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Deviant for 11 Years
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Mature content
Part 3: Calculating the Void :iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 2 2
Um, messin around by Blue-Bard Um, messin around :iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 0 0
Mature content
Knowing Better :iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 1 2
Literature
Exodus
Washed up on the shore
hundreds of ghosts ejected from their home of haunting
began to grow a motivation
and build a house of sand and pitch
that flowed from their gaping maws
over their gravel teeth and listless tongues
Without touching they toiled
passing through recently constructed doors
they busied themselves with their kingdom from dust
filling it with plates and clocks
already broken and no longer ticking
as if to say we still live
Beneath they raised their young
teaching them how to mend their bodies
with seaweed and stone
corporeal once again they marched in flanks
to the north to build cities and fires
sending off their lives into the darkness
Over the years they still practiced the first's habits
grinding their jaws, spewing pitch
making their wares of sand
but offspring rarely remember of ancestors
who laid on the shore wondering their purpose
without the deep to call sanctuary
No longer would they wallow
from cave to cave moaning their laments
to eels and crabs who cared n
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Literature
To the Emptiness
It starts as a fissure on one of those days
when you wake up kissing brick and coffee grounds.
Some small inkling that whatever comes forth
from the fervor of desperate fingers; a mind wrought
wrung out too many times in attempts to satiate
(denying the guilt for writers block), is a thought
worth preserving.
Now, without any rhyme or reason it leaves
just as it came.  Perhaps shattered by the boisterous
or shuffled away in searching – left underneath
too much time spent sitting and wondering
what color sunsets make when a woman in Russia
is weeping for love lost over tea and cigarettes
while her wish is sleeping softly across the sea.
The absence is never permanent, occasionally broken
by a night in a rare solitude watching a movie
you've been waiting to see when no one would notice
your tearing eyes as the hapless heroine and hero
discover themselves on a trampoline (this is honesty,
a tender awareness that your truth is your own
with another out there with the same un
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Literature
Wolves
And all I can do is watch as the wolves tear into each other
fangs gleaming, fur slick-bright with blood
as they twist their ropey tongues around open necks.
The last man, a bystander in the safe periphery of blindness
ashamed that he too is a part of this menagerie;
     A coterie of criminals fighting over sheep's skin
     eyes full of wool, mouths reeking of their bitter brethren.
At the end of the day I hang my spattered coat up to dry
shake loose shrapnel and pry out teeth from my hide
lie down, and a wolf knocks on my door
lets himself in and wags his tongue in my face
drags his ass across the carpet and smiles at the joke he's made.
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Literature
Something Vague
I told her a few more minutes spent awake wouldn't hurt
each of us consoling the other inside nameless embraces
I knocked lightly, entered, and to preserve our boundaries left on my shirt
which seemed less appropriate since the darkness hid our faces
Our sadness pooled itself on the pillows, made breathing hard
I pulled her in, cutting the distance between our quiet shorter
with her head on my chest I felt a weakness, her voice a timid shard
we both confessed that our worries had no rhyme, no particular order
I told her to sleep, we were both fighting something we hadn't defined
she asked me over armed with scissors, keeping them close to her
I found myself looking for sleep everywhere as if I were timed
outside the world marched on, taps played, followed by cicada whir
I tried to place my hand inside her belly, thumbing the soft porcelain
she moaned, twitched, sighed as if the weight of the evening had arrived
heavy and still, uncaring in the way that it consumed us once again
I offer
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Literature
Porcelain
In these days where distance has changed us: one into an astronomer,
the other to star light – it is our simple tools that let us measure
how long it takes a notes weightless analog to make us remember our place
willingly becoming something vastly different: now a knotty pine,
and a part in wintry clouds –  seldom is it said that proximity
is what keeps us entangled and aware of what each provides
as separate pieces from the clay: you've been molded into fish shapes,
and I a man in a boat – it's a game of patience and caution, each careful
not to make any sudden moves lest we end up lead astray by ripples
sent out by familiar shapes hiding in shadows: a spider in a window,
a boy looking through the pane – a different sort of infatuation
of wanting to examine, touch, and prod but the glass keeps us apart
like lovers in a Wes Anderson film: now you're an awkward youth,
and I a mislead romantic – it seems fated that we too would find solace
in drawing pi
:iconBlue-Bard:Blue-Bard
:iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 2 0
Literature
Function: Part 2...
