Member DD and DLD Feature: 24th August~ 13th Sep

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Welcome to PoeticalCondition's Journal!


I’m sorry this is a day late! I had absolutely no internet connection yesterday. :O (I’m sure everyone can relate to the horror :D )
Anyway, it’s me again, bringing you the round up of Daily Literature Deviations and Daily Deviations received by our members! There are an amazing number of pieces here for you to peruse. Congratulations to all the members who’ve achieved recognition in the past few weeks!
Now, on with the show!


First up: DLD’s
duetThe earth is not perfect in its circumference,
it wobbles and shudders as it sings,
with pitched layers of atmospheric frequencies
and deep molten throbs.
Each person makes a noise that drowns out the
sound against a tsunami's thunder.
Do they ever know the song before it's too late,
or go mute long enough to know the words.
When you and I are together, we quietly hum in
hopes of hearing it in tune, of being a duet in sync.
When we can't, we touch; the friction of bodies
become tuning forks vibrating with the tides,
of bird and beast migrating by the silvery tines of
stars, to the music of our only home.
by :iconjade-pandora:   Something Borrowedgirls in white dresses
don't always want weddings.
the priests would speak of leaps of faith
and my hands would clasp the wood in horror,
knuckles bleached like bone- and i found
something old: the knot tied in my throat. 
my vocal cords did not let empty words escape.
and there was something blue: the heart 
that hesitated. how can a seedling prophesy
its harvest? how can a caterpillar promise
the power of its wings?
so let others gather flowers.
we will skip the mass
but not the bed: and through
this something borrowed,
earn a little time- 
and a place to rest our heads.
by :icon1nkl1ng:

:thumb389937139: by :iconoaklungs:   :thumb343580492: by :iconpenlender:

*The Option*Raging thirst consumes
Conscience did not die that night
Starvation the option.
2013 Delice1941
3rd August2013
by :icond-a-skelly:   :thumb389508864: by :iconriseandbe:  

the 'd' wordwhen i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i grew up a thin string attaching one man and one woman
together in a way arguments and resentment could never snap.
they met in restaurant parking lots and in the bleachers
of my soccer games the way soldiers meet on battle fields,
trading me across the asphalt and steel like a
deadly weapon, a bullet hurdled back and forth.
he took me out to ball games b
by :iconmisfitablegrae:   HaikuWriMo August 20131. Winter Sun
red blood sunrise
reflects onto fallen
snow -- newly spilled.
2. In the Breeze
wind rustles
the clean cut grass
like your hair.
3. Thunder Storms
your skin smells
of rain; nostalgia
and tangled hair.
4. Beautiful Scars
please,
create empty ravines
on my unblemished skin.
5. Rainbow Skies
your tears are
rainbows dripping
from the sky.
6. Spring Fins
little koi dart
through clear water like
hummingbirds in spring.
7. Wallflower
a rose bloom
sits perfectly still
in your iris.
8. Unfocused
water droplets
spill onto leaves.
unfocused galaxies.
9. In Between the Pages
i took your heart
and bottled it up;
pressed flowers.
10. Desert Paintings
a canvas sunset
falls onto painted
brush landscapes.
11. Crying Skies
lightning streaks
across purple skies;
plunging tear drops.
12. Melting
silk feathers
land on the cement
like melted snow.
13. Faulty Architecture
sand castles crumble
while the win
by :iconlionesserampant:

lolita and her galaxy boy(she)and (he)
Lie in the grass
It’s December                and
it’s too cold to do anything but stargaze
(he) names a star after (her)
In the blackwashed sky
As (they) swim in space
In the cracks of the                       black holes
Into millenniums and alternative universes
And (they) sink
                 Into
                        The hymns of the stardust  
Until the sun rises
And winter falls into spring
And the chlorine molecules decompose back into simple astrology
by :iconskygazing:  :thumb389126392: by :iconintroverted-ghost:

:thumb397175304: by :iconwitwitch:   Bitlets 70He mopes with the letters
he has stolen from poems;
decides to learn the ropes
with letters he took from prose.
by :iconnichrysalis:

 by :icondreamsinstatic:   Marie AntoinetteMarie Antoinette
They gave me shoes, velvet heels that spun like windmills,
dribbles of satin, laces gossamer as imagined spider threads.
They designed me shoes to be orchids, bees drowsed around my feet. I give them names.
But they took my language, words shaped in my own tongue,
familiar as milk and bed.
The language they gave me, I never exactly knew what the words meant.
I pouted, smiled, fluttered my eyelashes until they were hummingbirds.
They murmured of people starving, bakeries hollow of flour,
echoes of the rights of the man. But they said not to worry. Silly things.
So we dressed as shepherdess, lambs washed until they were pillows.
Our crooks hooked the sun. They gave me extravagant pastries,
almond, cherry palaces in my mouth. I could not shape the names.
Then they showed me the cards that were circulating of me, the crowds howled when they saw them.
My face was a false moon on some other body.
This body was on all fours, someone thrusting inside into it.
I heard other wor
by :iconswansisters:




And now: DD’s

:thumb381016497: by :iconersatz-moon:     your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--
the amnesiac is
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was on to something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst for
cruelest love.
Your virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations on
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.
by :iconcamelopardalisinblue:

Mature Content

by :icontonepainter:  

Mature Content

by :iconthisisparanoia:

DivorceBefore that day,
Sunday mornings had never occurred to me.
I must have slept through their every summons:
I never knew the time sensitive ritual of finding matching socks,
forcing “nice” shoes over misshapen toes,
the silent pact we would share with the warm cushions of the divan
waiting for Mother to ready us,  memories that settle in the guts
like a madstone, which I could then pull out of my old cadaver
to save myself in the next life.
There were a few moments. Like that time, in the garage,
basking in Father’s sunrise sorcery as he fired his magic timing light
into the fluttering lungs of an engine, or when he let me aim
the water at his bucket, poorly, while he carved something
otherworldly into stubborn dirt.
I held nothing near of Sundays, nothing sacred, nothing dreaded,
save for the occasional shameful confusion
I would coax from my belly with dogged chimes
of christmas bells haranguing the church congregation
with their infernal sequence, hanging like nervou
by :iconspoems:  

Mature Content

by :iconglossolalias:

Dead Bodies Don't Cryi.
You are born with twisted feet
and a pockmark on your chest.
Your poor mother is drenched in sweat,
straining to breathe,
thanking God that it's over.
She cradles you in her arms
and kisses your forehead with curved lips.
Your father reaches out to hold you
but has to pause because
your mother will not release you yet.
The family pays a visit,
hovering in awe, praising, laughing.
You look around for someone to blame.
ii.
When you learn to write
you use all the wrong letters
because you feel sorry for the ones
that get left out, like X and Z.
And you wear mismatched clothes
because you don't like the idea that
only certain colors "go together."
The first time you are punched
in the face it is by a girl with pigtails and braces.
You're sitting on a swing,
digging your toes into the dirt,
when she approaches
and says she thinks you're weird.
You tell her she's even weirder, and her fist
goes sailing into your jaw.
You're red and sore for two days.
You meet your first crush
on bleachers
by :iconquirkycuriousbex:



What are you waiting for? Get in there and read these wonderful works!
As always, if I’ve missed anybody, I do apologise; we are a big group with people constantly joining or changing their username, so feel free to point it out to me via comment/note.

Look out for the next feature on the 27th of this month!

Sayonara,
Jasmine

© 2013 - 2024 PoeticalCondition
Comments7
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LionesseRampant's avatar
Thank you so much! :heart: