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Literature
Sonnet 21- The Road
You see the road that lies outside your door?
Somewhere along that road you'll find my home,
so start on it, and make each footstep sure
until you reach its end. You'll walk alone
because, alas, we all tread different ways
and walk too brief a time with friends, who must
depart when paths diverge. But friendship stays
with you until you meet again, so trust
that you'll find me, although you'll face some hills
whose fists will block your way with all their might,
and woodlands thick wherein no light can fill.
How will you know the path you tread is right?
Feel the wind behind your back and trust
its breath- it's mine, that guides with every gust.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
Stained
The dove wears plumes of purest white
a sign of God-graced innocence
and all that see him bow in reverence
as God's great herald soars skywards in flight.
The dove falls earthbound as it rains.
Now washed in man's indecency,
who dared to dream he was more than he seems,
it's grey and blue- the white was just a stain.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
Friendship
God did not make life's road straight;
he made it twist and turn, with trees
whose overgrowing limbs will make
your path sometimes quite hard to see.
So yes, you may well get some cuts,
some bruises and some bumps for sure.
Some downs of course, but also ups;
thrills and spills and much, much more.
When they'll come we never know
but friends are there through highs and lows,
so remember: what will be will be,
and our friendship is a sheltering tree.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 2 0
Literature
Flower and the Willow Tree- a children's poem
Flower sat by the river, thinking
“I wish I was tall-
as tall as all those willow trees-
I’d be bigger than them all”
So Flower bent towards the sun
and drank in all his rays
until she was near six feet tall,
but there she did not stay;
“I’ll be tall as willow trees
as beautiful and soft
as her hair that whispers sweet love songs,
no matter what the cost.”
So higher and higher Flower grew
until she was so high
her eyes made contact with the trees
but then Old Willow sighed:
“Dear Flower, you are so silly
to have grown unduly tall;
you’re a flower, not a willow tree
but now you’ve left them all.
Your stem’s too thin to hold you here
your leaves are all too frail
You’re sure to simply bend and break
during the next gail.”
And sure enough, when next it came
Flower simply snapped.
She wept for her lost fantasy
and the frame that she had lacked
Still, Willow tried to comfort her
and said: “It’s all ok-
you
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 2 0
Literature
Raven II
He stands like men before
upon the edge and counts his breath
One- like men before who held their own
whilst greedy hearts would beat beat beat
beneath their chests
to feel less cheated when the rest beat on
He stands and counts his breath
like men before upon the edge
Two- the raven beats its silent wings
spectates with rancid eyes
that tired of seeing dead men walk
a long long time ago
He stands with eyes closed tight
like men before with raven wings
that pulsed the air in time with their own hearts
Three- his body never hits the ground-
he’s lost, like men before
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 0 0
Literature
Ivy
The ivy creeps and crawls on bricks
and leaves the ground far far below,
for how could honeysuckles ever know
the value of the vine?
It splits and clambers on with ease
to smother all of House in green
and says “I’m the only one it seems,
who’s worthy of his walls.”
The trees all whisper nervously,
whilst hedgerows stand steadfast and claim
“Our House is not a climbing frame,
for He will surely die-
You see, his walls are crumbling down!”
but Ivy claims in jealousy;
“He’s mine!” because she only sees
the One she claims to love.
The crown of poisonous foliage
weighs down on him: House starts to choke
and cries “Alas, my walls have broke
why can’t you just let go?”
The hedge and bulbs and bushes all
shout loudly “Now He’s dead, we fear!”
but Ivy does not seem to hear,
for with her love to earth
she falls.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 3 3
Literature
Asteria
They thought your tears were falling stars
that landed with a crash
amongst the rocks they called their home
They thought his hands were
thunderclaps
a storm that forged the iron bands
to cast about your wrists
You fled into the night on wings
that rings could never bind
You dived and hid beneath the sea
so he could never tear your veil
They fear the thunder-angered voice
that murders every quail
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
