What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?
Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I have recently come across that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature are then featured in an art news journal together. The purpose of this daily feature is to help lesser known writers on the site get exposure for their well-written work, as well as promoting community spirit.
* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had two suggestions from the lovely Caffeinated-Bunny and shehrozeameen (who suggested multiple deviations!). Thank you both! If you know of a deviation or writer that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Please Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.
And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:
April 2013 Lit. Daily Picks
Why I Can't Love a PoetHe said you're beautiful like
black birds on a gray sky or
a tree that's recently died but
holds its last green leaves until
they wither and crack, swept away
by a northern wind bearing his name.
upon leaving edensend me far away to where
the sun shines silver like broken
mirrors and wild things wander
through the night; places with
funny names and maps etched
from tree bark & lichened stones
that line up end to end for miles:
where truth is a birthmark that
scars us by, upon the coast
glass of wine- toast to the rising
moon sublime. dreams are in third
person, cupped by the creak of
wild woods that whistle, and teach
us what it means to be alive.
come, nestle up against cedared
fantasy & watch the birds fly south
for the winter, hoping for something
other than white sand & buried treasure.
save all our tragic souls from becoming
what we should have- speak now or
forever hold insecurity like a spark in
the eye of god, and wish upon things
more infinite than a star.
like the fell of spring, bursting with the
coloured dawn of wind; like the rooted
soil we sing, the return of our ghosts
to self aerifying. to the slight of clayed
fingers reaching, deemed to be teaching
celestial crossovers & the
why stars don't sleep& stars they never sleep
cradled in the gentle limbs of the moon
the sky in ocean's blood
how they love their dawn
never wake to twilight nights
breathe life into mountains
caress sky's limit
& painting life in yellow dots
falling out soundlessly.
Sonnet #58Sonnet #58
Take not the endless sky for granted, boy
for birds reign free o'er thy own smallish head
and gracefully meet their own gracious joy
to prepare each other before their bed.
Let not the boundless forest deceive you
the leaves only wish to soothe worried souls
and when weary travelers call out, “Who goes
there?” soundless words makes empty seem whole.
May the seamless grasp of the ocean's great reach
calm nervous persons and shout out “Behold!”
The new lesson is beginning to teach
as mysteries quite deep remain untold.
The beauty of the nature surround us
and brings peace and harmony to the just.
The Truth Behind Love Affairsoh weary sky,
Wrap your lightning bolts
around my neck and
finish what I started.
Haunt me until you forgive me -
Kiss me so I can forget
Smile as if you were never broken.
I finally understand those haunting love
songs that I would sing along too
and wish it could happen to me.
"Never thought we'd have a last kiss..."
Make it stop - - please -
Rewind it to when i only wanted you,
but these voices trapped me in a cage
of doubt where lust dressed as love.
Save me from myself before I kill us.
We're all smiles and grins until you
throw a rock of battles at our
mirror of false hope.
And now he's cooking my innocence
with betrayal, draining my purity with
his lips like a
Mourning MorningsSorrow is waking each morning
to the ticking of your alarm clock
that echos through the room
with nostalgic whispers.
A constant reminder of your heart
which beats no longer.
autoflowerreorganize the body
my artillery is a hall full of dancers
because to avoid death the ocean divides itself
and divides itself
until she's a shadow full of rooms
or eventually even the acid and the earthquake
But we've imagined this backwards.
the elephant's battered radiation talks all prophets from the building
Upon the stockpile mouths flood dry
and so many cardinals
of that hollow universe
And so what, auction the wind
After, no one will be left to speak
and I laugh because the same parts divide us
For the machine:
I hang these plane crashes from your clotheslines
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
My Despairing RavenMy eyes fluttered.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll see you tomorrow," I heard them sing.
The darkness thinned.
My eyes opened. I couldn't see myself. I was inside, surrounded by blinding lights. I was mad with fever. My body was burning up, and yet I was shuddering violently; only straps kept me from falling into the endless abyss. I felt the sweat pour down my sticky body and soak the bed. I was dressed in white linens
Then faces appeared, speaking in a deep language I could not comprehend. Their voices were assuring and warm. But I could not see their faces.
I was shivering with fever, cold, and fear.
Was I dying?
Where was I?
Please, don't put the lights out!
I went mad with furious fever forfeiting reason. I snarled like a beast who could tolerate its cage no longer. My forehead and hair rained upon them. Spite and spit: My veins filled with it. I thought I'd burst.
"NO! NO! NO!" I cried in delirium whilst I thrashed back and forth. "I'm afraid of the Dark! Please, don't
Foxlocks of hair, caught in branches,
woodland creatures watching her missteps,
but she is quick:
a fox ensnared by a contemptuous bird
buried deep behind her white-coffin ribcage,
singing mutilated songs of endless sorrows.
a broken thing,
with eyes, cold like a frozen ocean,
is fixated on moving forward,
instead of moving slow
and feeding the wolves her warm flesh.
NarcissusThe cardinal at the side window
went to war this morning.
I woke to the sound of his tapping
on the glass, a steady rhythm of
red beak against window
as he went in for the kill.
Every few moments,
between the jabs against his reflection,
he would chirp at himself,
a high metallic chip to ward off
the intruder in his territory.
I watched inside from under the ceiling fans
as he struck the window,
as if the red-breasted bird he saw
had uttered some unspoken travesty upon him.
My sister said he found himself handsome,
had fallen in love with himself years before
and kept coming to see his reflection one more time.
He came back each March to knock against the window,
and I knew even then his black eyes held no attraction
for the bird that looked back.
I put my finger against the glass,
tapping at him with stubby digits,
and thought that surely some damage would come
from knocking your head against a pane of glass.
Or perhaps what started as a war against his blurred twin
had twisted into h
Star-writHear me read it!
