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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 9, 2004
in the words of the suggestor (slightly edited):
Daddy's belly by ~StarkNaked is one of those rare, crystal-clear gems in a world of cynical abstraction. The simplicity of the imagery is misleading, for beneath the fragile presentation lies an ocean. It is one of the most rending elegies I've read.
Featured by Astrophel
Suggested by breathheld
Literature Text
Daddy’s large belly protruded past the rest of us,
sometimes it gurgled
if it sensed the presence of an
In N’ Out Burger close by.
It would shake a little
when he laughed.
It would rise and fall
when he slept.
It would demand much room,
when he drove mother’s car.
It came to be that I was convinced
his heart was in that belly,
that it was big simply because
he needed more space.
His Death Certificate reads
H e a r t A t t a c k -
and a small part of me still wonders
why didn’t his belly collapse?
Why couldn’t his stomach
have attacked him instead?
Not his loving heart -
not his love that everyone envied, admired,
that beat so loudly
as though it were a Chinese gong.
I look in the mirror now
and wonder if my heart too,
is lower than it should be.
sometimes it gurgled
if it sensed the presence of an
In N’ Out Burger close by.
It would shake a little
when he laughed.
It would rise and fall
when he slept.
It would demand much room,
when he drove mother’s car.
It came to be that I was convinced
his heart was in that belly,
that it was big simply because
he needed more space.
His Death Certificate reads
H e a r t A t t a c k -
and a small part of me still wonders
why didn’t his belly collapse?
Why couldn’t his stomach
have attacked him instead?
Not his loving heart -
not his love that everyone envied, admired,
that beat so loudly
as though it were a Chinese gong.
I look in the mirror now
and wonder if my heart too,
is lower than it should be.
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Literature
two tired children
'when the sky falls,' she whispered softly, playing with the ends of his hair, 'will you hold my hand?'
they sat in plastic chairs under the streetlight and staring at the stars. the road was empty and the city was hollow, littered with neon advertisements for underwear and french fries. the wind was cool, but not biting, soft and fresh around her neck as she hugged her body, grasping her shoulders and crossing her heart. she'd only brought one bag and she held it between her feet. her little red case of cds and jewelry. all he had was his guitar. she'd never seen him without it. they traveled light, perhaps hoping it'd rub off on their mind
Literature
swim like fish
shallow streams of consciousness
lap against ankles dangled
from piers of perception
fed by pools of thought which
shimmer briefly- scrutinized
dissipating under x-ray glares
aquatic remembrances writhe
in charred baked beds of
revocations
and in the end your throat
burns and we're all sick
of water.
Literature
A driftwood Essay
forever and flawless
those un-plucked flowers
pressed in poetry volumes
and the ocean.
oddities of memories
as river stones, well rounded
in their patient education;
as punctuated coffee stains,
those discarded sutras
by accidental monks,
who learned calligraphy from
the rain.
what clever lines
the cipruss roots, embroidered
with lichen 'nd worm trails.
how fertile those monks are now,
as love is recorded
diligently, in chronicles
of a child stomping in
the rain.
Suggested Collections
It took me a week to get this one done. I wanted to write something from the view of a little child, but keep it with my own mindset. That doesn't make to much sense to me either...but I really like the way this turned out.
© 2004 - 2024 StarkNaked
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