*
Farewell, my lady night-
we lay no more in our celestial bed.
Goodnight, our Mother Moon-
my salutations unto you must end.
Adieu, oh silver stars-
your eyes can now no more discern my path.
Sun filled lands I must now tread
with roads forever on and on
that twist and turn beneath my feet.
Cobbled teeth beneath my toes
that always tell me where to go
amongst the swaying wild grass fur
is where you cannot be.
And so farewell, my love-
tonight, when light of day has past,
I’ll see your shining face at last.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 2 3
Literature
Gazing
I looked into your eyes and lost
myself somewhere within your mind.
The twists and turns of silent words
form streets, from which I cannot find
my way back out. They echo round
this consciousness and throw shadows
upon the walls, and as you speak
they’re lying still, crouching low,
prepared to strike your deepest thoughts.
I take a sword and fight those beings
that dwell within your mind.
I whisper my own words
to show you your true self
and all the things I saw along those streets-
we slowly drive them out. Those fiends
will never hide your dreams
of love and happiness again.
I found the light returned
and I could see the way back out,
though I no longer could discern
the part of me that was myself
and which was you- I realised
I was not lost; I’ve found my own
place in your mind to call my home.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 0 0
Literature
Screever
I painted morals on the floor
for people passing by.
All day I’d toil upon the ground,
but all I’d have to show for them
were pennies for my thoughts,
but nothing more
One day my drawing was half done
when God pissed down
upon the stones
and mocked me whilst I watched
it sweep away my lines of chalk
and turned the pavement grey
My eyes in monochrome dismay
distinguished nothing in the world:
no blue of sky, no red of love,
no green of trees or black of night
no streams of stars or plains of grass
but black and white in all I passed.
I fell down in the dismal street
to weep at all I’d lost.
My tears were cold and blind
as they fell against my hands.
Blind I was with white hot passion
and envy green for what I’d lost:
those rosy lips and cheeks of hers
both filled with red desire for him
in whose brown eyes she’d lose herself.
The orange of the setting sun
and silver of the moon
that shone upon us all
was lost to all the world
Blind I was with all these thin
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
Music Lessons
Sing to me, my love
and I will teach you how to dance.
Give me a chance to show you how
to waltz- two three, one two three-
and sway with me into the night
that’s filled with candied chords and cadences
that rush straight to your head. Lose yourself
when you’ve been fed upon the food of love.
The sound will undulate within your ears
throughout your life and never cease
to rise and fall. The cantor’s piece is yours alone,
so sing to me tonight, and I
will teach you how to dance.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 6 1
Literature
My Son (I never said)
I’ve realised how much I miss
your smile every day
I’ve realised things never stay
the same as they once were
promise me you’ll come back home
and show you’ve grown to be a man
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 0 0
Literature
Inside
Shattered windows speak
with howling voices, crying
in the staircases
Climb, and see what’s in my mind
be afraid of what you find
With howling voices
they’re screaming from the rooftop
of their hollowness,
fearing what they cannot see
hoping I can set them free
They’re screaming to you
but glass eyes hide their faces
See through plastic smiles
Scratch the eyes out from their holes
give them back the life I stole
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
Sonnet 20- The Long Way Home
I took the long way home today, my friend,
the way we used to walk back home, and sat
down on our bench. I gazed where the path bends
to hide behind the trees. Remember back
to when we shared my coat? It was a cold
and bitter dusk as we recalled the day’s
events- its pains, some love... those words I hold
within my heart still to this day. The way
I walk back home today is different
from before. The trees are overgrown
and shade the path. The time we spent
together now is left for me alone.
I carved our names into the bench and left
our memories to sit there, there to rest.
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0
Literature
Nesting
They stitch the bed with hummingbirds
                and the loved ones make their nest
beneath the sheets. They whisper words
                from hearts that beat as one.
                                               
