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About Deviant Artist DanielMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
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Newest Deviations

Literature
Sirens blare in the distance
Sirens blare in the distance.
There is a forest fire some miles from here.
I am seated outside, it is night
and the smell of smoke fills
my head, overwhelming a 3 day cold.
A radio tower winks at me in the distance
and it occurs to me that people's homes
may be burning and animals may be running...
but that doesn't bother me nearly
as much as the smoke obscuring the stars.
I think my priorities are skewed,
but damnit.
I was looking forward to those stars.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 3 13
Literature
A Poem for Poets
They told me
eye for an eye,
tooth for a tooth.
But rarely does
a rose get a rose,
or a lover receive love.
Or a poet, a poem.
a dove, a dove?
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 16 5
Literature
Some Sort of Frankenstein
Rain rain go away,
It sat upon all the mountain tops,
it’s thunder shook through the valley bellow
and stirred was the dead man’s glass eye,
but with life?
come again another day.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 1 1
Literature
old man River
old man River didn’t like the idea of dying,
not one the tiniest bit.
and he tried and tried with all he had,
to find some escape, some freedom.
But fear’s too strong when it comes to that.
We all call death. It can make grown men cry,
and mothers throw their kids the quicker route to hell
so this old man River decided he’d rather die on his
own terms, so he ate his apple a day. Fresh, picked.
They say an old red apple fell on old man River’s head.
Killed him dead, they said.
An old wives tale that no old wives tell.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 4 3
Literature
Learning to Fly
Grab your kite and run boy,
‘cross the sandy beaches,
and deepest meadows.
Take each breath deep and
recall how the clouds were shaped—
crocodile tears, hearts, and grinning girls.
Close your eyes till (Trust me,
you’ll know cause the tension)
It meets that big blue sky
And remember why you were running.
Turn around. Tie it round your wrist
And fly to the smiling sunset.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 0
Literature
Daffodils
You hummed a song, I doubt, just for me,
an old tree breathed the petals in our hair.
How surprised you must have been,
drawing in that blind man’s stare.
He fingered the grooves of the metal bench
and grinned from ear to ear.
His teeth were of pearls and white,
and he sucked in all the air.
Your eyes were wide,
your breath was stalled,
and the petals fell from your hair.
And then, out loud, he laughed the world,
feeding all the birds and children too.
And I hoped that it would last awhile
but he went to smell the daffodils.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 7
Literature
pages flip on by
pages flip on by,
but there are no new poems to read
and all though each twinkles
like fireflies in a web,
I’m too tired.
because how do you capture
a man? With words and rhymes
and cleverness?
It’ll all do the trick,
but he’ll always want more.
He’ll always need more.
so I'll inhale it all
from my roots and fingertips.
I’m not sure if that's gluttony or lust,
but it’s fine either way.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 3 0
Literature
Splat
I fell out of the sky in the August of ‘91
from a wispy cloud of nothing
and I have been, always will be,
blind and falling to my death;
I can twist and turn
and spin and dip
and get big
and grow small,
among other sorts of neat things
though.
It’s all quite fun,
even if I’m aware
of the wind that grasps my hand,
firmly, a handshake from lost gods,
and the earth which draws closer
and still, I wonder
is either curious if I’ll go splat?
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 4 1
Literature
Dead glass stained his body
Dead glass stained his body
and he was all the way frozen
in time like a princessless frog.
They marked his grave with an address
and the mailman and milk man
both said hello with smiles.
Ashes were just ashes and
I think he would have cried
if it would have been any use
but his hand was clenched
with lustful, impotent rage
and its fingers were cut to shreds.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 5 10
Literature
Pop-up Book
Suppose, I said,
That we’re all just in a pop-up book
little pieces of cardboard,
pretending to stand up all by ourselves.
A cheap story for some god-child
who flips through and never reads
the words. Words that build
our flimsy plot-point lives.
And the worst is that
we never realize there’s nothing else
but our tiny pop-up world
and we gladly fold down
into nonexistence with every
turn of the page.
Then she smiled.
And said
but all pop-up books have
happy endings.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 25 9
Literature
Larry's Quest
Larry heard his teeth clink against the metal, and this was the first sign that what he was doing was wrong. The sound of teeth and metal scraping together is inherently evil he believed. It’s almost like fingernails on a chalkboard, except more intimate. These are your teeth’s private space after all, and metal’s intruding upon that.
Sure, someone could smack a pair of dentures up against a metal cooking pan and produce a similar sound, but it wouldn’t echo in your head in that certain way. A way which lingered and gave you goosebumps along your arms, as if your soul was trying to escape out, away from the horrible resonance.
But that wasn’t the part Larry hated most when metal met mouth. The worst was the taste. The sharp, alien taste that seemed was overwhelming, though oddly let a tiny tinge of everything else through so that you’d miss it. You’d miss the taste of onions for crying out loud.
The smell was just the same. It was a lot like a knife r
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 0
Literature
Art, kinda
I don’t know who told you what art was
but an old homeless man taught me all about it.
He walked on a cane and had three dogs named
Please, Havoc, and Dandelion.
In the middle of the night,
he would howl like he was alive
and those little dogs
would just sing right along.
They didn’t sound much like anything great
but they sure made music alright,
cause it was just so damn real
and we were grinning.
Music is art, kinda.
Like this poem is art, kinda.
and that’s all I’ll ever need to know.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 5 2
Literature
He's not laughing
And I’m all alone at the bottom of the world,
singing to tree roots about the things I’d never seen.
It ain’t so tragic though, cause I still got what I had.
*
When we hit the iceberg, the Captain took the first lifeboat,
but I’m not blaming him. He beat me to it.
*
It’s just too damn funny for words
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 1 4
Literature
Never Real
Salt’s stuck to my feet,
Casanova’s dead,
The Titanic sank,
And Rome burned down a week ago.
But cause I don’t know love from a bad joke,
I write poetry for girls who were always
never real.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 0
Literature
What's a man?
I cry at night when I’m all alone
and ask myself some really
hard fucking questions.
Like
“What am I suppose to do?”
Or
“Am I?” Meaningless
what really gets me then
are Those Questions I can’t answer
and never will be able to…
“what’s a man?”
Be he Wide,
Or be he Thin?
Be he Capital Or Lowercase?
so please, Lady, just tell me—
just tell me and let me get
some god damn sleep.
what’s a man?
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 2
Literature
Being awake is a tiring thing
A gun to my head and five dollars on the nightstand,
I grab the cash and go to McDonald’s.
Fast food is the second most respectable form of suicide.
:iconBroken-Poet:Broken-Poet
:iconbroken-poet:Broken-Poet 2 1

