What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I had come across in the last day that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature will then be featured in an art news journal together.
* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had one suggestion from the lovely nosedivve (thank you!). If you know of a deviation that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.
And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:
February 2013 Lit. Daily Picks :thumb351423465::thumb351466874:
Into the PlungeBuild me asandcastle on the edge of the sea,
where the cliffs are sprayed with the salty tears of the tide,
and sirens cry into the night for the arms of a lover
to whisk them away into a dry night free of brine;
Where we shall dance the sunset's furtive sigh of redemption
on the edge of saline bluffs, and kiss with the gunpowder
of forgotten cannons high on the waves of an abandoned ocean;
Teetering the edge of the world, where the Kraken and Leviathan lay in wait
for lost-lorn victims of broken hearts and brackish undertows
coursing through their veins.
D
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Poor OpheliaOh, you breathed tragedy.
It filled your lungs
Like water and sediment.
Insane enough to love the insane,
you threw yourself into
that dark puddle with the same abandon
as you threw yourself into him.
And you laughed the same way
when you fell into water,
when you dove into lust,
drowning with hopes
as broken as your mind.
You gave them flowers
as a parting shot,
because you were there once.
Tearing out petals
like you would your hair,
panicking over "he-loves-me-not."
When you last saw the sun
from under the surface,
did you think it was hellfire,
or swear it was God?
Fade into Written WordFade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.
Disappear from harsh reality,
seeking lettered escape.
Twisting lines into melodies,
leaving the long lost agape.
Whispering wishes of wanderlust,
daring dreams of dancing,
gushes of grace's grandeur
with the beauty blushing brings.
Let's fade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.
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The Ward: Chapter 1 - AloneChapter 1 - Alone
When most people start a story, such as this one, they’ll start with something like ‘my name is and I’m such and such years old’. Seriously, nearly every time I ever opened a first person book, it was there, as though everyone could think of no better way to start their stories.
But am I going to be different? Maybe. But this tale seems a little too grim for a gentle start such as that. So, I guess I’ll just let you work out who am I. Here, I’ll start from the beginning, the very beginning.
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It was 1992, and typically for a British day, it was dark, and rainy, if not a little cold. But that wasn’t much of a bother to me at the time.
I was three months old and restless. The nurses in the orphanage wanted me to nap, but I just couldn’t, as though I knew something important was about to happen. Babies are weird that way. So with my legs in the air, my young eyes focused on the window next to my crib. The r
Light in the Darkness
The books were piled high on the desk, tucked deep in the recesses of the Archive's library. There were no candles allowed this close to such precious works, so the words had to be revealed with a special light. It was a small glass ball, emanating a honeyed glow like that of a candle. Muted, small, and unobtrusive. This light didn't flicker.
One of the students, an Apprentice, dropped another arm-load of books on his desk. The impact sent up a plume of dust that had settled on the shelf nearby. He destroyed the sanctum silence with a fit of coughing. A murmured curse and he claimed a seat, pulling open a weathered book. Strangely, the cover retained some of its former glory. White leather, as supple as the day it was made, had been torn and stained in some places. Still soft but tarnished. Bruised and abused. Like many old tomes, this one had made quite a journey until it was in the care of the Archivists.
This student eyed the cover, then the spine. Another curse. There wa
Summer HeatSummer heat clenches her shame,
Sunlight aches her whole body,
She has it in her pocket.
Sweat runs like an itch for her name,
It shakes her awake to the same shame.
Planted health helps her
Bask in the heat, melting.
Day skies weep to keep
Her head sick and quick.
Butterflies live in her stomach,
Minding her forced life.
Butterflies live in her stomach,
Eating her alive.
She hopes this is the last time.
She wants to breathe in sea-salt,
Waiting for water to waste her,
Weighs her down as she walks.
But she makes it chlorine's fault,
Maybe she'll sleep faster in this salt.
Drenched air stains her pale
As she steps down, choking.
Chemical waves splash
On the stale sidewalk.
Butterflies live in her stomach,
Minding her forced life.
Butterflies live in her stomach,
Eating her alive.
She hopes this is the last time.
She takes rocks from her sockets,
A smile burns out her face,
Her formed lips talk as she cracks up.
She masters gravity skin-deep,
Count her eyes as she goes to sleep.
Butterfl
A Note on DrowningI am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]
[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]
In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.
I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted my many steps and Mother’s few. When I stretched my legs, I could make it so my path went over only her footprints.
The sand was soft where she had stepped. Elsewhere was gritty, and unclean.
I was young for all of Mother’s stories. Here I will write the relevant one as best I remember.
“A sailor was on a ship. This ship was far of
ValentineI know the ancient words and I speak the newest talk -
my pantry's full of pie and my front door has a lock.
You can be my fiddle and I can be your bow -
I can play the high notes so soft and sweet and slow.
I know you need a quiet place where you can mend your dreams -
my daddy was a tailor, I can sew those ragged seams.
I've heard that there are angels who are jealous when we kiss -
they look at us and think about all the things they miss.
There is something to be said for not rocking any boat -
but if you rock with me I know we can stay afloat.
I asked the higher powers if our love would be okay -
they said love is always risky but do it anyway.
