hemotoxin
death to all that is red and wet
teary-eyed
one short half hour in which to scream
as everything explodes
on the inside
neurotoxin
death to the mind and all its habits
electrical death by a single bite
no longer the understanding,
much less the courage to fight
missiles
the misunderstanding between two people
no longer any love
and it shows
no more money
shelters of stainless steel
the sound of falling stars bringing
genetic death to the foundation of the heart
and the will (what is this war for again)
leukemia
friend to the falling star of another land
enemy to the girl with the cranes in her hand
a thousand
---- the warmth of ten dozen lights
an uncountable number that is NOT of 120, indeed,
nor of this world, very much like
the human who came here today in robes,
demanding alms of rich royals and kings.
what can a human possibly know
what it is to feel? to know the whole spectrum of pain..... of love?
what could a human possibly know of butterflies,
and sunny days, and drenching rain,
and the loss of a loved one?
I had a dream that WE were the ignorant ones,
dressed in our finery--- the courage of ages.
Our ancestors wore the same thing for eons,
that honesty, that wisdom, that courage. that love
sharing has never been so hard
wh
The Bakkaraachi part 4 by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
The Bakkaraachi part 4
Eustace's things were in his backpack, which Salchi was currently being nosy with. He took out what he was looking for almost immediately, as it was on top and used very often; Beatrix the rubber chicken. He examined her with narrow eyes. She was missing her left eye, was fading a bit in color and had words on her stomach, in (much to his surprise) Eustace's writing.
He raised an eyebrow and held Beatrix up by her legs so he could see them the right way. The words looked halted, as if the author had to get help to write them. They were, in bold black Sharpie, "We are one determined family, sir."
Salchi smiled a little and replaced the chick
The Bakkaraachi part 3 by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
The Bakkaraachi part 3
Bleary was sort of an understatement, but Eustace didn't feel like speaking when he woke up to a very familiar marble ceiling.
His first thought became a word; "Cloki."
"Nope." It was a more mature, stronger voice. "Salchi."
The realization hit him, and he slapped his hand to his head. "Aw, man... I didn't want to be here, much less a day early..."
Then, pain in his chest, and he gasped out loud. Salchi stood up immediately and walked to him, and held up a plate for him to spit blood and fluids into, as if he expected it to happen.
After it was over, Eustace looked up at Salchi; he had a few more wrinkles, seemed a bit older and wiser, a
The Bakkaraachi part 2 by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
The Bakkaraachi part 2
The next day, the sun was shining, but they still had to use snowshoes. Eustace, who didn't have the normal opportunities to go outside as much, was just as uncomfortable wearing them as Saraid, who was an indoors girl. He secretly envied her for her ability to willingly forego fresh air and sun, and kept envying her, because to him, envy was a form of praise.
"Eustace," she said suddenly, trying to light a cigarette as she walked, "Do you have your hood on?"
The eternal question. "Yes, mother."
She laughed and put the cigarette to her lips, drawing in a long breath. She coughed it out.
"That's unhealthy for you," he said, and then, decid
"La la la ," Ianmark sang, his face twisted into a wicked grin as he watched the events unfold in the mirror. "La la la ..."
"Saraid!" Eustace ducked the dragon tail as it sped towards him, knocking away his sword and getting his hood to fly off his head. He put on the hood before reaching for the sword again. He spied the long stream of dark hair far away in the snowstorm, facing the dragon's flaming head. "Run towards me! Hurry up!"
Saraid took a salt shaker, a paper clip and a rubber band from her waist purse, calmly working them into a weapon as the dragon walked towards her. Her head snapped up towards her brother, who was gesturing wi
while in loose comatose by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
while in loose comatose
I had a dream of a place I found familiar.
Somewhere far, far away, like clouds on a sunny day
where there's no sun or moon to speak of,
and the earth you can feel doesn't... truly feel
I'm sure I've been here before.
When I try to think of something material
it's fleeting, like a thought, and does not last;
I can't think of anything solid for more than a second at most,
forever in the present in this place;
purplish-green grass, with trees that seemed to have just
come into spring. a fairy people
with dark hair and tanned, crude fur skins and drinking horns
flee from me and watch me
from places I cannot see;
I walk towards a pl
can i visit you anymore
please don't take the wrong lock
for that right key
i had a dream of us, together
me the brother and you the sister
i had no idea how tough the world was
not bad--- just, tough--- and I saw it in your eyes
and did not understand
but now i understand
why you couldn't handle drinking with anyone else
but me
and why you turned me in for the bounty
cut off my arm
and took my sight with the eclipse you made
in that machine that promised me a higher IQ
please, don't tell me. i wouldn't be able to understand. just cry
I can forgive you anything
I just want to make you happy,
and if you have to take every or
There were five kinds of fairy humans, and before them the humans themselves---
there were the sapiens, masters of their world,
the intellects, who brought fire,
destruction, society, structure, and all things romantic.
Their brains were large, their bodies thick and muscular;
their kind separated into two after the continent divide,
and thus there were the ones who lived in the green fields,
and those who lived in the radiation-damaged desert.
Her name was Selena. She became the first
to learn to build sand domes after the first building crumbled.
