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*saartha

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About Me Premium Member Pseudo-Intellectual saartha19/Female/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 2 Years
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StrifeI wake sallowly, all  sub-rounded corners and  disjointed limbs. The night  is a thready, uneven pulse.   
Over the sea, an iceberg  breaks into flocks of birds. They  are only birds.   
And still the sky throbs,  throbs, while all the wetly  breathing matter wheezes  in tandem like some dying  magnificent orchestra, like wind   
in a skull, like my own  hunched body, which sweats  and breathes  despite itself. Strife
by *saartha
FeetCartographers, yes  and water   
But above all  we have  hands,  hands that sometimes  do nothing at all   
but gather  crazy cursive  explosions   
This  takes away  our wings   
gives us  a better kind  of freedom. Feet
by *saartha
In the Rice RainPeromy tensed as the throng of people bustled into position, two long lines of laughing and crying women and vaguely awkward-looking men. Every person held a small plastic bag. She waited, blinking uncomfortably in the bright sun.   
 From the tall doors stepped the overjoyed couple she had been watching all afternoon. The man offered his hand to his new wife, helping her down the walkway. The crowd was working themselves up into a fever, jostling against each other and singing off-key tunes.  
 
 The two reached the beginning of the throng. Above them all, a bird squawked in anticipation. Like clockwork, the lea In the Rice Rain
by *saartha
WaitingIn much the same way  as ice floes stall and  hopeful bits of carbon float  suspended,   
I am twitching, slightly, hundred-fingered  and hundred-eyed and all of me breathless  for a time when my chest beats not one-one,  but one-two, one-two. Waiting
by *saartha
ResignationThe rib was replaced with  a knife. In this way,  loneliness was born.   
Adam woke hollowly,  like a wooden bowl falling  to the floor. Beside him,  the mindless woman-child  he is told to love.   
Naked, he learned the meaning  of giving in. Resignation
by *saartha
PolishMy mornings are made up of soft scraping noises.   
 Each night I think, tomorrow I will be a bear. Or, tomorrow I will be a heart. Or, tomorrow I will be a man’s face.  
 
 Today I am a blinking eye, or maybe ten eyes in various stages of blinking. The colors are pink, blue, and white. Multiple colors makes it more difficult, but also more satisfying.  
 
 Art is not a shameful thing, my parents tell me, but it is a childish thing. You can grow out of being a child, but you can never grow out of shame.  
 
 But things are only childish if you approach them as a child. When I sc Polish
by *saartha
Browse Gallery

Ah Light

Sat Apr 25, 2009, 11:01 PM
1.
Sound travels in two directions.
The trees cannot listen.
They do not have ears.
Or we have not yet discovered that
they do.

I am relieved because we
sat beneath this tree,
dropped our leaves and
stood naked.

I took your hand into my mouth
and told you these things-

I.
Dark
is attracted to
corners.

Filled
by inch
as night grows.

Would I see you glow then?
Does the body make its own light?

II.
Winter never rises.

He sleeps and yet the robin calls spring
forward and I am
satisfied.

The seasons alter.
And I am
satisfied.

III.
Light moves cross country.
Ah light-
Vertical down the Mississippi.

2.
And the moon- she was a tiny, tiny, slice.
A silver sliver of a slice. Such
swaying moonlight stroked
our limbs and I wanted
just this-
Your hand on a shadow's rim.

Ah light.

My greatest failure would be to find myself
without you so
I stay long
hours sitting in
the sitting
room.

Ah light.
The lamp-light is bright
and it burns me.

3.
I am sentimental but severe.

Deciding decidedly-
The world is large.

4.
When will we write worth?
What will we write
it?

Will we wake and watch the water wet the window frame?
Will we stay and sleep beside it?
Meet water-
be-friend him and his miniature
eruptions.

5.
Our kitchen soaked in soap.
Curving
to the floor he
bends and leans backwards
for the blue broom
handle.

How did
my love come to
know this reverse
world?

He is precious and I wish to protect him.

But
I am in need now and
I am near so
nourish me and look
at all I have misplaced.


--girlunderglass ([link]), 'Ah Light'

5 Comments | Previous Journal Entries

deviantID

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about.
--A. A. Milne

Devious Info

  • Current Residence: College.
  • Interests: Poetry, music, general artsy stuff.
  • Favourite poet or writer: Miroslav Holub
  • Personal Quote: Govern your mind.
  • Tools of the Trade: Keyboard.

Visitors

Comments


~iLISI:iconiLISI: Jun 7, 2009, 5:08:55 AM
thank you so much <3

--
"i dare say you haven't had much practice.
when i was your age, i always did it for half an hour a day.

why, sometimes i've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
*saartha:iconsaartha: Jun 7, 2009, 2:23:12 PM
Do not thank me yet. I intend to comment the hell out of some of your pieces when I get a spare moment.
~iLISI:iconiLISI: Jun 7, 2009, 6:16:45 PM
8D

i believe that comment is what they call
orgasmic

<3

--
"i dare say you haven't had much practice.
when i was your age, i always did it for half an hour a day.

why, sometimes i've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
*Azuire:iconAzuire: Mar 2, 2009, 11:34:08 PM
Hey (: How's life?

(ES is still dead, btw. Found a lot of them lurking here)

--
poets are singers who haven't learnt to sing
musicians who haven't learned to play
they know not what it is we bring
think us priests who haven't learnt to pray.

--Azuire//lastfactor&c.
*saartha:iconsaartha: Mar 3, 2009, 12:13:39 AM
Heya, pretty good. I just won a poetry contest here on DA, so I should be getting a subscription soon! =) How about you?
Yeah, I check ES daily still, but I only ever comment if something special catches my eye... which hasn't happened in awhile. Who all is on here?
*Azuire:iconAzuire: Mar 3, 2009, 12:38:13 AM
Congratulations on the contest! :w00t: Bet you wiped everybody flat, from what I recall of reading your work.

I've long since left ES, unfortunately, I still poke my stalkees (is that a word?) on AIM, but haven't seen them in a while.

I've found a couple of obscure ES people here, conversation was restricted to "oh you're from ES? Hi." Changed usernames, mostly. I wonder how many more are hiding in the depths of dA.

--
poets are singers who haven't learnt to sing
musicians who haven't learned to play
they know not what it is we bring
think us priests who haven't learnt to pray.

--Azuire//lastfactor&c.
*saartha:iconsaartha: Mar 3, 2009, 2:00:56 AM
I really only check ES for those people whose work I'm interested. Namely, etheror/his many incarnations, Fizzlethorpe, Someone's Epiphany, liquid...Enough to keep me coming back, anyway.

I bet a lot of them have DA accounts. This is one of the biggest gathering of artistically-minded people on the internet, after all.
*Azuire:iconAzuire: Mar 3, 2009, 2:20:28 AM
I check it infrequently. Deleted most of my work there so I don't think anyone visits anyway.

I'd be willing to bet a lot of them are here if they're not on writerscafe or kingpoets.

--
poets are singers who haven't learnt to sing
musicians who haven't learned to play
they know not what it is we bring
think us priests who haven't learnt to pray.

--Azuire//lastfactor&c.
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