It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.
It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;
and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.
Moon LightIn a whisper the world ends
In darkness the day descends
All the fun the games we play
Are caged in time and fade away
In this gloomy moon lit night
Are memories of sorrow and delight
The world is dead is how it seems
Without virtue and joyous dreams
I wonder when this night will end
And bring to life a merry trend
LighthouseSailing through darkness.
There was little I could see.
I was lost,
trying desperately to find something.
A flash of light brought hope.
It pierced the black velvet night,
gave me a sweet breath of life.
Brought me out of the depths of despair.
Then it was gone.
My eyes can see even less now.
The flower of hope withers away.
I don't search anymore.
I don't want light if it brings that much pain.
At least the darkness won't lie to me.
Singing to me a symphony of death
The strain in my body with every last breath
Draining my life a soul torn apart
Needing only time with this slow beating heart
The tune of my soul is dying within
This aging carcass is wearing so thin
Notes of life will soon lose their tune
As I'm sitting here so empty in this prison, my room
This song is now reaching the end of it's time
Nothing to leave for you but this poorly writ rhyme
But hope goes out for the one who does care
Because in your heart my music is there...
Diagnosis IIThe diagnosis:
Metereological maladies, the bad taste in your mouth
From the presence of my doorframe.
The words that burn my irises cold
And the residual sentiments of self-loathing
Brought on by a secondhand hemorrhaging
Of compassion and selflessness.
Her hand broke my wrist,
The dawn broke on her cluttered room.
I've faced my demons on a daily basis,
Possible allergic reaction
Resulting in unstable perception of existence.
Buried word asphyxiation.
The door's always been open,
But not for me to step through,
For me to point the way.
A little less poison in my coffee,
A little less venom in my evening.
A crack in the night left swinging the hall light
No more unasked for observations hurled in my direction,
My heart set on a new era.
The sun set on her empty room.
I am meI look in the mirror and see my on reflection:thumb363026894:
I start to wonder, am I not only a projection?
But if I would be one, my life would be a lie
"But I'm not a lie! I'm not!" that's what I sigh
I remember all the happy moments in life
I remember the sadness and the strife
This though is a proove that I'm me
And accepting that is the only key
To get stronger and to walk along
the lonely road to where I belong
I'm proud, that I am me
And I am also proud to be
A living being, the person that I am
I will show everyone, I will show them
I am me and I'm proud of that
And not only some kind of brat
Creepypasta: Laughing JackLAUGHING JACK
It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.
When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey sandwich. “James. Who were you talking to out t
Sad PoemHer dad was a drunk
Her mom was an addict.
Her parents kept her
Locked in an attic.
Her only friend
Was a little toy bear.
It was old and worn
and had patches of hair.
She always talked to it
When no one was around
she lays there and hugs it
Not a peep of sound
Until her parents
Unlock the door
Some more and more pain
She'll have to endure.
A bruise on her leg
A scar on her face
Why would she be
in such a horrible place?
But she grabs her bear
and softly cries.
She loves her parents,
But they want her to die.
She sits in the corner
quiet, but thinking.
"Why god, why is
My life always sinking?"
Such a bad life
For a sad little kid.
She'd get beaten and beaten
For anything she did.
Then one night
Her mom came home high.
The child was hit
As hours went by.
Her mom then suddenly
Grabbed for a blade.
It was sharp and pointy,
One that she made.
She thrusted the blade
In the poor child's chest,
"You deserve to die,
You worthless pest!"
The mom walked out
Leaving the girl slowly dying.
Song of the pirates.We sail the seven seas as we please.
We only stop for gold.
We plunder and pillage through every village,
We're not afraid, we're bold!
The wind and the rain only bring us more gain.
We're not afraid to die.
Barely sleeping at night, our wits are alive
And the sea is our own earthly sky.
Fear not my mates , we will meet at the gates,
No matter how we go.
We'll keep on sailing till our souls are a wailing
And how that is we'll know.
So raise your swords and steady the oars,
Don't be afraid to die.
Shout with all your might, "The sea is our life"
And never question why.
I Like To Play With SkinI Like To Play With Skin:
My dear friends and watch,
As the feeling of life itself
Crumbles beneath each ounce of pain.
Needles slowly piercing into the body,
Paralyzing nerves and expressions.
A mask of pure horror; living terror,
Kept alive on the barest limit of the border.
Such tempting features,
Leave me eager to slip a knife beneath flesh.
Ripping soft layers of epidermal mache,
Tanned and dried, woven slowly into a loving mask.
And with my latest acquisition complete,
Only twenty spaces remain...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2013
Of Dreams and DeathUtter confusion.
Drenched in memory.
A beam of light.
Tears and doors break down.
A pitch black background.
A cursed Isolation.
A doomed fate.
A lingering agony.
A crumbling mountain.
The course iron bars of a prison.
The creaking doors,
Lock you in the building of torture.
The wet flaking paint smelt stale
And made it clear:
The weird were not welcome here.
The door shudders loudly as
Someone enters, nervously.
You can foresee the taste of blood:
100 vipers wait, poised
Ready to attack
Until there is nothing left
But an empty shell of one who once existed
Everyone was the same.
Same clothes, same attitude, same prejudice.
Like clones, unable to accept different.
Like sheep, afraid of new.
A metal barrier shading them
From the real world
Where the weird were accepted.
Shunted to the back,
Of a classroom alone.
Even the teacher can’t face it.
Touching other people’s emotions
Thorns of hatred
A light breaks through
It’s near the end
Of a hard year of war
The soldiers lined up to kill the enemy
The teachers the generals
The children the soldiers
If you were the enemy
You would know
You were outnumbered
No chance of v
Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!
Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles:
Volume 1: January 2013
Volume 2: February 2013
Volume 3: March 2013