Summer birds will sing and trill
                although the thrill of spring has gone-
branches dry and stitches fray. They lay there, still
                and feel the heartbeat slow
 
It’s time we go, the loved ones think,
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 2 3
Literature
Valediction to my Son
Farewell, sweet child, the one I lost so young
who grew to be a man before his time.
Farewell to all the carols we have sung
at Christmas times, and all those little rhymes
I used to write to make you laugh. I’ve hung
the photos on the wall and pray that you’ll be fine,
although I know you will. Too long I’ve clung
to you, but you were never really mine
:iconRationalist-v-Artist:Rationalist-v-Artist
:iconrationalist-v-artist:Rationalist-v-Artist 1 0

Favourites

Mature content
All Truths :iconglossolalias:glossolalias 155 200
Mature content
brothel :iconcristinewakesuphappy:cristinewakesuphappy 14 38
Literature
hyperdontia
sometimes it feels as if
I have too many milk teeth,
too many parts of me that belong
to a time when I climbed trees to touch the sky
and I swam in sunflowers
and fireflies -
to a time I have long since
painted in sepia tones,
long since pushed
to the back of my mind
with hands so tired
of being filled with splinters
- too many seeds
and not enough light.
there are too many parts of me
that I have placed underneath pillows,
that I have kept behind closed lashes,
that I have slept upon, waiting
for the morning to arrive and them
to be g o n e ,
replaced with coins that I could place
underneath the tongues of the dreams
that I could not ferry to my
frail realities.
but in the morning, they return -
one by one into my mouth,
daring me to speak them,
daring me to sing,
daring me to find someone who will listen.
         listen.
it feels as if
I have too many stories,
too many secrets,
too many sins and not enough space
for the words to fly out of my mouth
and into the world -
I have
:iconneonsquiggle:neonsquiggle
:iconneonsquiggle:neonsquiggle 35 25
Literature
Love Letters On the Train
Dear Stranger,
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
Dear Passenger,
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
:iconRosary0fSighs:Rosary0fSighs
:iconrosary0fsighs:Rosary0fSighs 691 379
Literature
The Key
While walking
And kicking up dust plumes
A glint sparkles below me
It is a key
I wipe off the grime
And see a heart flawlessly engraved
The edges jagged and worn
A blotch of rust here and there
This key withstood time
Proving its strength and worth
Somewhere in the world
An unknown chest holds
Unknown treasures
An unknown diary keeps
Unknown secrets
And unknown door opens to an
Unknown world
I polish the key
And pocket my little mystery
:iconUkeBug:UkeBug
:iconukebug:UkeBug 3 6
Literature
Rhapsody In Zero Gravity
Is deep space silent?
Amid the revolving spheres.
In perpetual night.
Or does God whisper?
Echoing across light-years vast.
Filling the void with song.
:iconBlacksand459:Blacksand459
:iconblacksand459:Blacksand459 18 28
Literature
My Love is Crystal
12.6.12
I want my love
to grow into my hands,
blooming like flowers,
reaching like vines
until it reaches you,
however far away.
I want it to hold you
in a way that I can't
and I want it to be
your closest friend
when your ghosts
stick closer than skin,
telling you that
you have to be alone.
Instead, my love
grows like crystals
in my chest and
leaves my breath
whistling a song.
:icontiajones:tiajones
:icontiajones:tiajones 6 10
Literature
Persephone
I fed her
pomegranate kisses
and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.
With cracks in my heart
and souls
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
:iconxthe-eleanorx:xthe-eleanorx
:iconxthe-eleanorx:xthe-eleanorx 89 39
Literature
The Giving
Today I think I will ask God
why it hurts so much to give birth
to a poem. And does it feel the same for men,
because it was women he cursed with this agony.
Is it the nature of a woman, or the nature of a poem?
I want it to slip out of me, slick with the mess of emotional
afterbirth, but it strains within me, words pushing up against
the patina of my skin, trapped inside, pelting my heart with language
like a storm inside. Sometimes I do not think this feeling belongs to anyone
but me, and sometimes I think everyone shares it, but they hide it better than me.
Are they all shuddering inside with pain, with hormones running haywire, shrieking demons
bellowing that this is not enough, there is more, there is always more, you must
push harder, scream, stretch yourself further, because there is more to it
and this is still not enough. Today I will ask God if he intended for
it to be this way, if he intended for the meaning to get stuck
within my gut, wired into my veins, if he meant for li
:iconClioStorm:ClioStorm
:iconcliostorm:ClioStorm 14 5
Literature
eighteen
Sometimes I think growing up
is like learning to drive:
it comes steady most of the time,
but then there's the stalling,
and the jerks and bumps,
and all the moments where you're
heading for a crash. Like,
there's that day when you wake up
and stretch in the morning and
suddenly you remember your first day
at school and how excited you were,
and then the way your hair was bobbed,
and you almost want to cry. Or there's
the moment when you realise that wishes
never come true the way you want them:
you can wish to fall in love but maybe
you forget to wish he loves you back,
and you're up all night, ink-stained
and exhausted. It's not easy.
But then again, maybe growing up
isn't like learning to drive at all.
Maybe it's just like living, with all
the stupid mistakes and heartache
and drunken poems and recklessness
that holds. And you remember yourself,
aged eight, and all you dreamed of then,
and you think, god, she would be disappointed.
It always takes a while to remember that
she is you
:iconClioStorm:ClioStorm
:iconcliostorm:ClioStorm 8 5
Bees by PixieCold Bees :iconpixiecold:PixieCold 4,369 393
Literature
August Rains
I would like to believe in 
                    August rains: in days where things
                                       matter and thunder
like wheels on a train & the sky is white-eyed,
     staring up past her own skin, long fingers braced
         around a curve, long toes straight
               pushing dimples in the dirt.
         Give me a fishing line and I will move the earth.
The seas are close to overflowing - 
       laughing gods pour gold into a warm bath.
There is no triumph in their hearts
       yet the trains move onwards, 
                                  rumbling.
Fish ou
:iconClioStorm:ClioStorm
:iconcliostorm:ClioStorm 12 10
Flower Fairy by Rachel369 Flower Fairy :iconrachel369:Rachel369 2 2 Hand with Scales by Rachel369 Hand with Scales :iconrachel369:Rachel369 0 0
Literature
Changes
Smile at what you've now become,
You're dancing to a newer drum.
You're standing tall, you've found your feet.
You're moving to a foreign beat.
A past forgotten now cascades
Through abandoned homes and old arcades.
Every street you've ever known
Is shaken through the skin and bone,
To the very elemental core.
A million feet to shake the floor
Because you never truly dance alone.
They're always down the telephone,
And they always start a dance with zeal.
It's the only way to really feel
The changes.
:iconKeironTonge:KeironTonge
:iconkeirontonge:KeironTonge 3 4

