Adumbrate i.Adumbrate by ~ozzla
Smudging lead flakes, pressed into the paper pulp; given new life, new breath. The page
heaves, its edges crinkling beneath my hand. It exhales, and I can see the spark in the
eyes of the portrait.
Skin, only skin deep; the scales slicked with sweat, the sun browned at midday, and the
people sweltering below: they wait for the wings to melt, collapsing into trash.
Until he scratched his nose it was dust. I'd expected that when he'd shake his head and
blink they'd fly, but freckles they were. Stained with the cracks and fractures sustained
from being too pale for the sun.
Beneath the paper are the purple roots of chrysanthemums. Press too hard, and a sticky
ichor drips from the edges, collecting in the hollow of the collarbone.
The scent drew them. Hungry eyes and hearts, the blood on their hands barely dried.
If only a
My Grown Up Christmas ListDust motes sparkle through the sunlight. Rather than colliding, they pair up and waltz until they settle. I can imagine them giggling, sipping champagne while they rest.My Grown Up Christmas List by ~ozzla
Sometimes the state of my sugar levels worries me.
From downstairs comes the snap of masking tape and the crackling of cardboard boxes. I should be contributing my muscle to the “bona fide” war effort. It is an odd choice of words, but my parents are well-meaning in their attempts to educate the general populace. Yet, we are always defeated.
There is warmth at my legs and a purr. I smile and drop my hand for her to muzzle. As always, teeth and gum scrape across my knuckles whenever she is vehement for my attention. She has been safe all these years; the small are always overlooked. My parents are giants: tall and opinionated. They wear their manifesto on their sleeves, and frequently passer-bys cringe, shrinking away.
“That's who they are... it's simply not right.”
I always he
Whiteness, I rememberTwirling, you remind me of a jewellery box ballerina: elegant and poised. You are so steady, holding your position with precision. Even when flicked by the precarious fingers of children you always return to your position. Only statues could best such dedication.Whiteness, I remember by ~ozzla
Such beauty did not prepare me for its rumbling. The mountains shook like the bowels of a monster, and thoughts of ballerinas were replaced by bomber planes. I squinted for the tell-tale wings and listened for the whirling motor.
That time it was actually a natural disaster.
A torrent of snow, iced teeth and titanium claws shred trees. The bystanders are consumed while they looked at you, raising their ski masks in disbelief. No frightening colours tarnished such a homogeneous white, giving the false appearance of calm.
If I were more optimistic, or perhaps more poetic, it appeared as if you had warmly enveloped them in a white blanket.
My surroundings explode into chaos, arms and legs searching for loved ones. Here, further a
Graffiti Dreams in Black and White The strokes are dreamt permanent,Graffiti Dreams in Black and White by *Carmalain7
the only lasting demarcations of claiming existence,
and the collective artists who painted them majored in Biology,
or Accounting, or English and Professional Writing, or dropped out
as so many do when they wake up.
The poet paints them into existence with his words:
“ideas are illusions, and all words are untrue.”
And we nod our heads and sip our coffees, indeed,
put a price to labors and words and even to thoughts
because we no longer want freedom if it costs us the freedom
of saving face and keeping pace with the ebb and flow
Of Lost Causethey say every lonely sigh gathered from children in that cityOf Lost Cause by =UnspecifiedUnknown
pours through her body and redolent skin, read through
the ink of vines on veins and restless, small leaves- torn with
tired hands and god's lost smile.
they say our days are numbered, like the
creases between your skin and the break of waves on charted oceans. maybe
the fallout of a country drawn by prophets with cracked chords and
an endless list of listlessness.
they say happiness is glorified by the example of science: the reaction given
and reduction taken in a stretch of paradoxical lies of paradoxical truths-
sounds of simplified silence and their tenuous strains of recognition
of the pale likeliness and dreams of a setting sun.
they never mention the beauty behind
a dying elephant.
Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature #35PLEASE this feature and these wonderful works of art, thank you!Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature #35 by =Sammur-amat
The amount of artistic talent here on dA has always amazed me, and I truly believe it is a privilege to be able to feature such amazing pieces as these. Therefore, without further ado, this Sunday's Specials!
:thumb266508595: Disappointed Rain by `TwilightPoetess
Non-Migratory by `LiliWrites Moonbites - Morsures de lune by =Wordeea Death of Cu Chulainn by =MirachRavaia
[more than galaxies] by ~little-bird-bones The Farmers Son by *brassteeth felt-smoked-dreamt by ~BittersweetObsession
Between My Silent Sobs and Cries by ~rainonwednesday Witch Trial by ~DearPoetry The swerve by *archelyxs
Auditor of the Ashes by *enigmaticsmile Seven years later - a letter to my wife by ~VertigoArt On the Northside of Time by *xlntwtch
Charlie by =Bark Romeo by *kittykittyhunter a picture of a plane. by ~colbalt-rain
Superimpose by `SilverInkblot a paradise by ~IyraEMM Mirror by *beeinthebottle
UPCOMING CONTEST UPDATE
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