ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
We saw a crane. Its dipping beak broke through
the brush of cattail stalks, and bent the slip
of waves on weeds; of waves on sprawling blooms
that rose against the swell, then fell. The limp
of fungus-dusted foam flowed after it.
We saw the arching flash of murdered fish
its sun-caught scales a pierce of flame new-lit
with all of beauty we could ever wish.
You waded in the algae-green that grew
on every scrap of shore. You sloughed thick mud
beneath your feet, and let frayed roots crawl through
each step—and you kept moving towards the blood.
I know we are not water-birds, but I
seeing you striving there, dreamed you could fly.
the brush of cattail stalks, and bent the slip
of waves on weeds; of waves on sprawling blooms
that rose against the swell, then fell. The limp
of fungus-dusted foam flowed after it.
We saw the arching flash of murdered fish
its sun-caught scales a pierce of flame new-lit
with all of beauty we could ever wish.
You waded in the algae-green that grew
on every scrap of shore. You sloughed thick mud
beneath your feet, and let frayed roots crawl through
each step—and you kept moving towards the blood.
I know we are not water-birds, but I
seeing you striving there, dreamed you could fly.
Literature
Spelling Counts
The line read:
"Fallow your heart",
I wondered what more there was to say.
Fallow your heart, leave it
empty and waiting for a season
so love can grow, nourished,
in a replenished, whole ground.
Fallow your heart so it does not become
Worn and barren with overuse.
The line read "fallow your heart",
but the poem, overworked,
meant only "follow".
Please remember that spelling counts.
Literature
The nature of inspiration
When was the last time
You heard the word 'erection' in poetry?
I think it was a while back
Between the pages
Of reform
And Odyssey.
I mean "humans" don't even play
Bogies anymore,
Or just rise to the thirteen year old tree-house
Inside us all
Where politeness is a foul facade
And we aren't afraid of our fingers.
No...
Instead
We prioritise the silhouettes
And forget
The way pressing pen into paper
Made us so
Steamy
And out of
Breath.
Inspiration isn't a pretty, pristine river...
It's magma
Flowing
With taboo,
Glowing
Like irradiated
Lemonade
And it's about time we became
Mutants too.
It's about time
We l
Literature
saudade
Last week, you showed up with the thunder on my doorstep.
Your voice was so drenched with the rain that I almost didn't recognize the way you said my name. It hung in the air like an incomplete sentence, like something unfamiliar, like you were so lost from trying to find everything we left behind and piece it back together that you couldn't find me in your heart anymore. It was pouring and the power was out and I was so tired of watching the world fall apart from outside my windows that I let you back inside my arms and inside my senses, and your bones were shaking as you clung to me and told me how good it felt to come back home.
There wa
Suggested Collections
And another sonnet. I will write other poems someday, but I'm in rather a sonnet mood. This one is a bit vaguer, perhaps, than some I typically write, so I'd especially appreciate critiques on it--even just what your impressions are, or what you take from it.
© 2015 - 2024 williamszm
Comments2
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I can imagine this scene somewhere in the Everglades or at my friend's place in South Carolina. I really like how dynamic this piece is, just like the crane it describes. The volta is in the couplet, and it's excellent, but I think that it's weirdly constructed: "but I/seeing you striving there, dreamed you could fly". The grammar there is really awkward...I suppose you could put a comma after "I", but the last line could be changed up a little bit.