~spysays

I still smell like a rose

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About Me Member General Writer spysaysMale/Botswana

Recent Activity Deviant for 3 Years
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Statistics 9 Deviations
1,552 Comments
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Shapes of Ages

The type took true shape inside time so long ago, In my head, a seed of text begins sprouting to grow, From air words picked two by two 'till stanzas appeared, Scribbled on canvas was a fear for classification, but now I stand style cleared,
Writing 'till the dark flirts, Thinking about a bulb, Trawling books full of word, Telling you what I heard,
Now I wish I could just let go, take pen to paper like the last time together, How they flowed, and churned, then chimed with basic rhyme on basic structure, When did blue dye become mathematics and science in barely a moment

Newest

Webs in the Wing MirrorsFragile and beautiful, webs on the wing mirrors, Crafted all night with the patience of a cat, Catching the sun’s rise with every thin thread, Dew drops gently hang on, tightly for their lives, While the wind taunts and teases with every gust, Webs on the wing mirrors, brave and blind, But gone on the way, blown to dust before we arrive, Delicate nets soaked in morning dreams, Bound by hope, desire, will, and necessity, Broken by the slightest stroke, holding life, Before taking freedom for lunch in the warmth, We trade glances and admire each’s perfect faults, Webs in the Wing Mirrors
by ~spysays

NotwaneNotwane, then I was separate type of smile, we ripped dirt roads, our knees tore holes thorough paths,
sunshine, rain storms, puddles of lakes gone in a blink, thorn trees acted as libraries, our playgrounds were boulders scattered over the ground,
we smoked cigarettes and drank reckless, then sat under the full moon shirtless, laughing out shadows as they danced with dusty, juvenile flirts,
a bike purchased from milk money change, and a radio that only ever worked with a bang, the rain was like a thousand wind fuelled rockets exploding on my shack's tin ro Notwane
by ~spysays

Jack Daniel's WisdomWelcome to the mystical land of weird magic tricks,
where the water hugs the reeds, and the ducks
mock the fish by kicking their webbed feet,
as they graze the surface with natural born kicks,
the swans grace the pond’s presence without even plucking
a thought. diving below for their next mudding feed,
I’m starring at a see through wall, so thin
yet so unbreakably protected from our breath
fuelled ways. ripples, in circles, lapping my imagination,
I’m desperate to open the surface and live with them
for a moment, just to hear them, however brief, Jack Daniel's Wisdom
by ~spysays

The Jackaljumping into a puddle as deep as dreams, black, stitched with glass shards, smashing it’s surface from a hundred feet, falling in, searching for my xanadu, slip and slide into a sleepy snooze, with fiery, icy splashes setting around me.
above, through the mottled skin, stretches the sky, colour bent, sky setup in every kind of deep pink, trees climb up my arms, leaves stained mahogany, grass greener than a song bird’s whisper, I'm dizzy, awakened by the sound of a jackal,
“follow me” said he
with me in disbelief I just followed mea The Jackal
by ~spysays

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Fuzz Academy - The Massacre
by ~mree

Summer's GirlI am gathering flowers for my girl. She waits beneath the cherry tree, couched among the leaves upon the grass.
Her beauty is no small thing, and through the shady boughs Summer's breath turns the twist of her braid.
The sun is sweeping clear the morning, turning over slowly into midday before expiring into unseeing darkness.
These garnered blooms still hardy though, despite the shortened moments of their existence, they will colour the chestnut hair I love.
In truth, I cannot stem this smile, this attitude of quiet pleasure; she ha Summer's Girl
by *jahg

ChiaroscuroYin and yang, we were; trapped
in the eternal antithesis. Your arms wrapped around my nape like a priest’s stole, following its shape
perfectly. You memorised the curve of my ear with your lips, and each intake of breath formed an island I could live in. And yet, though the contours of our bodies together
were twin waves, an altar of desire and lust and perfect pain, it was not meant to last. And I still wonder homesick in those
momentary islands, those landscapes of breath and death and shuddering
eternity, a pilgrim with no cause, guided by Chiaroscuro
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ornaments
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Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Thu May 22, 2008, 11:56 PM

I once heard a story of a woman who worked in a hospital. Everyday she worked. Everyday she saw a lady in the waiting room, writing her book. She would write everday. All day, and one day it turned out she was just writing pages and pages of O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

Why do you write?

5 Comments | Previous Journal Entries

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Devious Info

Favourite poet or writer: TBC and until that time ThinXx = do your self a favour: www.wesleyj.devianart.com
Tools of the Trade: pen.paper.keys.dictionary.encyclopedia.poetic device.boredom.creation.pre-talent obsession.