Critiques

Groups

Activity


Autumn Update: September 2013

Journal Entry: Fri Aug 30, 2013, 1:43 PM
  • Listening to: MCR- Planetary (GO!)
  • Reading: John Ruskin- The Lamp of Memory
  • Watching: Big School
  • Playing: with ideas
  • Eating: toast (getting ready for uni..!)
  • Drinking: lavender tea
Soooooooooooooooo........ remember me? I've been occupying an incredibly small space in all your deviantWATCH inboxes. I offer yet more apologies for not getting back into this wonderful world of art and fabulously talented people :(!

I have given up on transition between mental health services and am waiting to check in with the nutters' clinic at uni, who seem really lovely and I'm looking forward to meeting them all haha. So yes, I'm going to university in a few weeks and am busy trying to sort out where on earth I'm going to live for the next year (halls are reserved for priority candidates at the moment) but I shan't bore you with tedious detail- suffice to say it's all a headache right now XD! I am looking forward to it, because I know it'll be fantastic when I get there; stick with me whilst I get everything set up there!

As you can probably tell from my exuberant writing style currently, magnificent things are happening and things are changing very fast (though the majority of them are ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC changes to my life :heart:).

Anyways, I feel like it's been AGES since I've featured work! Here goes D: :

<da:thumb id="358831615"/>

PuffMonsta has written a very elegant, heartfelt poem. I could immediately hear the words performed; the stark reality of the words and cleverly positioned line breaks makes 'We Were Young' perfect as a performance poem.

BridgeAnd so today I pass away
from firesides where I've sat and smiled;
and so I go from road to road
from places where I was a child.
The leaves of gold have grown old
and summer light will fade away;
but here I lie beneath the sky
and live to face another day.
Beyond the road that I call home
another story waits for me;
with cherry trees, and silver leaves,
and books of living poetry.
Beside the sea a place will be
that waits for me to cherish it,
and as the sand runs through my hands
the night will never blemish it.
And so today I pass away
although my life is rooted here;
because this time my life is mine
and I must go and find it there.


ClioStorm's poetry is so wonderfully complex you can't help but be moved. Her gallery is filled with so many styles of writing I encourage everyone to look through it and learn as much from her as I have.

Keeping the features short for now, and hopefully in the coming months I can dedicate to some more critiques for you all. Until next time, happy deviousness!

Rationalist-v-Artist :dance:



Skin by the wonderfully talented Lydianime:

Journal History

deviantID

Rationalist-v-Artist's Profile Picture
Rationalist-v-Artist

Artist | Student | Varied
United Kingdom
When I was in Year 1 (about six years old), my teacher came over to my table. I desperately wanted to show her my work. It was a series of symmetric squiggles on a piece of A5 paper. I thought it was the best piece of art I'd ever done. The class went silent and she came over, took one look at it and tore it in two. She threw it onto my desk and carried on walking around.

