Winter II a lake fringed by bluebells in the deep of winter,Winter II by KyaniteArcher
frost carvings around the flowers, ice sculptures in the woods.
animal tracks set in ice-encrusted snow.
a lake, young surface, yet with lightning-struck fractures,
frost-bitten fingers that intertwine, clandestine,
animal claws scrabble for air.
winter sets all to sleep, some with a song,
some without warning, a storm in dark woods,
snow as a blanke
HaikuWriMo- Feb 2014Day OneHaikuWriMo- Feb 2014 by KyaniteArcher
I keep books: words
that never fail to make me
Fresh autumn leaf-piles,
dancing breezes sweep cotton clouds.
Hear the young one's joy.
In these corridors,
memories crowd my unused ears.
I have never left.
and walks down that old scorched road,
a stream of worn shoes;
If we try and leave them, they
won't be easily forgotten.
The wilted grass stirs
when winter sends its rain- try,
keep this in your mind.
Stately rivers run,
bending, shifting over time-
and we must shift, too.
Sir, we never came
to talk about bitter ends.
We always march on.
Early morning sun
warms voices wafting through halls-
this school brought to life.
New day, a stone's throw
to a silent horizon,
beyond resting hills.
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’mExpiration by bonfirelights
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
What We Do With Not Drunk Whalers - MusicAnnoyingly cheerful accordion music floated through the windows, most of which lacked glass. The roof was also nonexistent, but more importantly, Hobson was losing his sleep as well as freezing his ass off. Normally, Hobson would have enjoyed the jaunty tune, but just before dawn was a bit much, even for him.What We Do With Not Drunk Whalers - Music by LexiLopezi
Then someone started singing.
The accordion had been fine. Disgusting happy, but fine. But the singing was more like geese being stepped on a by a tallboy, with mangled Serkonan thrown in for kicks. He knew only one person who didn’t know about the noise drills yet. Walter. Their newest recruit. Outsider knows where Rulfio found this one, all long limbs and twitchy, hair-trigger nerves. Something about Smith, the Abbey, and rejects. Walter also couldn’t sing for whale meat. Even Bertram was beginning to stir, and Bertram slept like a log. And snored.
The boot Hobson threw shut him up just fine. It wasn’t his boot, but Bertram would thank him later. Maybe.
JulyThe magnolia tree is the last shade for milesSilverInkblot
unless you want to hide in the cornfields,
or spend quality time with the chickens pecking at your bare toes.
Only the mockingbirds truly enjoy the summer haze,
filching birdseed and blackberries
with all the speed their hollow skeletons will grant them,
while anything with feet on the ground simmers like biscuits in the oven.
The mailboxes at the end of mile-long driveways are stuffed to capacity,
because it's too hot to make the trek from the porch swing
and the lemonade will be lukewarm by then.
Even the old barn,
paint stripped by the elements exposing the grayed wood,
is too tired to continue rotting, rusting,
standing only because old habits die hard,
and the owls need a place to live.
Please don't thank me for the fave. |
I'm an awkward Year 9 girl from Perth, Australia.
I enjoy spending long periods of time staring out of windows doing nothing. My other interests include writing, drawing, running, and stalking people. I've played piano for almost seven years and picked up flute a short time ago. As for musical tastes, indie, folk, punk, country, and ballad-y stuff are all equally cool. I dislike people who hate popular music just because it's popular, though.
My favourite ways of expressing myself are through poetry and digital art. Due to the short, intense nature of poetry I find this suits me very well as I find it hard to keep at one idea- one plot- for a lengthy amount of time as with novels. When I write prose, though, I try to make it as realistic as possible. My few attempts at fantasy or sci-fi did not end well.
I draw with a Wacom Bamboo Pen using Paint Tool SAI. Movement is what I find important- capturing the personality of what I'm drawing- though I still need a lot of practice, haha.
Instagram - defectaluce
Wattpad - Snarkffident
YouTube - eirianeira
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