Random Favourites

dA Lit Forums Stamp :iconlenavvargo:lenavvargo 276 69 SpiroDraw :iconsophiehoulden:SophieHoulden 5,393 1,552
Literature
Speech Class
Naked I stood, there, before God's judgment,
riddled with bullets fired from steel eyes;
my mouth was barren of words that escaped
while the butterfly war raged in my chest.
—And the room echoed with a screaming silence.
:iconLibraLuringLuna:LibraLuringLuna
:iconlibraluringluna:LibraLuringLuna 4 5
Literature
Rising
                           up...
                rises...
Exhaust...
from pipes belonging to (worn out) cars
What's in the passenger seat?
"That suitcase
packed tightly upside down
carrying meaningless dreams"
And driving, you whistle a tune;
something I'll never hear--
but something you know I'd hold dear
(if I were to hear, that is)
And from your pocket,
you place a picture on the pillow
your head should have been
when I awoke this morning
after giving you that last gift
(and the most meaningless)
:iconmakethegreatescape:makethegreatescape
:iconmakethegreatescape:makethegreatescape 3 5
Literature
Smoking
I often wish I smoked.
It would be nice
To have something normal
To crave.
People say smoking makes you die
Younger.
Like it’s a bad thing.
But most of all
I could stand outside
At the pub or the theatre.
Watching the moon
And listening to tales
Of those people
Who cheat on their husbands.
:iconhaha-amy:haha-amy
:iconhaha-amy:haha-amy 10 34
Literature
Colourless
It is a colourless autumn day
As if the rain coated sky-
Consumed a once pastel splattered world
Painted by children and fairy dust.
I was a writer once –
And the ink beat through my veins.
I accost my heart about its well;
To find that blood never tided there.
My dreams speak to me-
Like imagination
Splattered over pale walls.
As I scribble oracular words,
Illuminating an unfolding world- -
I wonder if I have been there before
Or am I purely out of mind.
Watching ink drain from the nib as if from-
My brittle wounds.
I wish for a vast ocean of night
To tell me what my name is worth.
And if it cannot give me the value of my letters,
Or casts the wrong eponym in my direction
Will I become as brittle as my words-
Is humanity so fragile
:iconsavvy:savvy
:iconsavvy:savvy 9 9
Literature
Black Dob, The Chimney Lad
Black Dob, Black Dob, the Chimney lad
His lady’s all in weeds a-clad
“Hang a black ribbon ‘pon my door!”
“Me Dob’s not to come ‘round no more!”
Dob, poor Dob adored Maggie Thane
With sad dark eyes and an auburn mane
She sold flowers in Blackpool’s streets
The muddy stones blessed by her feet
He’d not a tuppence to his name
Sweeping chimneys for those of fame
“I’ll buy me love a ring one day!”
He sang, sweeping his days away
He’d listen for her voice’s cry
“I got pink roses for to buy!”
He’d call, “I’d buy a rose, my dove”
“If roses were your sweetest love”
Sitting together on North Pier
Ignoring those who watched them there
They’d steal a kiss by twilight
Holding together through the night
Dob, Black Dob was without a care
From Pharos Street to Foxhall Square
He’d dance and whistle with his broom
The clear sky clouding with his doom
Maggie was sought by Morley La
:iconNojo-on-the-rojo:Nojo-on-the-rojo
:iconnojo-on-the-rojo:Nojo-on-the-rojo 10 52
Literature
Pop Culture
We're all around you;
                      among you,
                             above you
                       by your wishes alone.
[of course;
            we reflect who you are
            