Let this river be X, a constant motion
if not flowing then why not?
Shall we measure the fish?
Will we derive the system's nature
from scales and saplings bending over the banks?
-you are a coefficient bobbing on waves
manipulating everything; extracting data
pulling it into your boat to take home,
ingest, adding to your own internal equation.
There is no error.  All parts of the whole
seemingly tied to one another
by tendons of rationale: a tendency to connect
the precise movements of honey bees
to a bigger machination without clicks or beeps.
-an Orb-weaver trapped between
two panes of glass is an essential
existence, measuring out its meals
and silk to sustain its hold on life.
Life's preponderance is gentle, a waft;
clouds gather and shift billowing sails,
a face, another familiar image that, with heat,
will continue to stumble into likenesses
storming the front of imagination.
-two children sit and contemplate
the how of flight.  At another age
this will be too
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Literature
Function: Part 1 - Manifest
I am
Blood and pistons, heart and nerve song, tremors and motion born of a thought,
a big bang, an egg, a spore, a tree sprout, a vein, a vibration shook loose from dreams.
This breath is sent forward and backward into itself, and by its own right
conjures something more than one; when a balance is struck there will be more than this.
We are
thousand, two, few, and many; when they look down upon our Petri dish, our community,
our books and lyrics, they will find life writhing amongst the dirt and sinews;
The mechanics of pelican throats, clocks whirring in place, a single heart's hunger,
our scabs and bruises will tell a story of tooth and nail vying to find solace.
This is
one man's thought, a scribble, a note to self saying that our craft is to be chiseled
and scrawled against the walls and read by torch light.  When they find our bones,
our remnants of cities and liveliness they will delve into our beings, turn our relics
over and over again in attempt to pick up what is l
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:iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 3 1
Literature
Hymns of Self-Service
Here on earth, some unrefined home, a loneliness keeps him tethered
like loose smoke against a vague ceiling; a hanged man inside his heart.
The conversations gather around, each one adding substance to the cloud
giving it body, some accumulated shape that defines its place;
there it is, missing a certain etiquette: the formal touch of intimacy
still formless and bound to spread thin against its own impermanence.
“This is life,” he cried out to the stars who’s reply will descend too late,
only to be received by an echo of his tenancy.
A piano sounds out a chord, a solemn wail seemingly issued
by a choir of faint and feeble murmurs, a gathering of reverberations
meant to signify a trembling and indecisive hand long in the tooth
coy, a dangerous touch and go with the melody like a love affair
with a doomed criminal.  Her fingers tense with the notion that somewhere
above her our tremulant tenure inside her totality, her sonnet’s soliloquy
will reach a partic
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Literature
Directions for Wayfarers
This is not simply a task of putting one foot in front of the other
but of cataloging as well.  Creating a record of steps
so that one can reference a life in movements rather than still frames.
Be sure to note the bracing dark spilling into the dawning diminutive daybreak window
all aglow with pockets of street lamp flare.  It’s here that we push ourselves
to acknowledge the coterie of monsters and miscreants pacing the paved thoroughfare.
Donating keystrokes to their fangs and furs various tints and textures
each lending itself to a different menagerie:
-this one has spots and his friend over there is feigning civilized:
a tie that’s too long and an arm full of broken watches
-that one’s asking the time, flailing its briefcase laden paws:
the papers clouding the air must be important
Like I said this is not some wayward guitar solo musings, a random riff
but a written staff of bars and barstools that sing just as well
staffed with fat toads bulging
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Literature
And the Albatross Sings
when this is all said and done
we will be given a chance to unfold
and gaze at our furrowed and worn faces
touching everything with the palms of our eyes-
your taupe measuring itself to match sticks
broken glass and the likes of so many scarred returns.
