Daily Lit Recognition for June 10th, 2014
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Featured by: ladyshadowrage
I would like to tattoo
a poem on my skin, or perhaps
only a few choice lines, the important
ones that I'll never forget.
But one line, one poem, would never
suffice; there are so many
more words than that, so many
that have engraved themselves
on my heart. I would spend every day
scrawling new words, new poems, new
epigrams and witticisms onto my skin, adding
to a history of loves and losses -
a current of words that starts
at my hands and continues up my arms,
coiling lazily around my neck then dropping
to tenderly spiral around my heart.
It would never stop with one.
[and that's the reason
i refuse to let you write your name
on my hand
you are already always
Litany by Tyrison
This piece is about the love of words
and how hard it is to pick just one to choose from
as the 'one' to get tattooed upon their skin;
then it blends into the reason why the writer
allows another to write their name on his arm.
Featured by: betwixtthepages
Clock and TimeI hate how the clock ticks,
Leaching away the euphoria I seeded,
And the contradiction of every paradox .
I hate how the clock ticks,
When the wand waltzes in constant cycle,
Every second, every strain; vexes me.
But I love how time passes,
How the clumsy hulk smashes my past,
And how he gifts me bouquet of future times.
I love how time passes,
How I await every comfort after every storm,
And how I never seem to catch its breath on me.
-Clock and Time
Clock and Time by Milk-and-Pie
Milk-and-Pie looks at both the
pluses and minuses of time--and staring
at the clock--in this poem.
Suggested by: HugQueen
Featured by: Naktarra
Alphabet SoupLydia was the only child of a dead mother and the third child of an absent father. She lived in a small house on a small, unpaved side road.
Every day, Lydia would wake up with the birds and wish the sun a good morning before sliding her feet into a pair of slippers that had belonged to her grandmother. She would go to the kitchen, kiss her aunt and make her breakfast.
Every morning Lydia would take the blue bowl and heat up one tin of alphabet soup in the microwave. She would use a yellow spoon and eat the alphabet backwards while her aunt read the morning paper and tut-tutted.
On the particular morning that our story is set, Lydia did not find the letter Z in her soup. She ate backward from Y instead, and when she was finished she kissed her aunt goodbye and left for school.
Lydia was used to walking to school alone. In fact, Lydia was the type of girl who did many things alone and as such, she had grown to enjoy doing things that way. On this morning, however, something unexpected h
Alphabet Soup by introverted-ghost
A story that uses its brevity
to really impact the reader, leaving
them with a sharp, dark ending.
Featured by: SpriteBlayde
For a priceOnce upon time, there was a handsome prince who lived alone in a tower, guarded by three lions – he had grown there since his very tender age, for legend had it that he would grow to rule all kingdoms along with his Queen, if only a brave enough young woman could free him from his prison and claim his hand.
But the young man did not wish to be freed, or to be wed; and so whenever, once every few years, a courageous lady managed to climb up to his tower and momentarily defeat the lions, he challenged her to a swordfight, and killed her if she lost.
For he had everything he needed there in his loneliness and peace; food he could hunt for, and his faithful felines brought back enough game for the four of them. A clear spring trickled down the stones nearby, and in winter there were birds, and stored provisions from the kind months, to survive on.
In clement times he would run and hunt and play with his animals, roam about the mountain and watch the clouds; in winter he would play mu
For a price by DeniseCroy
A fairy tale like story with a twist
ending you won't see coming. A must read!
Suggested by: DasGhul
Featured by: ArtCrusade
PerspektivenKannst Gold durch deine Venen schießen
Oder Blei durch dein Gehirn
Tollkirschenmarmelade auf 'nem Butterbrot genießen
Betrunken vor dem Supermarkt erfrier'n
Vom Kuppeldach des Reichstags springen
Oder vor den ICE
Tanzen mit den Lieblingsklingen
Im heißen Bad, das tut nicht weh
Du kannst zu Zyankali greifen
Zum Strick, der Wirbelsäulen knackt
Zu anrollenden Autoreifen
Großmutters Zauberschränkchen plündern
Die Apotheke überfall'n
Deine Zukunft weitsichtig mit AIDS verhindern
Oder dir spontan den Kopf vom Rumpfe knall'n
All diese Chancen steh'n dir offen -
Sie werden dir auf Silbertellern präsentiert.
Doch du? Bleibst stur. Egobesoffen
Verkündest du, dass keine Freiheit existiert...
Das Ghul, 19.1.2009
Perspektiven by DasGhul
A fantastic piece of free verse dealing
with the freedom of will, depicting it with
a dark sense of humour that I personally adore.
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~ The DailyLitRecognition Team ~
Prepared by: SilverInkblot
Skin by SimplySilent