|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.Twenty Ten Four by Beccalicious
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.The Beard of intrigue by Beccalicious
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bagsShopping and Wizards. by Beccalicious
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heavenNapo 8- Susan by Beccalicious
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because myNapo 7- Teen of the 90's by Beccalicious
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
Yarn Raised! "Can be Done" Critique ResuI'm pleased to bring you the results of another successful Yarn Raising critique event!Yarn Raised! "Can be Done" Critique Resu by Memnalar
This time around, our willing victim was Beccalicious, who asked for feedback on her poem Ode to a Watering Can. Once again, I'm very pleased with the thoughtful feedback that you brought to bear.
Usually I write these wrap-up articles myself, but Becca framed her thoughts so well in response to your critiques that I thought I'd just let her have the floor. Here's what Becca had to say:
Firstly, I just want to thank everyone who participated in this yarn raising activity. Critique is essential and for a piece which had nothing on it for weeks, it did me a lot of good to get some feedback on this piece. The people who participated were SparrowSong, ArchArad, jamberry-song, writerism, wynnesome, LunaticStar, :de
Bowlesian Sonnet-en if this paper in your hand was onceBowlesian Sonnet by Bobibillius
an Aspen, thick with sunny leaves; around
the base of wet and living wood, a ground
that reeks of life and death at once, then conc-
-entrate, and know at least in brief the grand
machine you sleep in, twitching fingers, won-
-dering just how one feels a texture, sun
lights warmth, bare prickled skin, bare feet in sand.
Oh this body. How I will tend to it
seventy-five or eighty. How I will
bend arthritic knees, by five windows, still,
the summers passing. Faithful friend! Now, bit
by bit, you close each window to its clasp.
This paper in your hand was once an Asp-
PurposedTireless a secret that I was meant to digress.Purposed by ChainsawInk
Hollowed and moving a fortitude I was made to lose.
Rendered by life to give light to a dark world,
As I love her I’m stuck hiding even as I count words exposed.
Still moving no more decaying,
Seeing blood and years mixing the umbilical fears.
I plead to forget the memories only to consciously forgive.
The breaking, the pressure under,
To see a calm likeness to my dreaming preference.
Repay the highest priest with what’s due,
This new life too much to bear as I continually shatter.
Like window panes of open intimacy,
Blended then forged into idolatry lost wax casting.
Knowing I am free yet wondering why I can’t turn my back,
Resolving to look for the key other half.
The world’s betrayal of a time and place in a boy’s confidence.
I stumble, the temperature drops,
I leave the body of what was fiction,
Though I will never lose the memories of a time when I wanted justice but instead accepted victimhood as unreali
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.the beauty's in the leaving by disrhythmic
sweetheart, let's head out. let's
drink up the desert asphalt and that last bottle
of johnny walker blue--
one last toast to the copper sunsets,
to the good earth. a pair of
tailgate stargazers, you and i:
roaming curves across the glove compartment map, until
every foldline is worn flannel-soft
and it'd rather stay open
let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget
and pick up terra cotta dust--
breathe in the mojave. let's pretend
that the world's already ended
and it's just us.
let's leave the door unlocked
Glass Half FullWe have a new cat now.Glass Half Full by Seilf
She streaks through the house
and sleeps in your old beds,
watching me from the rocking chair
as I habitually seek you out.
I am always surprised
when I see blue eyes
instead of green
peeking out from between
the spindles of the stairs.
She's sweeter than you--
she sits in my lap
and plays with my fingers,
doll-faced and docile
against your angular independence.
I still search for you
amongst the cracks in my heart
as you slip like sand
deeper into the dark recesses
of my faulty memories.
I am always afraid
that my tears will ruin the circuitry
through which I access
our sunny afternoons and quiet nights,
and you will slip beyond me.
I did not hope for an afterlife
until I ran my fingers through your cold fur,
and understood why people find solace
in broken hymnals and new beginnings;
I miss my pessimism.
Snow-girlShe is ice-cold, my snow-girl. Ice-cold, and snow-white, as beautiful as the frost-rimed spiderswebs lacing our tree. Ice-cold.Snow-girl by GentlemanAnachronism
I wrapped her in my coat - see? - but still she holds the Winter in her heart, clings to the ice and the snow and the frost and the steel-surgical-blue of the sky, blue as her eyes (roll back her eyelids, see for yourself. As blue as betrayal, my snow-girl's eyes), and she will not warm herself, no, not for all my asking.
I wrapped her in my coat, and I wound my scarf around her neck three times (you see? Three. Three is lucky. Three threes is magic, but my scarf is not that long), but still she holds the ice and the snow and the frost at the heart of her and she will not warm herself, no, not for all my pleading.
I wrapped her in my coat, and I wound my scarf around her neck, and I covered her feet (you see? Such tiny feet, my snow-girl has. So small. Like doll's feet, china-white), but still she holds the Winter in the heart of her, and she will not wake and
|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
eclipse.my eyes well-up constellations for you,
they shine bright. though my tears aren't precious anymore,
far too common for the tormenting night.
whoever told you about those squinting stars?
they strain to see those in this world;
gifted yet challenged by the sun and the moon.
and if all of earth's paradoxes were to stand up like soldiers,
we would be out of place.
try not to cry about such trivial matters
and live life as if we will not die.
and if such aspects are set in stone,
why does our molten flow so smoothly as
we seep out venus' volcano of infidelity and trust?
and they tell us that lust leads to consequences.
our brightness attracts those moths who perish in our heat.
we give a warm welcome to everything that we
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;
I watch him as he buys coffee
and gives it to everybody he passes
on the street who looks sad, and
his lips curl into a smile because
he made a joke that gave someone a laugh.
He holds his mother's hand on top
of hospital sheets, pressing the button
to pump morphine into her system
before he signals a nurse. Tears cascade
down his face when he watches
his mother take her last breath.
And his lips curl into a sneer as he walks
past a cloud of lung choking smoke,
thinking of the fume filled air
his mother suffocated herself in.
He thinks he's heartless, but
his heart is bigger than anyone's.
| I am running 5k for Cancer Research UK on the 14th July 2013. |
This is my 5th year participating and this year I am teamed up with CurvyLemon!
Cancer sadly still affects for too many people, and the work Cancer Research does not only funds the science, it also supports more treatment centres, nurses and support for families.
Every Pound counts, even if you can just sponsor me just £2 I would appreciate it!
Click on the button to be taken to my page!
Together, we CAN beat cancer!
I am a 29 year-old mother of one who has been writing since around 9 years old. I have a keen interest in scriptwriting, and write plays for commission for local schools and theatre groups. I have a BA in creative writing and theatre studies and currently studying for a Postgraduate certificate in Business Management. (day job!)|
I love dA because you can see what others on here have to offer. I appreciate any artwork simply because I could never do half of the amazing work I find on here.
As a writer, my main focus is on Scriptwriting and Writing for Performance, most of what I produce doesn’t appear on dA as it is used professionally. I also enjoy writing prose, and poetry and have participated in several “wrimo”s over the past few years.
If you ever want to chat, come find me in #CRLiterature, or any of the chats on the dAmn network. I am also active in the literature forum and don't be afraid send me a note! I am always willing to help answer any questions you may have or say hello.
| Or just confused?|
If you are new to the Literature community or don't know where to start to get involved, then adding CRLiterature to your watch is a good start! The group is the central cub for the literature community relations team, and we encourage community interaction!
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Lit Community Volunteers
These sexy people are so full of awesome you won't know where to go first!