For five more years, I never did another piece of art unless a teacher twisted my arm. Then in Year 7 (I was around 11) I had an equally nasty art teacher, who to this day I cannot think about without saying a prayer for her deliverance from her own ignorance. That was the second time a teacher had told me how terrible my art was, so I decided I would never do another piece of art ever again.

It was only until I had another teacher that my feelings for art changed. She encouraged me to explore different mediums, was always interested in my music and science and above all, she gave criticism that always made my work better. I decided then that I wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of my art.

As for all my poetry, I never understood why people desired to write, when they could find true answers through science. I was fourteen before I realised that the questions which truly meant something to me personally would never be able to be answered through science (on the contrary, science can only ever disprove someone else's claim). Poetry, whilst still never being able to answer fundamental questions about human life, can be like those friends: always here, and always saying the right thing at the right time.

All of this I feel is important for people to know for two reasons. 1) that you should never, under any circumstances, let people come between you and what you want to achieve in your life ( especially those people who will only throw slander, without any means of improvement). And 2) don't ever tell someone else they can't do what they want, and always help them if they ask for it.

All the deep, psychoanalytical stuff aside, I'm a music enthusiast, playing violin (and sort of piano) and dabbling in guitar, singing (choral- my voice doesn't blend with contemporary songs :(...) bodhrans and recorders. I'm fascinated by musical, philosophical and quantum theories. I love reading books of all kinds and have a great love for Shakespeare. I also love listening to people's life stories.

I live in the middle of England, next to a beautiful lake and not too far away from most of my closest friends, so I know I always have people there to rely on, and a place for inspiration and clearing my head.

So, all in all, I'm hoping to become a drug researcher (cures for psychosis or neurodegenerative diseases), who spends his private life writing poetry and books, and playing and singing music. Hence, Rationalist-v-Artist . If you've read all this about my life, then I think you have a similar interest in other people as I do. I don't find it creepy. Rather, I find it thrilling to know that there's someone like you out there who shares common ground with me. If you have any questions, academically or emotionally, send me a note. I'd love to help out.

Hey. Thanks for reading, and keep doing what you love. May peace be with you, and your faith guide you in life.
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconriseandbe:
RiseandBe Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Welcome to #PoeticalCondition!
We are happy to include you as one of our members and look forward to your contributions.
We hope to see you as an active part of our humble group.

Your Founder, RiseandBe
:iconpoeticalcondition:
Reply
:iconrationalist-v-artist:
Rationalist-v-Artist Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2012  Student General Artist
Thank you! I'm looking forward to reading the submitted poetry and the feedback :)
Reply
:iconflaminandfamous789:
flaminandfamous789 Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hello, and welcome to #YoungWritersUnite! :la: Thank you for joining! We are currently in need of co-founders and contributors, so if you are interested, please note either myself or the founder, ~Rainbowstar11. Also, we have several gallery folders, all of which are currently set to unlimited submission. So please feel free to spam us with your writing prowess. We would also appreciate it if you could tell your friends about the group, and point us in the direction of some great writing group affiliates. All help you give is appreciated and could make a huge difference in the success of this brand new group. Thank you! :)
Reply
:iconfred647:
Fred647 Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2012  Student Writer
hooray! i found another poet! :D
Reply
:iconrationalist-v-artist:
Rationalist-v-Artist Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2012  Student General Artist
Haha indeed. Send me a note if you ever want some feedback on anything in particular; I'm more than happy to help :)
Reply
:iconcliostorm:
ClioStorm Featured By Owner May 6, 2012  Student Writer
:iconsuperglompplz:
Reply
:iconrationalist-v-artist:
Rationalist-v-Artist Featured By Owner May 6, 2012  Student General Artist
Should I even consolidate this randomness with a response? Oh wait.......
Reply
:iconcliostorm:
ClioStorm Featured By Owner May 6, 2012  Student Writer
:poke:
Reply
:iconopiumxd:
OpiumxD Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thaanks :D
Reply
:iconrationalist-v-artist:
Rationalist-v-Artist Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2012  Student General Artist
You're most welcome :)
Reply
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