Others followed her example, living under the sand and the dark.
Their eyes adapted,
a prelude to sweet sky by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
a prelude to sweet sky
a beginning is just an end, where
nothing rolls but the world is round
and everyone gets along,
where everybody sings a song
and no one ever gets lost
because the sky is a map itself
tress sink their roots into the ground,
to keep from floating into the clouds
and the sun is a juicy fruit
you can't seem to sink your teeth into
where the beginning is the end
and the end is the beginning;
and no matter how much you try to lose
you always seem to be winning.
He lingers in the darkness
Hanging by his wings
Attached to ten fish hooks
Hanging from the ceiling.
No blood is drawn, nor pain,
From the piercings, bat-wing skin,
Black feathers, thoughtless eyes,
So blue and full of things;
Things I know, if them I knew,
Pain and blood'd escape me too,
And attach me to the ceiling.
Arachna
You ever heard the legend?
Took all the stars from the sky
Strung them into thread
and wove scenes of the nighttime creatures
You ever heard of me?
I trapped the sunrise in a bowl
Slung it onto a spinning wheel
and wove a dress of sungold light and red
Roses
You ever heard of Athena?
She took the music and the voice of her people
Tamed them into gossamer string
and spun the cloth of peace and war
You ever heard of the contest?
She took the scenes, the dress and cloth
With the colors of the evening sky
and wove a tapestry of the world's creation
Beautiful
You ever heard of me?
The goddess who invented the wheel
The
Winter in the Valley of....... by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
Winter in the Valley of.......
every step comes closer, into the night
the birds sing into the moon in flight
rushes crushed under my boots
my breath freezes in my throat;
and comes out a cone of cold.
i may end up failing for me, for you
the air catches me when i fall
and though i can't feel them, i find wings on my back;
even though i can't feel it, there's a hand on my neck;
the thorns bite with ecstasy on the frozen flesh;
i take a vine and wrench it down, toss it out of the path;
it's not too late. it never is.
i find the road, see a message, of birds and a silhoutte,
you're sick, shaking body resting in a tree.
nothing can hold me back. the pain is real
Deep inside the grotto where mushrooms will not grow,
Deep inside the ghost ship hull the amanita know
That when the sea is boiling hot
And when the pigs grow wings
It's time for us to sing our song
That amanita sing!
I wonder if you're listening,
You likely don't remember me;
We were friends. Remember?
When we were small? When life was...
Sweeter?
No worries, no living on
The thoughts of yesterday?
You don't remember?
I do.
So much has happened,
A murder, a rape, and a blood feud
Between your family
And the family that serves
As the right hand of the devil.
You fight them constantly,
With words and weapons
And negotiating, spill the blood
On their hands and blame them,
While they spy on you
And blackmail you behind your back.
I was taken from you. Very, very young,
You didn't want me to go,
We'd played too many Ring Around The
Roses
If nowhere had you in it's place
if everywhere was in your face
If everything you did was bad
Taking everything you had
If everyone knew everybody
Everything would fall apart,
If something in this world was nothing,
By law of physics, "everything"
With the help of everything,
Would become nothing---for a start.
midnight angel of the dawn by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
midnight angel of the dawn
tap into your inner god
feet are bleeding on the rock
mind is racing on and on
with midnight angels of the dawn
faster does the clockwork race
the ages time and unknown place
of sand in hand and unknown man
who bows before us all with grace
fire kindles with a light
darkness strikes, best time is night
best of luck, the race is on,
my midnight angel of the dawn.
Read What Has Been Written by jewel-alchemist, literature
Literature
Read What Has Been Written
'Read what has been written
But not spoken of nor heard
In the quiet peace of solitary roses
Breaking. Ever breaking,
For that which has been written
And read but not
Spoken of nor heard
Does not deserve praise.
You will find me in the graveyard
White clothes but clad in black
If you don't know me,
In the quiet peace of white roses
Protecting them, loving them,
Calling each one "My pretty."
Read what has been written
And spoken of, and heard,
Or you will find your memory
Left behind, forgotten,
With the pretty you preferred.'
Blessed be the heart of the world
Distracting us from greed of gold
Blood shed on the stones of the ancient boundaries
Set us apart
From creatures
So not like ourselves
These memories I delve
Blessed be the heart of man
Directing us from creed of clan
Water spilt on the ground of the ancient sea floor
Distract us
React thus
To this world I can not stand
This life will never end
So not like ourselves
These memories I delve
Cursed be the blood of darkness
Spilt within the light we part thus
Water spilt on the ground of the ancient sea floor
Believe me
And you'll see
This world I can not stand
This life will never end
So n
New profile is at goodiesbasket.deviantart.com,
New poetry and stories, and taking requests.
I -love- requests! I am making an entirely request-only poetry book. Epic (story) poems or poem series, normal poems, haikus, standard forms, freeform. Any Everyone gets five. I can reject a request :P But only because I feel like I can't make a decent poem with it.
Because of the number of material I've made over the past few years I am not uploading everything. These can be requested for submission too.
And I log in after several years and a few additional deviantart profiles (because no one likes looking at their old shit) and I get
comments from years ago. About six total
and 397 unread messages
WTF
I log out now