ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Spare the spider, you said,
for it's more afraid of you,
but I turned on the offensive anyway,
the newspaper curled into my hand
like claws clenched for the crushing,
and you stared at me as though
you couldn't believe that fear was this contagious.
I remember seeing its body brushed against brick
the way a bruise molds its way
across the skin, surprise paved like pigments
in the scattering of its legs,
cupped at angles that looked like palms
pursed for prayer, stretching across the air
as though to say –
I wouldn't have hurt you
like this.
And I raised the folded paper
one last time, my eyes seeing only
the twitching of legs, your own gaze
sprawled upon the movement
of my hand, as though to say
that the world held captive
to bigger monsters than this.
for it's more afraid of you,
but I turned on the offensive anyway,
the newspaper curled into my hand
like claws clenched for the crushing,
and you stared at me as though
you couldn't believe that fear was this contagious.
I remember seeing its body brushed against brick
the way a bruise molds its way
across the skin, surprise paved like pigments
in the scattering of its legs,
cupped at angles that looked like palms
pursed for prayer, stretching across the air
as though to say –
I wouldn't have hurt you
like this.
And I raised the folded paper
one last time, my eyes seeing only
the twitching of legs, your own gaze
sprawled upon the movement
of my hand, as though to say
that the world held captive
to bigger monsters than this.
Literature
For the Encounters I Never Had
I released my regrets like a million balloons
chasing the sky with their bright round bodies --
wingless martyrs caught each tiny breath of air
and soared,
a moment of epiphany
when your rubbery skin punctures
and the soul escapes.
There is no element light enough to lift me away,
no instrument to sever the strings that earth
my tiny anklets --
I sway with the seasons
as if I am surrounded by an ocean,
unable to tread water fast enough to run,
nor find the reach to break the surface
where those regrets float momentarily,
winking in the sunlight before they coast away,
waiting for my realisation --
they pollute my conscience
Literature
Fellowship Lost, Ch 1, Prt 1
Shoot.
Oh, shoot!
Shoot, shoot, shoot.
Yes, that was what Lorin said. She couldnt deny it. She heard it leave her lips. Shoot? Any number of profanities would have been more appropriate under the circumstances, but her mothers training was kicking in when least expected.
She would say more later much more but right now there was no time. She had to concentrate on moving her foot from the gas pedal to the brake; had to convince her reluctant right hand to let go of the steering wheel and shift the car into park at fifty-five miles per hour screw the transmission. Had to remind hersel
Literature
Death of the Artist
Roland Barthes said, "Death of the Author," and society said, "Hey, why not?"
They didn't actually kill them, and it wasn't just the authors, either, though there isn't much written about the artists in those early days. The theory was to pretend that there was no author, to better separate the text from the experiences of the writer. Of course, that's impossible to enforce. So society went the other way. If they couldn't separate the author's experience from the text, they'd separate the author from experience.
It worked well, at first. What author or artist wouldn't leap at the chance to live in a commune full of no one but other artists
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2010 - 2024 passingavery
Comments14
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Overall
Vision
Originality
Technique
Impact
I really like the concept. To me, it seems as if you are commenting on the violence prevalent in society through the killing of a spider. Maybe I'm looking too far into it, but there seems to be a deeper meaning to a poem that is, on the surface, about something that may seem silly.
I also like the unique take on the killing of spiders. Most people don't think about it, but you dig deeper with interesting imagery and describe it in such detail that the action is almost unrecognizable.
There are a few things that bother me. First of all, the last two lines seem to be awkward. I don't know what you are talking about and there seems to be a word missing. Maybe it should be "the world IS held captive to bigger monsters than this"?
Another thing is that I'm a little confused as to who the "you" is. Who is talking in the very beginning? It seems to be that you switch the "you" from some other person the narrator is with to the spider itself. It is confusing.