need you'.
Make me eyes to see you when you're working,
Even if you don't notice me.
Make them big so you can see yourself in them,
Make them deep so they'll be your refuge.
Take my whole existence and seal it with a kiss,
But make me lips to know you love me.
Make me love to know I live.
Make me know that I can dream.
Make me a soul, please.
Make me yours.
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More