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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 30, 2009
From the Journal of a Cynic by =tina-go-lightly I found to be not only enjoyable on several levels, but also written from a down to earth perspective that we can all relate to.
Featured by LadyLincoln
Suggested by ChloroformBoy
Literature Text
He held her hand in the shadows, in a nanosecond of half-crazed lust. She didn't notice, or if she did she attributed it to cheap champagne and a dash of almost evaporated romantic idealism.
Funny how soul mates (if you'll pardon the expression) brush past each other, never questioning the way people shuffle in and out of each other's lives. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy and girl fall in love, girl realizes boy is too boyish and dumps him for a married man who advertises men's cologne and has no time for his five and a half year old daughter.
Love. It's an almost invariable idiosyncracy in the genetic sequence of the primates currently known as humans. Although modern emancipators may swear they're in it for the sex, we all have an innate urge to be adored.
Subject A walks into her apartment after an afternoon of mindless aeorobic activity carried out within the confines of a stale matress and a rickety kitchen table. The phone doesn't ring and it doesn't matter because she has her evening lined up in a decadent penthouse.
Subject B lingers in front of the mirror, searching for life in a hostile environment.
Seventeen years ago, Subject B tripped Subject A on the playground. Subject A pushed him into a puddle.
Were they meant to be?
Maybe.
But the past is fast gone and the could have beens don't matter.
The moral of the story?
There isn't one. There never is. Conclusions are always drawn by the objective observer and, let's face it, no one is entirely unbiased.
Funny how soul mates (if you'll pardon the expression) brush past each other, never questioning the way people shuffle in and out of each other's lives. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy and girl fall in love, girl realizes boy is too boyish and dumps him for a married man who advertises men's cologne and has no time for his five and a half year old daughter.
Love. It's an almost invariable idiosyncracy in the genetic sequence of the primates currently known as humans. Although modern emancipators may swear they're in it for the sex, we all have an innate urge to be adored.
Subject A walks into her apartment after an afternoon of mindless aeorobic activity carried out within the confines of a stale matress and a rickety kitchen table. The phone doesn't ring and it doesn't matter because she has her evening lined up in a decadent penthouse.
Subject B lingers in front of the mirror, searching for life in a hostile environment.
Seventeen years ago, Subject B tripped Subject A on the playground. Subject A pushed him into a puddle.
Were they meant to be?
Maybe.
But the past is fast gone and the could have beens don't matter.
The moral of the story?
There isn't one. There never is. Conclusions are always drawn by the objective observer and, let's face it, no one is entirely unbiased.
Literature
My Muse Went On Vacation
My muse went on vacation
and took all my best thoughts
and all my favorite phrases,
and the bunnies with their plots,
she ran off with all the fluff stuff,
she ran off with the hero's sword--
she left me sitting here alone,
bemused and rather bored.
My muse went on vacation
To a sunny foreign clime,
and left me sitting here alone
without a word to rhyme,
She's laying on a beach somewhere
without a hint of snow,
and leaving me with winter's chill
and no place left to go.
My muse went on vacation -
I hope she's coming back
With a healthy tan, a rosy glow
and some fresh stuff to attack--
I miss her interaction,
how she drov
Literature
My First and Last War Poem
When he came back from the war,
all he saw was shrapnel.
Not like the sort on the battlefield,
at home there were no bodies,
there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,
She stood at the beach,
brushed back a strand of hair
a jellyfish washed onto shore.
She knew only the dead were that clear
and it reminded her of the poisonings:
dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk
after some jerk littered the doorsteps
steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family,
watched himself at the dinner
table as if he weren't even eating
swallowed the potatoes and wondered
"where is the metallic flavor;"
"where is th
Literature
Death
Gently brushing against him, I flinch. I feel him, closer than ever, his rotting breath on my neck and his enticing voice in my ear.
I cannot give in. Dragging myself to my feet, I trudge on. Each footstep is thunder and each ragged breath is hell. Every rumble of my stomach, deafening. The averted eyes of strangers pierce my soul. Their blank faces loom in and out of focus. Muffled voices ask about my wellbeing. I stumble and fall. No, stand, please legs work, please, oh god, please stand up, don't let me fall, he'll catch me, he'll take me, oh please, stand
Gripping the wall, my head pounding, I begin to buckle again
Suggested Collections
To those who have questioned the usages of 'ast' and 'fast': There was indeed an error on my part. The line originally read "The fast is gone". After it was brought to my attention, I changed it.
Thank you to all who have viewed, commented, and favorited.
If you are reading this, bear in mind that I am primarily a poet. Feel free to read any of my other work, and please look at *Rhyme-and-Reason a poetry group headed by myself and *Penessence.
Thank you to all who have viewed, commented, and favorited.
If you are reading this, bear in mind that I am primarily a poet. Feel free to read any of my other work, and please look at *Rhyme-and-Reason a poetry group headed by myself and *Penessence.
© 2009 - 2024 tina-go-lightly
Comments128
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I love it
(yeah, took me a while to get to it )
(yeah, took me a while to get to it )