[x]

Grandmother Spider Bears the Weight of the SunDecember.
The solstice smells of wet soil.

A rising sea of dusk washes over her,
pressing on her mind
like her fingers press the lump of clay in her palm.
Grandmother keeps her hands busy,
forces nervous tremors into the small vessel
emerging like a snake
from the earth.

A bundle of flowers had held the sweat of her hands.
The trip to the hospital bore the scent of old leather,
worn bus seats
and lilies too long without water.
He'd been badly burned, they said.
His fingertips were flame-marked,
smooth and new-pink
when they came to change his bandages.

Grandmother flexes her parchment fingers.
Clay rims her wrinkled knuckles

Battlegrounds 3 Prologue“Dey say et’ll send da toughest boy mad… Dey say et’s cursed, dat no one ‘oo goes dere’ll come back da same. Dey say dem greyskins don’t need ta patrol et, coz dey knows it’s da one line us Orks aint crossin’ fer no wun. It’s da Grey Line. Stay da zog away from et if yer like bein’ da way ya iz.”

-Nazgro Ghurk, Ork ‘Ardboy.

Ork warcamp, half a mile North of the Grey Line.

Burning space debris breached the thick layer of toxic clouds, scattering across the sky like fireworks. It was a far too common sight for the Orks; what was left of the once great Greenskin warships would s

31:12N, 121:30Emy Dear i just noticed
my balcony is shaped
like wings

and the wind is billowing
the moon up, up to-night
in her dusty purple garb

and i think
no Dear i do not want
to leave here: where men

build bridges over oceans
and live inside of mountains
like river dragons

where the sun shines
not at all at noon but gleams
like an orange at sundown

where the moon walks home
surefooted to where my neck
cannot crane

Ode to an Unlovely TreeOde to an Unlovely Tree

You oversized stick-in-the-mud.
You unsightly tower of cellulose.
Joyce Kilmer's ode to treedom,
rote in public schoolers' heads,
wasn't a tribute to you.  Even
doggerel barks up other trunks.

If trees could be losers, you'd
be the biggest.  Whether you're a
white or green Ash, the emerald
borer will devour your wilting
foliage just the same, if the tent
caterpillars don't get you first.

A stool hewn from your lumber
would teeter on two legs.  A sail
boat would keel over; a porch
would dilapidate; a rocker would
roll into the grave.  An upended
coff

free verse poetryif you ask to see my god,
i will show you the trees;
like ancient grandfathers ,
bark and tree trunk removed
in time over sea-spells of
rain and mist and fog;

if you ask to see my prayers,
i will show you the rivers;
drenched in cool veins of the
deer and stag antler, broken
bridges in masses over which
muddy feet run;

if you ask to hear my psalms,
i will sing to you the songs of the birds;
in a voicebox similar to the
bruja who lives in the forest -
old and sacred, screaming to
the sky for wishes and bottles
full of messages;

and if there lives children in
the river rocks, their hair combed
of algae, faces wet with

Copperwater: with your face bent to a book. Your fingers have shingled around it, forming a steeple. Sometimes you find we turn into copperwater when we are not looking for it, our bones shiver down to water and russet, and a clamour of ripples travel on ourselves: are you unruffled underneath? Already, we are clumsy, for again, the ripples rush faraway to another set of bones, something rasps, and your bones creak in response, rattling with a sad firm sound. Our eyes are made of the deepest dreams that cause our eyelashes to sweep down. You find, you fear that there is a river in books, with sirens; there is a river goddess who shares her name with the

birthstones - senryu in my pocket
I press our birthstones together

On The PodiumThe art of conductivity
as the maestro explained,
is that the man with the baton

serves as a lightning rod,
earthing intuitions from god.

etch-a-sketch
he wrote his suicide note on an etch-a-sketch board.
elmo-red frame, golden paint drawing out the classy cursive logo, white bottle-cap knobs, and a fake digital screen.
a child's dream.

it took him six hours to revisit his childhood for the last time.
[it didn't take that long because he didn't know what to say, but because he wanted to finally do something right.]

he carefully turned each knob, forming darkened pixels into letters, letters into words, and words into spider-silk-thin sentences that would rip and fade, just as spider webs did.

his words faded a bit when you accidentally knocked it off his dresser so you could take it

and I still keep running into parked carsMama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you

Retrograde Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine.

I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands.

She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however.

Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the univ

MeanderingHardly a mountain, though on lowering days its head sits wreathed
By the mists of a passing front, aged and befogged as bygone elders
Doddering about – before there were names for the malaise
That hazed their thinking
And from this modest crown there slouched and sloped
A long shoulder, meandering down to meadows below
Pausing now and again to coddle a pleasant hollow
Casting a sloping pitch – enough to rush a torrent
After a sudden shower
Seldom pooling
Its glint and glimmer burble among the stones
To join a rill and plash and swirl and putter about a root
It's there I'm apt to wander

Not much of a path, hard passed a

The SculptorBefore he would have harvested a tree,
hacked off its limbs,
skinned it,
torn it from the earth,
shaved one by one its cells - its outer core,
until it was what he believed it was,

no more a tree.

Wiser, he walks deep in to the wood,
underneath a forest giant he stops,
looks up in to the leafy branches, sighs,
climbs and sheds his tears upon its boughs.

ForlornEmptied chest, a violent stare,
hollowed out and void of dreams;
buzzing of the neon glare -
wounded flesh with fissured seams.
All that's left are pausing spheres,
sickly scents and stiffened breeze;
shrieking waves of sawing gears -
weakened threads by known disease.
A breathless beat,
though breathless without ease.

HappyCan people explode from too much sunlight in their hearts?
Because
I'm starting to remember what it's like
to sing and smile and just not care if there are monsters and
crooked salesmen hiding under my bed
(Maybe they're just lonely)
Je ne regrette rien
Nope, I'm perfectly dandy and wild and
just so
alive
Will you look at yourself, dear?
Please, turn to that mirror there
and let's discuss
just how lovely you are, yes, you!
I think if everyone just stopped
and listened to a happy song
Oldies, especially everyday
We wouldn't have so many sad faces and eyes
turned to the ground
I just like seeing you smile
Is that selfish?
W

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The Window Seat

by *moyanII, Nov 5, 2011, 9:52:55 AM
Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

窓際の席

日本の旅はもう三回目だった。
今度シンガポールから上海向けの飛行機に乗った。そして、乗り換えで名古屋の中部国際空港へ行った。
面倒くさいなあ・・・たしかに。
でも、窓から眺めたと、見たことのなかった絶景が目に映った。
日本人たちさえ驚嘆した、
"すげー"　"きれいじゃない"　"すばらしいーー！"　

雲に雲山又山や日本奥
_{kumo ni kumo yama mata yama ya nihon oku}

This was the third time I travelled to Japan.
I took a plane that headed to Shanghai from Singapore. Then, I transited to go to Nagoya's Chuubu International Airport.
Too much trouble...indeed.
However, when I looked out from the window, I saw the most breathtaking scenery I've never seen before.
Even the Japanese on board were exclaiming.
"Wow..." "Isn't this beautiful..." "Amazing..."

Clouds in clouds
mountains upon mountains-
deep in Japan

The Window Seatby *moyanII

Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

i am making a very bold attempt here:
this is part one of a series of haibun (”篩われた言葉” furuwareta kotoba, "sifted words") that trails my two-week vacation in the heart of Japan.

oku no hosomichi by bashou is arguably the most well-known tour journal. i am hoping to produce something similar. of course, it couldn't be a fraction as good.
first off, i have absolutely no confidence in my japanese grammar. therefore i kept the sentence structures as short and as simple as possible, hoping that i won't make stupid mistakes.

if there are still any mistakes, please tell me so that i can correct them.

and then, i guess, the japanese text being simple and short also fits the haiku spirit of minimalism, hence the title of the series.
the japanese version is the original and english text a translation because haiku is supposed to be japanese.

there is about 20 haibun in this series. i hope you'll taste central japan in early autumn together with me.

even if it is only an aftertaste.

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-07-04

The Window Seat by *moyanII Beautiful traditional form poetry, *moyanII keeps it simple yet stunning. ( Featured by ^Beccalicious )

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`HaveTales-WillTell Jul 8, 2012 Professional Writer

Simply, gorgeous.

~TuRk-Eyes Jul 4, 2012

c: ! ! ! wooow!!!

~TinyPasserine Jul 4, 2012 Hobbyist Artisan Crafter

DANG that's good poetry

Good job, and congratulations on the DD!

!Deeadmau5luva Jul 4, 2012 Student Artist

is japan gorgeous? i really wanna go but im only 13 Dx

~cold-angle Jul 4, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

that's a really sweet poem

*theresahelmer Jul 4, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

THIS MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL...WINDOW SEAT? PLEASE EXPLAIN HOW SO?

~OtakuTiki Jul 4, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Read it again slowly and take note of each word carefully. Its more or less saying what people say and how beautiful the scene was, through a window..

~pinero77 Jul 4, 2012 Student Artist

I've always loved the gracefulness of the Japanese Characters.

~Karinta Jul 4, 2012 Student General Artist

Beautiful! Very nice poetry.

~WingDiamond Jul 4, 2012

Me-hoy!

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