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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
May 19, 2014
Also suggested by chromeantennae .
Glacial Affairs by haphazardmelody is an evocative synthesis of nature and humanity.
Glacial Affairs by haphazardmelody is an evocative synthesis of nature and humanity.
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Suggested by leyghan
Literature Text
Spring
She rusts the world green,
garlanding her hair
with flowers and sunrise.
She rusts the world green,
garlanding her hair
with flowers and sunrise.
At first, they clink
waxy tulip cups and gossip
over the corn tassels' latest
monarch fashions. They pallet hay
into sleepover mattresses and braid rain
through each other's plaited
cattails. But though her palms
toast eggs from hens, her
dream-clear eyes flint ice, and the
green reflecting from manicured lawns
will never match her envy. She
scorches her enemy from memory.
waxy tulip cups and gossip
over the corn tassels' latest
monarch fashions. They pallet hay
into sleepover mattresses and braid rain
through each other's plaited
cattails. But though her palms
toast eggs from hens, her
dream-clear eyes flint ice, and the
green reflecting from manicured lawns
will never match her envy. She
scorches her enemy from memory.
Summer
She strokes sun-kissed knuckles
across reddened scalps, skirt
rustling with fairy fire.
She strokes sun-kissed knuckles
across reddened scalps, skirt
rustling with fairy fire.
She casts a flippant glance
over her shoulder, ignoring
for as long as she can the
lady in red turning trees
to skeletons and grass
to gravestones. They
meet eyes at last - vibrant blue
to dull brown - as
the sky bows gracefully
from glass to ice.
over her shoulder, ignoring
for as long as she can the
lady in red turning trees
to skeletons and grass
to gravestones. They
meet eyes at last - vibrant blue
to dull brown - as
the sky bows gracefully
from glass to ice.
Fall
She stores her elegance
in pumpkin stems, and she
crunches apples with rotting teeth.
She stores her elegance
in pumpkin stems, and she
crunches apples with rotting teeth.
Cloaked in a gown
of red and gold,
she beckons him with
a brittle finger. Ice
stains the edges
of his smile. They link arms
and saunter, dusting brown footprints
with white.
of red and gold,
she beckons him with
a brittle finger. Ice
stains the edges
of his smile. They link arms
and saunter, dusting brown footprints
with white.
Winter
His staunch branches
rasp the concrete sky -
he stands stark sentinel watch.
His staunch branches
rasp the concrete sky -
he stands stark sentinel watch.
She murmurs perfume
through his ears, and
he bounds away on
baby lion claws, digging
far enough to expose buds
and petals. Her laughter
mocks the birds and calls
them home. Ice bends
back into lakes. He sheathes
himself in woolen clouds
and bides his time.
through his ears, and
he bounds away on
baby lion claws, digging
far enough to expose buds
and petals. Her laughter
mocks the birds and calls
them home. Ice bends
back into lakes. He sheathes
himself in woolen clouds
and bides his time.
Literature
Ice
When the glacier slides,
I'm the one
. . .
lost.
Wondering where the right path is, with doubt biting. Frozen memories, icy distances.
When the world grows colder,
I'm the one
. . .
cracked.
Standing on my own, with the past craving for me. Stolen, missing.
When the snow falls,
I'm the one
. . .
drifting.
Trying my best, to make sense of it all. Wandering, wondering.
When the hail storms,
I'm the one
. . .
walking.
Holding my guard, locking my heart. Smiling, pretending.
Literature
my father lived in India
my father is a man of many colors.
on the nights when the moon stays asleep,
he lotions his palms with pomegranate juice.
the sugared blood pools in the creases of his
skin, staining it India’s red.
sometimes, my father scrubs his hands until
they are nothing but flesh & fruit rinds.
when he was younger—all skinned knees and pocket
knives—he must've slipped on a thousand marbles.
my father’s father was a welder who rolled and spun
steel into tiny spheres.
when he died, my father’s hands became blue and
free of pocket knives. to this day, he keeps a bag
of marbles on our mantle.
from time to time, he s
Literature
Pines
The pines bend over
Crooked
Dark against a satin sky
Old and wind-twisted
Weary of winter
of going on
They stretch in a sweet spring sun
Stretch, straighten, and start over
pale new needles poke
out of paper-crisp wrappings
tender and soft
having never seen a winter
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Been working on this for the past couple of weeks! I'm pretty proud of it. 
I combined what I like to write best: something about nature and an analysis of personalities. I hope you enjoy it!
Many thanks to chromeantennae for help with the title. One of the best titles I've ever managed.
Edit 5/14/14: I am still in love with this title, but it's just not right for this poem. I started second-guessing it as soon as I posted it. So...here's the new one! I'll see if this one feels better to me as time passes.
Edit 5/22/14: Daily Deviation! My first one! I am just...beyond humbled.
Thank you so much to everyone.
I combined what I like to write best: something about nature and an analysis of personalities. I hope you enjoy it!Many thanks to chromeantennae for help with the title. One of the best titles I've ever managed.
Edit 5/14/14: I am still in love with this title, but it's just not right for this poem. I started second-guessing it as soon as I posted it. So...here's the new one! I'll see if this one feels better to me as time passes.
Edit 5/22/14: Daily Deviation! My first one! I am just...beyond humbled.
Thank you so much to everyone. © 2014 - 2024 haphazardmelody
Comments74
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Overall Vision Originality
Technique ImpactOne word can describe this poem. Immaculate. Everything about it was clear and well thought, and I can tell your brain worked hard on this one.The imagery used in this poem is wonderful, I can really see the girls and boys you create with each word. I also like the transition from each season, it really brings creativeness to this poem. I must say I have never heard the seasons described this way. This poem was a beautiful symphony of words, and I applaud you for it. I have no criticism, except maybe not use "she" or "he" as much. But thank you for making such a wonderful poem. You definitely deserve the DD. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
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