Yes, we were indeed rich;
-I drank you in like wine
spilt you on my breast
and poured more onto the kitchen floor
while fumbling for another bottle.
-I drew you in like smoke
sifted thoroughly with teeth and sighs
now face to leathery face
you showed me the whole truth in your eye
like reading the creases in a brow beaten hand;
-The man up against the rocks
eating led from pencils
wearing pages of books like a loin cloth...
I hold this statement underneath my tongue
     swallow its sweetness like candy cigarette
     without the albatross perched on the end of the ember
burning like an effigy to peace.
I miss you like that dire bird
feathers mottled with impudence.
your call dusty and s
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Literature
Endings: Part II
II.
Take this out of our hands with the respect you would give a fly.
Take this and what ever else you can find unturned and ignored,
and tie a string around them so their collective existence
can be something more than cumbersome.
Take this dream down from its affluence, out of its heart shaped box.
Take this hand and place the palm against your chest
touch your clock, your door chime, your chimney
because this is the only house you’ll know
-there’s no more coming home-
Take this beer battered nose, this liver wrung dry, with concern.
Take this four letter word and let it die with out much thought
even though that is how this past time came to be
and always will be explicit in nature.
Take this gray catharsis into a fist of twine, with caution.
Take these withered bones and frame work to heart
package it in what is deemed suitable for travel,
there will be only this when it arrives,
-discarded thoughts and a heavy sigh
at the end of a sentence.
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:iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 0 1
Literature
Endings: Part I
I.
All is quiet
the snails of the day
are sweeping up their trails,
the stars are taking their proper places
amidst the backdrop of sleep
lighting two stray birds singing softly.
One singing a song that smells of candles
and burning oils,
the other’s feels like a substance
I can hold between my teeth
and savor dependently.
All was quiet
except the stretching of rusty thoughts
and tightening of murmurs;
at this hour the spiders have harvested their webs
fed the young
and have crawled off to bed.
All dogs are dozing
beside where their bones lay buried,
and bird songs find themselves
pressed against the glass.
The rug was softly fraying below our feet
above the sky painted itself grim
and pulled the sheets over its head
neither bird knows or sees
the world for the worms
just me at the easel imitating my own still life:
glass eyed and hollow legged
wooden tables ambling around on three
badly drawn twigs;
by design the fruit rests
bruised on the floor.
I’ve pulled down a foal,
kne
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Literature
Pulling Strings
With all eyes on the stage
while it pulls at its lips
drawn open to expose its dais
A hanged figurine is lowered
tiny nooses that have arrested
all joints: shimmering spider-like
sinews – the would be muscle
behind the clockwork limbs
limber and folding,
in some ways a Slink
at times just a Nudge
insinuating an Ambulatory nature
the posturing of Kings
a demi-plea, an En dedans
pulled by the stark ( _ ) In The Grass
: A true nervous system.
What is flammable has rapt our eyes
as we wrapped ourselves in the lie;
O! what a shock to find
our dancer is not muffled
just an epithet
for the shadow in the rafters.
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:iconblue-bard:Blue-Bard 2 7

Random Favourites

Mature content
Somniac :iconwhatmusictheymake:whatmusictheymake 2 3
Literature
Vitaly
On a plane of blooms a place is found
Awash in immortal spring
Jejune hands fall to blackened clay
Where wildflowers burn and play
The sun glows a guilty glow
Nature scampers apart
Compunction! to the child whom
Sets foot upon this ashen tomb
The staining ground brims past the brim
With bouquets, cards, shaken bones
That a man saunters over the pyre
Roused and put out by the fire
:iconFaulky:Faulky
:iconfaulky:Faulky 1 6
Literature
The Dog-Faced Man
Waking
To the caterwaul you are
Pulled from bed by strings into
Another unanswered question to your life
A plangent street calls out to see
Ambling
To the window, through it, see
Esoteric motions bring you quailing
Embrace the shadowless sky
She sends out her greyest love
Turning
You see the mirror; the street, the sea
Shake this house on the cliff
Look, look at the mirror, see! a face,
Of someone who died many years ago
:iconFaulky:Faulky
:iconfaulky:Faulky 1 3
Literature
curb dancing
I wore a watch that did not belong to me
and held two fingers to my voice box,
you almost did the same.
