Broken-Poet

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Sirens blare in the distance by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

A Poem for Poets by Broken-Poet, literature

Some Sort of Frankenstein by Broken-Poet, literature

old man River by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

Learning to Fly by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

Daffodils by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

pages flip on by by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

Splat by Broken-Poet, literature

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?

Dead glass stained his body by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

Pop-up Book by Broken-Poet, literature

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.

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Sirens blare in the distance by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

Sirens blare in the distance

A Poem for Poets by Broken-Poet, literature

Memory Lane by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

Memory Lane

Welcome to Memory Lane; Where you go with your pain. This place is your curse, your bane. This place is your mind, your frame. You lose more than you gain On Memory Lane. You forget so much. You forget when you first saw her face, Even your very first birthday cake. You forget when your's and her lips first met. What in god's name else will you forget!? On Memory Lane. So as you lay there on your deathbed. All your memories race through your head. When all is done, Your last words are said, On Memory Lane.

Imagination Series 1 by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

Imagination Series 1

Click play Let the seat back Shut my eyes. In the NBA? What tha hell! 6' 7", running fast! Down by 2, few seconds left. "Dance hall dance hall everyday!" Snap out of it… Back in the car. Dizzy lights out the window. They all flash by… Drifting off, with a sigh. Back to fantasy once again Final shot! At half court! Swish, BUZZER! Crowd is charging in! Lifting me up! They scream my name! I'm scanning the mass Searching for the face. A grin, fleeting steps. Another swish But of hair. "Put met down!" Chase is on Up the steps But she's gone. Song change. Back to life Day dream done.

Imagination Series 2 by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

Imagination Series 2

Behind the Mirror I know something waits, Slowly bit by bit it baits. No more waiting! Grab a chair Fragments of my face stream, Cutting the air! 7 years Worth it all For what I saw. A hazel door? Turn the know Let the inside feel the air. I'm in a place now, it has no floor. Inside I can finally soar! With each direction I find another affection Infatuation taking hold. All the chips are in. No one can fold! Beep, Beep. 2 o'clock in the morning, Starring down hazel diamonds. Thoughts are at rest in my head. Realities back….along with the mirror.

A Little Plastic Man by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

A Little Plastic Man

Gregory O’Daniels skipped down his old dirt road, To the corner store. He put two quarters in the plastic contraption, The one by the door. And out popped a little plastic egg, With a little plastic man inside. He cracked the plastic egg With child-like glee. The little plastic man then sat in his palm, Allowing the world to see. Gregory O’Daniels eyes gleamed, Pride more than evident. “The best yet!” He exclaimed. And then He left. In His left jeans pocket, The tiny plastic man rest. Gregory O’Daniels had a grand time With his little plastic man. Then the dark came and with it, He went away. He ha

From a Different Perspective by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

From a Different Perspective

It must be strange To stare down at home, So old and full, From A floating metal villa. Would frivolous clouds, Obscuring great lands, Smile right up at you? Maybe you’ll smile back. It is peculiar To see the great seas, Red to Adriatic, As tiny motes of blue. Would you try to spy The Great Wall of China? Then you could trace it With your pinky finger. It would be strange To see your great world, So dominating, Hanging in nothing. If you were to reach And curl your hand, Holding it in place Would you be a god?

Selfish by Broken-Poet, literature

Staples by Broken-Poet, literature

What Can Kill a World? by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

What Can Kill a World?

None of us knew it, but from the start Slowly, bit by bit, it broke apart. Our world, our life, was dying. Fertile lands wilted, drying. Our bright realized our great plight. We would not go down without a fight. Even with our technologies We found no planet disease. No one had thought what the rain implied. Our great planet did not rain, it cried. We tried with all our power, Until our final hour. Even with all our tech, state of the art, Our planet died of a broken heart.

