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Cold at FourIs there a technical term for a harp maker?
If there isn't, it's you, as a body, that canine
Your name doesn't
ring right but it's what you do with it that counts:
I tumbled around it and never said it at the correct second, like the
cuboid-skulled choirgirl a note behind, loud and disgusting. A faulty
The banal usurping of my bookish tongue
came on quick.
I'm very sorry.
Everything scratched backwards and now my spine streams
from my throat, cursive handwriting.
Scored in your scalp:
the clicking of toes, falling asleep in the hands of metal men,
forgotten criminality, barbed wire telephones -.
you look like so many faces -
for all I know you don't exist except in broken chairs.
The Maritodespotic PathI am naked beneath my coat of armour.
I woke and thought it was the sickness
I'd had before - my lips had never burned
The ghost of your dog came to me
last night, while I dreamed;
it burst into grey dust and
told me my bulimic piano solos were beautiful.
Dancing under the pregnant sky,
a waning gibbous belly crowned
with violet cloth,
I converse with the moon -
deep, dark French.
I love to speak
to hunted rabbits
and unlit trees.
WitchMy belletrist, little hunched cardigan-drenched
finch, he says, Mess, blooded with French shores and burned cakes,
don't you come to my hand anymore,
crying poppies from sallow ducts, my tiny soil-saviour?
- he touches his own ass-ears with his spiked teeth
and pets me 'til I'm salmon, sunset -
Sleep in my bed, stocky moth,
cease your painting, beetle queen, queenly slut,
turned frizzy in the process of sharpening the sea,
mouth your watercolours and hose down the wall
- I am ill of him, his eating
makes me a murderer -
Newborn kettle-coffee throws a kiss
and our son climbs my sullen thighs;
I doubt we will fall out of love,
the spiders we are.
The WoodsThey were shaped like humans, humans with rat-tail hair or weeping willow spines or long hungry feet, and they danced around her, carried on her fearful imagination. She could taste their wicked delight and she cried, paralysed as they fed upon the chilled currents of winter walks. The little wolves spun up her ankles and took on her thighs; nothing left unexplored for them or her, a vicious loving in the trees. She met the thick loam with her knees and stayed upright, her hollowed body becoming the only memory anyone might ever have of her.
These are the woods where the children come to die. These are the shadows where grey-faced sleep waits, never speaking, never turning. The children fall into the grim peace and no one can follow their red toes into the shroud.
Vulva SongThe curtains are never drawn in the spare room.
Why aren't you coming, why aren't you sitting on the edge of the bath keeping watch right through me?
I feel the carpet and soak up every silent look, store them under my toenails, and I miss you. You exploded,
the bees in the lavender bush are all that's left of you.
Articulated PointsOne year after I met you -
Ill, stricken, your chocolate orange lies
castling across my joints,
I break concave dandelion, seeds
splashing under my gambling shoes.
One year, one month -
They may lay their hides over your favourite
city garden walks, might leave hopeful lip prints
on the glass in your sturdy museum holidays, spit
love-letter typefaces down their ankles or hum in the grey
cold to stay awake for surgery,
and I will coagulate with my dresses,
nightblind insightslover let me quiver out my phase
and swallow flack
like darling terraforms.
that misplow the verges
with eve-run clamor.
hand in hair
and tongue unchecked prodding
from riverbed to soft canal.
bit lip stammer
rubbing rushes in time
and my cheeks flush and rival
Secret LoveSecret love
For the time declared
That the royal were the Heaven sent
Then no mere mortal could touch
Let alone look upon the face
So the lady served in Ur
Yet every night she lay alone
And dreamed of a secret love
Still many nights passed by
But she could only dream
One eve toward the date of her birth
The lady heard of one man
Bold and proud in his heart
She was certain he could share
She disguised as a common woman then
And rushed to meet him in the grove
They searched for a secret spot
Therein they looked into each other's eyes
And vowed to love until they died
It has been long years
But we remember, she and I
We meet again like before
To resume our tender secret love
There are moments when we need only silence
When neither I compose verse nor we listen to music
Anyone lost deep and not caring to be found
Will know the wherefore and the why
His words of devotion are my poetry
Her voice and sighs of delight are my music
That is all we need
We are deep
Lost and happy to be lost
Poetry and music
To each other
Lament kruchego spaczeniaZatonąć w głębokich oczach,
Ciemnych duszy przezroczach,
Nie ujrzeć przenigdy dnia.
Chłonąć ciepło jej ciała,
Istotę radości, gdy cała
W cichych oddechach drga.
Sycić się ust jej ruchem
Gdy rozmownym rozlewa się duchem
W poezji swych jasnych myśli.
Czynić lepszym każdy jej dzień,
Przeganiać z twarzy ten cień,
Co w smutku czasem sens wyśni.
Karmić się jej widokiem,
Poić codziennie tym słodkim sokiem,
Słowa z warg jej spijać.
Być jej oddanym i wiernym,
Na głos czekać bez przerwy
I uśmiech co nie przemija.
Leżeć na trawie miękkiej
I delektować się dźwiękiem
Obu tętniących serc.
I nucić tylko jej imię,
I widzieć, że Słońce ginie,
I odsunąć od siebie śmierć.
NaphthaDu bist der verwunschene Wald,
Die verbotenen Früchte, die sich meinem Griff entziehen,
Die Magie im Bannkreis, der Nektar der Insektenfalle,
Der Starkstrommagnet ohne Erdung,
Die Verdammnis hinter dem Schwarzschildradius.
Ich bin die Apokalypse,
Wilde Entschlossenheit, Fatalität und vollkommene Vernichtung.
Luzifer und Nemesis, Prometheus und Pandora.
Eiskalt leere ich Naphtha über die Rosen,
über die Wiesen, über die Felder,
über die Sträucher, über die Wälder,
über die Steppe, über die Ranken,
über die Pforten, über die Schranken.
Mit Augen sprühend vor Kriegslust fixiere ich deinen Blick,
zücke ein Streichholz, gleite über die Reibefläche mit dem roten Phosphor,
halte es vor deine Nase, lecke mir über die Lippen
und lasse es nonchalant fallen.
Der Untergrund fängt Feuer, eine Stichflamme schießt empor.
Rund um uns lodert alles lichterloh.
Das Feuer spiegelt sich in deinen Augen,
For A Thousand YearsSomething lept inside me
when I heard your name.
I thought I'd forgotten that sweet, sweet sound.
It feels like decades ago
we wandered in our own direction,
hoping we would find each other
after we found ourselves.
None of what was broken then
is broken now
all of those cracked
we threw away a long time ago
and accepted what they were,
and only what they were;
shards of glass.
There was some beauty
but not enough to collect,
and keep for ourselves.
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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