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Literature
gospel circles
right now i am sitting under a gospel hall
and a man above and to the right of me
keeps screaming, “lord, i am too old for hallelujah”
between punctuated bits of off-beat clapping.
there is a drum circle somewhere up there
and djembe are hit to break his pauses.
from somewhere, there is a track
bleating spurts of trumpet like sheep
and scattering notes from the piano like milkweed
on wind.
lord, you are too old for hallelujah.
that song has been played over and over
for so many tired years,
brought back countless times as a
dulling exclamation point thrown as if to cut
a question mark in half.
its beauty has eroded with age:
a relic chipped away by time.
there are voices singing in an african language above me.
they ebb gently like a river, show their undersides like a leaf
upturned in a breeze.
they may be joyous or frantic -- maybe both, but i can’t ever tell.
“lord, we are too old for hallelujah!”
a choir agrees.
and maybe we are.
because from where i
:iconSerentic:Serentic
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Literature
we came as humans do
                  [to whomever is left to listen]
and I thought that we could forget that we are giants,
monsters with footsteps that bruise the tender flowerbeds down below
we must realize that to sleep is not to wither in the decomposition
of the soil we try so hard to forget
was here before us, but to dream that this
ground is not the barren dollhouse we have left it to be
these cities are graveyards for the cost of construction,
buildings tombstones for all that should have sprouted
but was built instead, scraping the dreams from the sky like
stars burning out and falling back to earth
nothing grows here anymore
our concrete sprawls across this landscape like a parasite,
like an unwanted lover
we will drain the color from the cheeks of this valley
suburbia is a scab that cannot be ripped off
a cancer that grows in the prairies like wildfire
this civilization comes neatly packaged in sparkling plastic,
a cosmetic enhancement, over-
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Literature
in which I gain sentience
save room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
                               pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
  you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say,   there are
things I cannot tell you.
                     (twice a week
                  I watch the people I love
        leave me for good.
there are
     spiders in my throat,
                                           I have
             
:iconintricately-ordinary:intricately-ordinary
:iconintricately-ordinary:intricately-ordinary 48 19
Literature
movement
to dance:
verb
1. move rhythmically to music
2. (of a person) move in a quick and lively way
tonight we are here, in this moment, standing upon a sacred ground
whether it was before or it is now is for you to decide
just know what an honor it is to be here, glory to
whatever gods may be, there is potential for a miracle
it is theorized that the first uses of dance were to aid in the telling
of stories, the passing of myths in a physical manifestation,
it was all the proof they needed for anything divine
tonight our stories are bouncing like a rhythmic heartbeat
from the spaces between us, I can feel it
we must open up, invite them in to stay by the fire
and share then too a piece of music
let it flow through your veins
put on your dancing shoes
there ain't gonna be no revolution without steppin' there first
the earth will forgive you for your trespass
what an honor it is to move with life inside of you
this dance has been going on for generations,
it's the story of all th
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 4 3
Literature
it's a new day
the creek bubbles with new life,
that is to say wider, more accepting of the
frigid meander of the mountain
there is a man pruning the bushes, pruning
everything in sight, he has a gentle touch and
a back snapped too many times
like the stem of a sapling pine
and we both walk on this thawing earth
the shovel is a promise that something beautiful
will someday grow
this soil is not barren, these maggots are not lonely
the sun is a sparkling hive to pollinate
our bitter rosebuds
Spring is coming
—will we be ready?
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 7 0
Literature
a selection of extrasensory impulses
the air is blue
the sky is a dream i've seen too many times
the air is a collection of berries atop a homemade muffin
home is made of only dreams and air
the morning is a collection of lemon drops
the children are colorful
the children awake at odd angles and proceed to their respective duties
duties are brown and grey
grey is not the spring dripping into puddles on the lawn
the lawn will be much greener than we remember
our memory is the pink gummy bear we could not figure out the flavor of
our memories are the thorns on berry bushes
the birds pick the bushes at home with futile beaks
the futility makes everything so much sweeter
if we don't eat quickly the muffins will go cold and stale
stale are the words we've been chewing on
the words are black and white
the words have become duties for us to forget about
as you eat more, berries become increasingly difficult to swallow
sweetness is only relative
all of us have dreams we've seen too many times
the children are tired of only eating
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:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 6 2
Journal
Celebrating All of You (part 2)
As many of you know, my birthday was March 8th.  I received a plethora of well-wishes and kind words from so many talented, inspiring deviants, I decided to celebrate all of them here as a thank you for being wonderful.
Part 2 of 2
Kinglorshi
writes on a wide variety of subjects, including knights and space-travel.
  