I used to know just what to do, I had a master plan -
the only thing I know now is I want to be your man.
This is no brief love affair and this is no mistake -
this love is mine to give and my heart is yours to take.
The warrior's call"I saw the breeze of midsummer's bloom;
the leaves aloft, kissing the autumn goodbye;
Like them I embraced my impending doom
wrought in sorrow... tears dropping from the sky..."
The warrior uttered his last words
And embraced his fate - the unheard
demise bound the army; for he was a conscript
embracing his fate, aloft, the autumnal leaves slipped...
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SlowSo little left to hold on to:thumb354692311:
I'm falling deep
Deeper deepening.
But it's calming
And my heart beats slow
Slowly slower.
I feel my eyes slide shut
And my vision goes black
Blacker blackest.
My senses fade
And I become empty
Emptier emptiness.
Requiem for a dreamThere lies the bewilderness.:thumb353109197:
I am lost to it.
Lost in it.
Wandering the merging passageways
The trapezium maze of synaptic firing.
Under the over and between the middle
I fall out of the world.
inhale.
Lilac rains on effervescent tin rooves
Turn to remnants of forgotten tears.
The pearly rivulet,
Of moonbeam kisses.
And so the dead bury their dead,
As the living meander by.
For we all feed on death.
exhale.
A sibilating breath speaks,
And in my auspicious solitude
I urge it
To tell me how fine it's all going to be,
As I listen to the restive oracle
That distracts me from myself.
inhale.
Falling. Flying. Missing the Ground.
As conscious is forgotten
To the arms of Morpheus,
And the wonders of attritional time
Rip the skies open
Drenching the earth in diamond webs
And Pandora's secrets
Ignite in scintillating opal fire.
exhale.
So the anachronism of our yesterdays,
And every present we know,
Feeds the gluttony of today
From the revenue of tomorrow
In conscious spaces
where augurs define
91. DrownThe dark water caresses my feet:thumb312165053:
Its cold takes away my body heat
All the feelings it washes away
So they won't bother me another day.
In the dark water I will be save
Protected from harm by every wave.
I heard your siren-like song
Calling me home where I belong
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
The dark water is surrounding me
As I succumb to the endless sea.
As the waves close over my head
I started floating, gravity's dead.
Don't cry for me, don't shed a tear
For I just went home, it's all so clear.
I followed the siren-like song
Leading me home where I belong
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
My hurting lungs want to gasp for air,
With fading vision, I see my last breath
Rising to the surface of my watery grave.
Blood desperatly pounds im my ears,
Beating the rythm to the song I hear
The song of the deep
The song of the sea
The song of death waiting for me
Writer's OathAs a writer, I swear on my word and my honor to do my best,
To always strive for the unobtainable;
To not only reach for, but to walk among the stars;
To never lose the awe and wonderment of life,
And to see the world, if only for a moment, with the simple faith and wonder of a child;
To kindle the flame of imagination within the hearts of all whom I come into contact with;
To never scoff at the whimsical;
To keep a hearty belief in dragons and fairies burning strong in my heart;
To believe that giants can be slain, and evils vanquished;
To not merely search for a hero in dark times, but to seek to be one;
To look ever to my friends for inspiration, and also to seek to be that inspiring light;
To remember that the darkest hour of night is when the promise of coming dawn is the brightest;
To stand up for truth and right, regarding not the opposition;
To be ever open to new possibilities,
And yet to always say what must be said in the way it ought to be said;
To remember that the pen is
The ShadowHe is the creature who comes in the night:thumb356221035::thumb356675420:
to clean the kitchen and return
that sock you lost in the laundry last week. He is
the hooded figure who stalks by you
in a darkly lit alleyway with his hood up
when you're dead drunk at 3 in the morning and
you just know he's
going to mug you or worse
but he doesn't, just
turns a corner and disappears. (He is
going that way to gently chastise
the man who had an entirely different idea. The man
runs home, cries, remembers nothing
the next morning. He goes
to his parole officer and confesses
several violations.)
He is the one who whispers
into your ear in the middle of the night
terrible things
but only so that you will turn over
and hold your lover closer, tighter
than you have for months. He
is one of many who moves things around,
puts them where you're sure you didn't leave them
(and you didn't)
but he alone puts them where they
should have been in the first place.
He sets a floorboard creaking
in the middle of the night; you
deadbolt the doo
The GuardianAs told by Daniel Valentine
Panic.
The archeologist ran as fast as his long overworked legs could go. The terrible shadow was catching up quickly, running him down like so many fox hunting hounds in spring. There was only so much the young man could deal with, and as the sweat poured down his face with the exertion, he found, this was not one of them. He’d already reached the outer halls of the sanctum, how much longer would the creature follow him!?
He could see a door ahead, but as the beast behind him roared, the ground shook, nearly throwing him off balance and caused large chunks of the ceiling to collapse in his path. Soon he was dodging debris as it fell from its rightful place. He was terror struck, if this door was locked, that was all there was to his tale, he would die, and no one would ever stop the baron, in whatever plan he had. There fell in front of him a very large chunk of the floor above, a few barrels and boxes fell to the ground with a crash that was as
Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!
Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles: 
Volume 1: January 2013
