ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
December 14, 2012
Continental Drift by =Aconitum-Napellus A delightful and autumnal Sestina
Featured by BeccaJS
Literature Text
I suppose you call this time fall.
It’s always autumn to me. Your alien mind
likes to speak in a distorted tongue.
And when we see the spinning leaves
drifting down an eggshell sky
I catch oak, and your hands are empty.
There half the houses stand empty,
you say as you watch rain fall.
There the world is bigger than the sky,
with room for my restless mind.
I know you pine for maple leaves,
for bittersweet syrup on your tongue.
The words are waiting to leave your tongue.
This land is small and your heart is empty.
That’s why everyone ups and leaves.
This place is paradise after the fall,
There you can be naked. No one would mind,
no one would see you bare yourself to the sky.
Through the window is my perfect sky,
the places that come easy to my tongue,
If we left maybe no one would mind
but me, I say. But if your land is empty
who would catch me in your wondrous fall?
If your land is perfect, what fool leaves?
One day I will weave from leaves
a tapestry of your autumn sky.
We’ll go where poplar and maple leaves fall,
where every red and amber seems a tongue
of flame, and where the world is empty
and gives space to your fragile mind.
Perhaps after a time I would not mind
my future in a place where everyone leaves
but you and me, where the world stands empty
but for us. I’d give you my entire Eastern sky.
Words slip easily from your honeyed tongue
and I think, after all, that I may fall.
I cannot mind your perfect pale blue sky,
your autumn leaves, your ever altered tongue,
You make me fall. With you, I am not empty.
Literature
Pressure
Something broke.
A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.
You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.
You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.
Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.
You stand up,
homo erectus,
you consider your legs,
homo sapiens,
nothing feels wrong,
homo stabilis.
But you can break
more than your body.
Literature
epitaph
in the end
when i'm almost gone
and all i've left
is a red lamp
and a ragged song
to pave my way
into the thunderstorm
let every raindrop murmur
i loved you and lost
nothing but emptiness
and the company
of ghosts
Literature
Fifty
Please understand: I do not want
to want this (you).
I realized at poem nineteen-of-fifty:
You (college-borne) are a new you,
I (weaponized) am a new me,
and the new me still wants the new you.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
I had an urge to write a sestina after reading this
This is my second, and my first in ten years. By god they're hard.
This might be the first time I've used the 'traditional fixed form' category on here
December BuddhaDecember cracks open like hazelnuts,
crinkled brown and brittle, dry from the fire,
cold-crisp and crunching as needles of pines.
As usual, wisdom comes just in time,
reminder to hold on to my forest,
to my stories, to make myself buddha.
I am lacking, no quiet rain-buddha,
born, as I was, a tight-curled hazelnut,
but I do send roots into my forest,
and in summer spread Colorado fire.
I find that more and more I pass the time
among the kings that are my totem pines.
In North Carolina, December pines
not for sun but for a softer buddha,
a figure to remind the month that time
ends not with January; hazelnut,
it curls in on itsel
This is my second, and my first in ten years. By god they're hard.
This might be the first time I've used the 'traditional fixed form' category on here
© 2012 - 2024 Aconitum-Napellus
Comments29
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I love the extended metaphor, and I feel that I'll want to come back and read this poem time and again.