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Going by BlueSpartanOfVGC, literature

Literature

Going

Time and time again, I was lost on a fin; perpetually moving across blue sands, this and I let home be a hidden mark. One day we stopped in a picture, and, looking taller than tallest, I peered at it all-- using every bit of my gall. And in one small place, in one short mile, there was a shore and a call. “Bring you, child, and that is all! Come to the land of treasures abroad!” My fin was quite maddened, it did not comply at all. Though it was never spoken to in the first place, it did not comply at all. All of a sudden, we tore through colors with breaking-time SHOVES against ghosts of ships and ships not yet ghos

Pop Culture by The-Peculiar, literature

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! we wrote the Bible, after all. (we are your idols.) You listen, you watch, you follow, and we christen you our disciples. (some call you sheep,

I -don't- understand by ColonelFitz, literature

Literature

I -don't- understand

I (don’t) understand you, the silhouette of my neighbor’s husband, sleeping on hot cement; the egg that fried, sunny-side-up, before the pool deck burned my desert soles drink, collecting diamonds dropped from the back pocket of a setting sunrise, the moon-drunk Isis shares your disgraced comet eyes with the haughty Rhine drowns, my salient disappointments buried in the question of the sea; I am Dr. Frankenste

Speech Class by LibraLuringLuna, literature

Rising by makethegreatescape, literature

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

Colourless by savvy, literature

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 o

Black Dob, The Chimney Lad by Nojo-on-the-rojo, literature

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” &#

Pop Culture by VivaciousBodacious, literature

Literature

Pop Culture

Deviation Spotlight

Pop-up Book by Broken-Poet, literature

Literature

Pop-up Book

Broken-Poet

About Broken-Poet

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Artist

United States
Deviant for 18 years
He / Him

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My Bio

Current Residence: crepe-de-china

Favourite Writers

e.e. cummings, Kurt Vonnegut

Other Interests

I feel like dancing with one left foot

Posts

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Broken-Poet

Aug 12, 2009

A Bookmark

0 min read

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.

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Broken-Poet

May 29, 2009

My cats think I'm crazy

0 min read

It's true. They do. You see, I occasionally look at my cats and say "Meow" or "mreow" or some variation of cat-like sounds. They would, for the most part, shift their eyes at me or turn to look at me for a second and I never thought much of this action. But I realize something now. Because of these random sounds I make, which I do almost entirely without thinking, my cats think I am utterly insane. Think about it. It's like being taken care of a Spanish maid or a some bizarre baby sitter, and they don't speak the same language as you. You guys can't have any communication other than basic emotions through facial expressions. But every once

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Broken-Poet

May 10, 2009

This I Believe

0 min read

My AP Language teacher tasked my class with writing a "This I Believe" essay for a final assignment. I have two more weeks to write it, but I got such a hankering to get this one belief down that I wasted no time. "This I Believe" use to be a radio program hosted by Edward Murrow, launched in 1951. The official website can be found here, http://thisibelieve.org/ . They use to put them on NPR, but they literally stopped broadcasting them a month or so ago. Very sad, oh well. Check the website out for some really awesome essays about people's different beliefs, all under 500 words (which is a requirement). Here's mine: I believe in the power

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Profile Comments 136

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EternalSunday

Apr 27, 2011

You have been featured in this article [link] Please

the article and give the other artists some love!

whimsy657

Mar 3, 2011

I love your writing, it's so interesting.

So therefore, I am watching you .

Congratulations on the DD! It was well deserved.

Only-Sissies-Write

Mar 3, 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.)

ThomasAtTheGates

Mar 2, 2011

You have wonderful poetry.

Stephie-chanX3

Mar 2, 2011

I just wanted to say, I really love your poetry.

that's why I'm adding you to my watch list.^^

StrawberryLatte12

Mar 2, 2011

You haven't been on for a while, but congrats on the DD! c:

The-Peculiar

Jun 13, 2009

Hey, thanks for the re-fave!
Much appreciated (:

How have you been?