ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The Texas winter mocks
with dust instead of snow
and bare mesquite to testify with thorns
against a shred of weakness.
The Texas winter gusts
fiercely from the south -
grit on lips, in eyes, on tongues that wonder
where the deer drink.
The Texas winter sinks
in rust and blood and peaches
beneath the horizon. Sweetly, sweetly,
she sips the clouds.
The Texas winter clothes herself in cicada song,
and all the stars applaud.
with dust instead of snow
and bare mesquite to testify with thorns
against a shred of weakness.
The Texas winter gusts
fiercely from the south -
grit on lips, in eyes, on tongues that wonder
where the deer drink.
The Texas winter sinks
in rust and blood and peaches
beneath the horizon. Sweetly, sweetly,
she sips the clouds.
The Texas winter clothes herself in cicada song,
and all the stars applaud.
Literature
Capricious
Words have become
tasteless to me,
I'm afraid—
like rotten apples
fit for the worms.
Quite frankly,
it feels as
though I am
dancing without
glass slippers;
pirouetting my way through
a ballroom full of
tongues made for poetry.
Where's a
wicked witch when
you need one?
All I seem to do is
dream while I'm awake and,
if we're being honest,
I was never much of an alluring tale
in the first place.
Literature
The Pirate Solstice
The Pirate Solstice:
There is tale around the Galbin Coast,
Of a black ship that appeared on the Winter Solstice.
It arrived at a town near Bismarch,
Struck heavily by famine and crop plagues.
The ship drifted silently upon the ocean currents,
Not a creak nor groan could be heard from its frame.
It docked at the port like an ominous reaper's vessel;
A metallic boarding ramp - much like a daemon's tongue -
Slithered slowly from its deck to meet with wooden jetty.
The crew descended, wearing black cloaks and black hats,
Fedoras, I believe they were called.
These figures made little noise as they moved,
walking slowly, silently and
Literature
Night Of Revelation.
I dig my fingers into the dirt
as I feel you upon me.
And I wish you would feel
what I've been trying to
suppress.
And maybe you do, deep down,
but you're scared that even you
can make mistakes.
And well, if you don't then this is all
one huge fucking mistake.
But all is full of love when rose petals are
covering your eyes and
wine is overflowing your bloodstream.
I feel so much and yet nothing at all
because this is an illusion -
you've changed or perhaps I have but
your lips don't taste the same and
your gasps sound simply reckless.
Yet I just wanted to hold you in my arms
to make her scent fade away and
to show you that
darling, you've
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
These Texas pieces almost seem to be becoming a series.
The previous two were written with West Texas in mind - specifically, the Abilene / San Angelo / Ballinger / Paint Rock area.
This one is for South Texas, somewhere between Raymondville and George West.
The previous two were written with West Texas in mind - specifically, the Abilene / San Angelo / Ballinger / Paint Rock area.
This one is for South Texas, somewhere between Raymondville and George West.
Indian SummerThe Texas autumn froths
in shades of taupe and cinnamon
and lemon-scented yucca blooms -
waxen belles amid the spikes,
thickets of Jumano spears.
The Texas autumn ravages
the sunscorched clay with burning winds
that chew the live oaks all to shreds
and turn mesquites to kindling.
Wildfire breath.
The Texas autumn ticks along
in desiccated deer
yearning for a sip of winter
to ease their cracking riverbeds.
The Texas autumn flows
in rivers of molten tar
along the curbs, beneath the cars,
inexorable.
The Texas autumn breathes hard
like a woman in labor
and clings to the sun
with gifts of fiery fiddle strings
and a prayer f
Autumn RainsThe Texas autumn, breached,
pours forth cathartic drops,
an ecstasy of tears
to cleanse her dusty eyes of the agonizing fall.
The brow of Texas boils
in cloudy greys and thunder
amid coyote calls electric
down the city-slicker's spine
dropping low.
The breath of Texas chills -
a saw-blade through the heat -
and screams the cloud stampede
across the hills.
The voice of Texas condescends
to whisper in the huisatch
and whistle in the Spanish daggers
sparring with the mockingbird
to sing before she roars.
The mercy of Texas
is no relief -
this wild trickster goddess burns
then drowns.
© 2012 - 2024 QuiEstInLiteris
Comments40
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
The last image is really pretty!