             on the (inside)out]
Jesus has nothing on us!
                           
:iconVivaciousBodacious:VivaciousBodacious
:iconvivaciousbodacious:VivaciousBodacious 1 24
glenn said :iconalanthebox:alanthebox 1,208 427 A reflection of innocence :icongilad:gilad 2,297 694
Literature
Joni Mitchell was on the radio
I saw a plastic bag run a stop sign
On Park Avenue and
Sixth.
The green light was on a smoke break
And we were all sitting like Christmas presents
beneath a concrete tree.
The tires romanced tiny pebbles
With novelty pick-
up lines,
And Joni was singing on the radio
about Cold Blue Steel.
You hummed along and beat
your fists
against the glove compartment.
Seems to me, that's something you'd do.
When the wind lit up, plastic bag-
Break lights, red and shiny.
I saw it settle on the cactus
in the median
Next to the man selling Grapevines.
You turned off my radio, and the light changed.
:iconWhoKilledKirov:WhoKilledKirov
:iconwhokilledkirov:WhoKilledKirov 12 43
Freedom :icontyt2000:tyt2000 47,351 6,057 :ipodglomp: :icongodslittleheathen:GodsLittleHeathen 21 16

Activity


deviantID

Broken-Poet
Daniel
Artist
United States
Current Residence: crepe-de-china
Interests
I use a receipt for a bookmark usually, but not just any old receipt. A receipt I got for a Vonnegut book must be used only in Vonnegut books. O'brein's receipts can only be used in his books. I definitely won't put Steinbeck in Bradbury. Imagine the madness of it all. Hemingway would be littered through out Joyce and Faulkner would smother Chaucer. And who would look out for poor little Nora Roberts? Oh yea, middle-aged housewives.
  • Listening to: Deltron 3030
  • Reading: Deadeye Dick
  • Watching: It's Always Sunny

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconeternalsunday:
EternalSunday Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
You have been featured in this article [link] Please :+favlove: the article and give the other artists some love! :love:
Reply
:iconwhimsy657:
whimsy657 Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2011  Student General Artist
I love your writing, it's so interesting.

So therefore, I am watching you .:)

Congratulations on the DD! It was well deserved.
Reply
:icononly-sissies-write:
Only-Sissies-Write Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2011
I checked out your gallery after reading your recent DD, and I'm absolutely stunned.

(I don't like "watching" people without leaving some sort of comment, even if it's redundant and has nothing to say.)
Reply
:iconthomasatthegates:
ThomasAtTheGates Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2011
You have wonderful poetry.
Reply
:iconstephie-chanx3:
Stephie-chanX3 Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
I just wanted to say, I really love your poetry. :)
that's why I'm adding you to my watch list.^^
Reply
:iconstrawberrylatte12:
StrawberryLatte12 Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
You haven't been on for a while, but congrats on the DD! c:
Reply
:iconthe-peculiar:
The-Peculiar Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2009
Hey, thanks for the re-fave!
Much appreciated (:

How have you been?
Reply
:iconbroken-poet:
Broken-Poet Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2009
good I suppose, haven't seen you around WLC or anything.
Reply
:iconthe-peculiar:
The-Peculiar Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2009
Yeah, I've been pretty dead in the creative sector lately. Lately being the past few months.

It's kind of an inexplicable feeling.
Reply
:iconwickedlyloquacious:
WickedlyLoquacious Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2009
Hey there! We appreciate your continued support and hope that you'll drop by soon to take part in some really cool activities and poetry shares!

:heart: - ~WickedlyLoquacious
Reply
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