AlwaysRainCheck
is a fairly new face on dA, but is making waves with her photography and writing.
  
WeirdAndLovely 
is, as her name suggests, both weird, AND lovely--but her gallery is pure gold.
  
DailyBreadCafe 
is a lover of all things tea--and literature!
 The last time he saved me by DailyBreadCafe FFM 10: Radio by DailyBreadCafe
MagicalJoey
has a ki
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 10 42
Journal
DLD to DD for April 8th, 2014
Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
DLD to DD April 8th, 2014
Featuring these Special DLDs is an honor!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.
Every so often a DLD is featured as a Literature Daily Deviation and displayed
on the deviant ART front page. We would like to give special recognition to those
that have received this honor. We would like you to revis
:iconDailyLitDeviations:DailyLitDeviations
:icondailylitdeviations:DailyLitDeviations 9 2
Literature
humdrumtown
five o'clock middle of nowhere tea,
he poked reality with an unloaded rifle,
roadkill doe; the sheet slid off
the flanks; in his
life he had never been so awfully
late.
a strange sensuality in the sunset
juxtaposed with
"it's a dead animal, you know"
well, he would never go that far;
not as far as admitting he was
wrong - therefore,
heavy odour of rotting would never
turn to incense,
deer-legged Mary would never
bless him with a kick in the ass,
he'd be confined to
burning down houses, greasy fingers -
the sad cop-outs of
five o'clock middle of nowhere funerals.
:iconghostinafog:ghostinafog
:iconghostinafog:ghostinafog 9 6
I could but I can't by agnes-cecile I could but I can't :iconagnes-cecile:agnes-cecile 2,629 62
Literature
he is living out of body
The couth youth
crooner, casual kisser,
sips sauvignon blanc
in a clinquant night;
he appraises a pristine
cityscape on a high-
rise terrace with a smooth
glass rim pressed to
his tight lips.
His prestige drips
off exquisite notes pearled
to dress audiences in the purest
tones; sounds to waltz
like the soft shine
of diamonds upon table cloth,
like the old love light
in veteran eyes.
Many say he rose from the
same dirt, down deep
in the earth;
a lily from the mud,
he glides
from starstruck room
to room in burn-bright white
suits, in no hurry to fade
back to brown
anonymity.
Many say still
there is nothing but
sorry in his gaze, in the
rich pocket of his range nothing but
ache in his lackadaisical pace
across his expansive stage and they say
his melodic sighs are perpetual swan
songs to a siren, the enchantress
of the enchanter, he forever chases
into the emptiness slipping
among the existent. 
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity 18 20
Literature
a series of letters to destructive things
to the Rev. Fred Phelps:
it's been a long time coming— I guess you
could say that even the reaper had to take his
time with you
know that you did not die a martyr, just a dirty
old bastard with a toxic heart, organic matter
decaying in the forgotten soil of yesterday
.
to fire:
dance, you do, to the beautiful anarchy of destruction,
the most unforgiving of temptations
I know you've burned down cities, souls & all, in
divine judgement;
I know you've burned up people, life & all, for much
lesser reason
.
to the imperialists of history:
you raped the virgin world, stole the birthright
from the bosom of mankind
manifest destiny is a plague to brotherhood
colonization is a serpent with venom enough to kill
a thousand years of progress
you are the reason there was ever a distinction
between us & them
.
to George W. Bush:
perhaps it may be late to harp on the points of
your destruction, but that is certainly not to deny your
rightful place in this series
please write back if you'd like
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:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 26 6
Literature
to a soldier in battle
there is a man on the corner of Jeffrey Street,
he's been there for as long as anyone can remember
through all those mosquito sunsets, air so muggy it held
home in its fingertips; childhood was an endless summer,
there's something all too casual about invincibility
and the rain's a comin', the sky will pour down all its dreams upon us
.
to Samuel Clemens Hanes:
you came into my life a hurricane, all
swinging fists & calloused skin, already a soldier to this war
called life
and it's not unreasonable to say you'd been looking for
a fight, a chess match of youthful infinites in stolen
liquor bottles and too many black & milds
maybe it's not so bad to say that we're all here to be the answer
to someone else's questions
sometimes a whirlwind is just what we need, a vivacious
drunk song of a hold on the whitewashed construct of a hollow sober destiny
I think that perhaps you are the reason that natural phenomena
hold the righteousness to a name of their own
.
the equatorial sun & an explosiv
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:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 17 3
in hindsight by successwithhonor in hindsight :iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 16 3
Literature
to the raccoon trapped in my chimney
look, I'm not really sure what you want me to say
you're the unwelcomed guest to my pay-per-view party, and I mean
I paid $6.99 for entertainment but I guess I was thinking of
something a little less live
some things are just better left to animal planet
and well, here we are
too close for comfort,
my body tells me
via the pleasantly warm fluid flowing down the inside of my leg
this is not to say that I'm uncomfortable
but from 1 to Vladimir Putin riding in on a radioactive bear, you're like
a 7 on the scale of how frightened I am that you're in my fucking house right now
I apologize for being a little crass but I guess it's a kind of defense mechanism too,
like camouflage or playing dead or soiling your favorite pair of sweat pants
look, I too have felt the walls go up around me, brimstone couldn't be more
unforgiving and it's been a cold winter, we're all trying to get a little closer
to someone else
it hurts, the way you must look at the world from behind
prison bars & two bl
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Literature
to winter
baby, it's cold outside
and up north the snow flurries
on a canopy of concrete high-rises
in unfulfilled silence
rain or shine, it's been days
since i've left the house
and maybe it's been lonely
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:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 9 1
a collection of anything that made me laugh, smile, think, cry, love, and appreciate life. (:

