~asortofpoet

...is laughing.

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About Me Member Procrastinator asortofpoetFemale/United Kingdom

Recent Activity Deviant for 1 Year
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Swing Me To Sunshine

Swing me to sunshine, and the sweet, lazy humming of summer Swing me to fields of long grass swaying with the breeze
Swing me to vast, azure skies that touch the horizon on every side And the whispering words of the soft-spoken trees
Swing me to the oppressive heat, and the stillness of the sultry air Swing me to heavy, heady hours that drift out of mind
Swing me to the beat of the warming rays; back and forth And the sepia-tinted, dark-framed view of the world

Newest

ToxicThe sordid air clings to everything; all-pervading Swirling, curling, twirling crushed diamond blocks Streams of red satin and conscience Laughter and burning eyes
We are the life and soul And the ghost in the corner smiles benevolently She knows that soon we will touch the sun And as wings are flicked into a pile of ash, We fly on
With terms of endearment and echoes of youth One dormant heart now erupts Tides are turning, and we are suddenly scented Tainted
Eject an apology from a rear window, And leave for the lamplight-sunrise, far away Toxic
by ~asortofpoet

Playing TrainsAs the modern wheels of yore, no longer steamed Pause their physical voyage, I pause my journey too To stop and stare at my fellow inmates Enclosed in our communal darkness, our neon quirks show.
My three are boys, not men:
The most real doodles absently, glinting metal eyes tired He is mothered by bosoms attached to skirts; a late son again.
Just about in light, mostly in shadow, is who I find next Patronised sniffler, in a suit ten years older than he - brand new.
Bringing up the rear is one in a distantly amusing sulk Head in arms of skewed stripes, log Playing Trains
by ~asortofpoet

Chapter IChapter I
It is six o' clock on a Wednesday evening in early October, and somewhere a young man is walking jauntily down a narrow side street. His eyes are ocean-blue, sparkling with sun-crested waves; thoughts of the girl he is on his way to see. He flicks his freshly washed hair out of his face, and rolls up the sleeves of his regulation white shirt. It is warm for so late in the year. He takes a right-turn towards the city centre, and accordingly, so do his shadows. He is being followed. The youth, whose mind is on more important matters, is blissfully ignorant of this fact and continu Chapter I
by ~asortofpoet

J'ecris, donc je suis.
by ~asortofpoet

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MorningDusty cream smothers the curved angles Morning light washes through the window And illuminates the sulpine glow Resting glances and pouting smiles
Melodic temptations of gangling morning Wander up the stairs in sleepy circles Dancing through the ears and noses, laughter gurgles In the hazy music of steeping breakfast tea
Languorous hands lapping softly at bed covers,
Oceans of fabric swaying gently in rhythm of morning Tune. Kisses of amorous birds romancing, while Leaves stir pools of refracted light
Shifted hip moves islands to mountains Expa Morning
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Along My Collar, A WordI have on warm days poured my thoughts into buttercups, and on warm days you have sipped that potent nectar, and drummed a dew beat on the pensive spray.
But I am shaken now: there is silence when I think aloud, and my thoughts are only words that will not settle, only swirl.
And while the weekly winters grow old upon your lips, I'm still waiting - but what for? your name's no beacon by a broken shore, no cadence for an angel choir, no jade, no pearl, no myrtle bird, no damp daybreak along my collar, a word, a word, a word, and Along My Collar, A Word
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~pseudo-artiste	*Scribblers-Anonymous
~eveofthorn	~siron
*The-Novelist-Club

Words

Sat May 10, 2008, 8:04 AM

Mood: dA Love
Listening to: music
Reading: books

Greetings, deviants.

I'm Rosa. I've been a member of deviantART for a few years, using a different account. That account has lots of art in it, ranging from traditional to digital to photography. However, there is no literature. This is because, even though I class myself as a writer first and foremost, my writing is extremely close to my heart and I could not bear to have those I know and love tearing it apart.

So, I decided it was high time I got myself a writing account. And here it is. I'd appreciate any and all critique, as long as I have no idea who you are

. But please respect the fact that (to paraphrase Wordsworth) I have filled my paper with the breathings of my heart.

I hope you find something of interest in my gallery.

*

~Scribblers-Anonymous *The-Novelist-Club

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Comments

*Scribblers-Anonymous Jun 4, 2008, 10:47:15 AM

welcome to the fab club ~Scribblers-Anonymous!!! feel free to submit something *pleasepleaseplease* and to enter the current contest =]

if you've got any questions, note the club itself or moi, *talia-vin