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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
May 10, 2016
Murder in the Snow by PelicanDeath uses few, delicate words to describe a scene with stark intensity.
Featured by TheMaidenInBlack
Literature Text
snow settles over
the stirring houses
soon
life will pass
from the windows
into the corners
of the street
a hand waits
in the growing cold
blind palm holding
the light
of the setting moon
the stirring houses
soon
life will pass
from the windows
into the corners
of the street
a hand waits
in the growing cold
blind palm holding
the light
of the setting moon
Literature
Equinox
entomb me in the flowers of this land,
our sweet land, where the sun shines
glittering through glass and rain,
and the clouds gather to hide us from the night
when the corn is gathered, and the orchards bare,
when the fields of the south lie empty and fallow
and the northern beast rises from summer slumber,
take me back, take me back to the beginning
after travels ventured round this globe,
to places no man has been and where we once were
rulers supreme - lords, lords of light,
i will go back, to safety, to shores and white cliffs welcoming me home
and as our woods grow and our bairns play,
play at kings and knights, and cowboys and indian
Literature
Torn Photograph
it's creased
and water-stain wrinkled
from that pitch-black night
when Jenny left the window open and a wild north-easterner
clawed its way in
screaming all the way
and snapping the curtain like a sodden whip
its fraying blunted corners
are yellowed by age
and sticky little fingers
who left apple-juice residue
in fossilized fingerprints
on the fading colors
but the jagged edge
where you ripped him out
has only just begun to soften
to rewrite a memory
you must do much more
than destroy the evidence
preserved in laminated cardstock
Literature
Over
To be over something
is to ride a speed bump
up to its crescent
and crush it
under tire
until the road is wrinkle-free.
To be over, some
tires have to lose
their grip
on past reality.
To be over someone
is to drive a car
through potholes
to find smooth road
ahead.
To be over, some
one has to say
those potholes
don't feel like quicksand
anymore.
Because it is over -
you are the speed bump
that can become
a level crossing.
You can watch
your train of thought
passing by, lay
a thumbprint upon the ground
and cry
Then step back,
let the vision vanish
into dust
Let the life tracks
left behind
form a new railway.
Then,
drive away.
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I just finished reading "The Moon is Down"by John Steinbeck and it made me write this poem.
© 2016 - 2024 PelicanDeath
Comments22
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I like this a lot, the last line hits a perfect note.
I do have specific words that i think could be revisited and perhaps replaced with something more evocative.
Stirring
Corners
Growing
I do have specific words that i think could be revisited and perhaps replaced with something more evocative.
Stirring
Corners
Growing