Today my words are just left hand turns,
I write like this is the last time
our pulses will be half hoped-for dreams.
This internal bleeding is like raised eyebrows
that I want to stamp down with a blistered foot.
Your were chewing an umbilical chord
as if you had no life left, you promised to die today
on a death bed that used to be mine;
you were afraid of tubes and sirens.
I wanted to say things like --
'life is not always a black skin-suit
with its zipper caught in your hurried truth,
I wanted to put on surgical gloves, say --
'do not be scared of needles'
reach beyond pore-level and tug all this out.
But I could not.
I feel like this too, in the folds of my skin
I feel like this too, in the blemishes on my chin
it is more than this, we know
each other well.
:iconinmyroom:inmyroom
:iconinmyroom:inmyroom 21 31
Fiddler and piper by cidaq Fiddler and piper :iconcidaq:cidaq 648 132 The Mad Hatter by Zeeksie The Mad Hatter :iconzeeksie:Zeeksie 3,050 367 Goomba by What-We-Wish-For Goomba :iconwhat-we-wish-for:What-We-Wish-For 50 12
Literature
spoken to the cat in...
people are possibilities
that's
my
angle
but better halves
in this case
come in only two flavors
one
fragile and faded
the other
bigger than life
and I
don't like it
always asking the same questions
like
did we have visions of ghosts
as a child
or
did we watch time
worry itself sick
wondering which world
it was made for
and
when someone shares a secret
who decides
on distribution
they settle into shapes
that define us
and we mumble
uncomfortable
in our sleep
restlessly stirring
once divided
:iconYouInventedMe:YouInventedMe
:iconyouinventedme:YouInventedMe 67 84
Literature
Gift
She reaches deep within herself
To pull out nothing.
She keeps it in a jar where it glows dimly, like a firefly
And it's her little secret.
The glass is clear, like moonlight.
Innocent, like slivers against a window pane
Whose shadow is not a shadow at all;
The place where she curls up and sleeps.
That little firefly will grow
It's only comfort to always lie in night
Where the sun, whom it aspires to be, ceases to tease,
And she will sleep
While Maiden Night will nuture her firefly.
:iconNeriede:Neriede
:iconneriede:Neriede 1 2
Reversed by Alshumais Reversed :iconalshumais:Alshumais 990 316
Literature
Becoming Dark Venus
Laying in the comforts
of my private sanctuary
Being the Goddess,
worshipped by the peasant men
Beloved Venus,
Goddess of all Goddesses,
to seduce, to control, to take
Mother of temptresses
Founder of enchantresses
Skin is not the ghostly image fair skin,
but a lively chocolate tone of youth
Hair not like the rays of sun
but black as raven feathers,
reflecting lights
as if stars woven into every strand
the dark sister of the Roman's beauty,
far more alluring,
far more mysterious
One glance,
makes a man stop in his tracks
One smile,
makes a man melt in his place
One touch,
torments a man to a blissful servitude
Making him quiver with such desire
Making him yearn, crave for more
yet just simple gestures of interest
Drive him to the hell's end, and at heaven's gates
The dark Venus,
The beautiful Medusa
Letting a the night fill with his scream of tranquility
A tranquility of reaching his own peak,
what evil creatures women can become,
how amusing yet excruciating we truly are
Then along wi
:iconanimearchangel:animearchangel
:iconanimearchangel:animearchangel 2 27
Literature
secret poem
the reason there is a secret poem below
"The trees wave their knotted branches";
poetry is not leaves but sap.
the face is beautiful but the blood
is poetry- let it run
it is the same blood
the tears of men
the sweat of women
the beating of six billion hearts
at the tempo of John Coltrane's
My Favorite Things
a record spun too many times wailing
down to phantom
brown paper packages.
Inside lies the poem.