these are beautiful masterpieces by equally beautiful people. check out their amazing work!~~~

Activity


quoting tumblr , "merry christmas to everyone who didn’t get presents today because their family couldn’t afford it and merry christmas to everyone who couldn’t make it home for the holidays and merry christmas to everyone spending it alone i want you all to know that i hope you all have a great end of the year and i love you all and even if your holidays weren’t how you pictured them i hope you still have a good rest of the holidays and year."

and a quote to keep you going well into the new year:

And just like that, I felt an intoxicating rush of hope. I tried to crush it, to push it down, to expose it to reality and kill it off. But I couldn't. It was a sunrise, a kid's sight of snowfall on a school morning. Hope. That all this can turn out okay, that somehow a tide this big and black can be turned back. Hope like a wildfire, thoughts of presents under a Christmas tree and a smell of cookies coming from a kitchen and a certain look in a girl's eyes that lights you up inside. That beautiful border between nightmare and morning when you realize that all of the monsters menacing you have evaporated like smoke, leaving behind only the warm blankets and the pale sunlight of a Saturday dawn. 


- from David Wong, John Dies at the End

best wishes from me to you.
  • Reading: travels with charley

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momo-madness's Profile Picture
momo-madness
thou mayest.
Artist | Literature
life asked death, "why do people love me but hate you?" death answered, "because you are a beautiful lie and i am a painful truth."

“you can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
- c.s. lewis

“i regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.” - jonathan safran foer
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:icongrimmassassin:
GrimmAssassin Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
I miss your words, and I hope you're doing okay.
Reply
:icona-lovely-anxiety:
A-Lovely-Anxiety Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
hey i miss you beautiful.
Reply
:icontadewii:
Tadewii Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hey dear, are you all right? :heart: Long time no hear from you, sadly.
Reply
:iconflummo:
flummo Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2014  Student Writer
always love your webcam. haven't been around lately either (as you seem to be), hope you're doing well Mo :heart:
Reply
:icontommyboywood:
tommyboywood Featured By Owner May 7, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Dead poets society is one of my faves too.  :)
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:iconcalypso-dawn:
Calypso-Dawn Featured By Owner Feb 28, 2014   Writer
Oh what happened to your bio? It was very lengthy before, now it's short. I'm not complaining though, short is sweet. ^^
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:iconleukippos:
Leukippos Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Wow. Your writing is stunning. Anyway, thanks for the +favs. Huggle! 
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:iconmomo-madness:
momo-madness Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2014   Writer
awe thank you so much! :heart::heart: and you are very welcome, thank YOU for the reciprocated love!
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:iconleukippos:
Leukippos Featured By Owner Feb 26, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Aw, that's kind of you to say. You're welcome Heart 
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