:iconjaxthelynn:jaxthelynn
:iconjaxthelynn:jaxthelynn 2 2
Literature
Grand Unification Theory
I set this forth to be my declaration of independence,
My independence from whatever you believe of me,
For I am only what I believe of myself.
I recklessly revel in the aether of life,
Eyes gleaming golden, hair flying wildly,
Dancing like a Maenad with everyone watching, frenzied by an intoxication
Of the smells of autumn afternoons and sea salt and I
am all the universe at once.
I believe myself wings, goodly wings of the aquiline sort,
the sort of wings that can carry me among the moon and stars as I swim in the night,
cut through the cloudy creation of the nebulae, the young stars igniting at my touch.
I dispatch the giants into explosions of genesis, fusing and hurling uranium lights,
I sink the largest to singularity, drawing light, spinning light down to points unknown.
I borrowed lightning from Zeus when the world was young, I hurled the javelin down,
I sparked the ammonia and methane, I wedded them to their derivatives,
as Nature and Fortune I brought myself to life, and the
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running from what... by asherly running from what... :iconasherly:asherly 1 2 Bleeding for Art by simcooo Bleeding for Art :iconsimcooo:simcooo 2 3

Activity


deviantID

Blue-Bard
Jordan
Artist
United States
Current Residence: Montgomery, Al
Favourite genre of music: Anything but country
Skin of choice: My own brown pelt
Favourite cartoon character: Ren Hoek
Personal Quote: There will always be time, as long as you don't rely on it.
Interests
  • Listening to: Lift Your Skinny Fist Like Antennas to Heaven
  • Reading: Deviant Poems
  • Watching: Casshan: Sins
  • Playing: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow
  • Eating: Burger Sliders
  • Drinking: Land Shark
"The sine wave is important in physics because it retains its waveshape when added to another sine wave of the same frequency and arbitrary phase."

The day has come and gone and no matter what I did the constant tinge of boredom dogged me like a flea.  We had no patients today in our clinic...no patients=no work.  No work and no play make Jordan a dull boy.  I did play a little bit but my mental hiatus did not provide me with any stimulation.  The boredom just rolled on.  I introduced some music; some sound waves to agitate it (Blonde Redhead, Botch, Melt Banana...) but to no avail.  Boredom rolled on undisturbed with out even wavering in intensity.  Days like this must be some sort of cosmological phenomena because as soon as I woke up I was bored.  The day was gray, my food was bland (Imagine Subway being bland...I made the fucking sandwich the way I wanted and it tasted like gray!), my entertainment was bland, water cooler conversation was bland (we talked about the weather...we've been working together for awhile and we regressed to the weather), and my eyes were heavy from the monotony of it all.  When I got home the clouds broke though, my buddy Kevin seemed like the first human contact I had all day.  Glad it's over.

Comments


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:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Jan 5, 2011   Writer
back and gone again?
Reply
:iconblue-bard:
Blue-Bard Featured By Owner May 8, 2011
I've been drifting between dimensions my friend. On one hand I've been collecting data to be used as fire for my words. On the other I've been lost in a sea of love. It happens to the best of us I suppose. I'm glad to see you're still haunting these spaces. We'll cross words again.
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner May 9, 2011   Writer
:iconlightningplz:
Reply
:iconb1gfan:
b1gfan Featured By Owner Oct 12, 2010  Student Writer
BIIIIG :highfive: for you Jordan and many thanks for the generous :+fav: you gave to our very lives. I really appreciate your support for the peice :D
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2010   Writer
in my case, the llama was a thank you.
Reply
:iconblue-bard:
Blue-Bard Featured By Owner Oct 12, 2010
Well muchas gracias for the Llama. I shall name it "Biff".
Reply
:icontrplegoddess:
trplegoddess Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
thanx for the fave!!!
Reply
:icongiantshadows:
GiantShadows Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for all the kind words. I'm glad you like what I'm doing.
Reply
:iconblue-bard:
Blue-Bard Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2010
It's seldom that we're presented with something truly fresh. Keep it up.
Reply
:icongiantshadows:
GiantShadows Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks. I really appreciate that, like, a lot.
Reply
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