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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 22, 2005
Your Poem by ~silveroxide
Poetry can be used to expand the imagination. It might not be written in a devastatingly new way, but this little piece demonstrates how words can be used to twist you into a new way of thinking.
Poetry can be used to expand the imagination. It might not be written in a devastatingly new way, but this little piece demonstrates how words can be used to twist you into a new way of thinking.
Featured by ndifference
Suggested by demonlight
Literature Text
On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of the reader?
More importantly, are you reading this upside down?
Every word you read is yours,
Make your own sentences,
Take your own morals.
And even though I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do,
Look within other people,
You'll see yourself.
Find out what you are,
Where you are headed.
Find your own moon and land on it.
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of the reader?
More importantly, are you reading this upside down?
Every word you read is yours,
Make your own sentences,
Take your own morals.
And even though I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do,
Look within other people,
You'll see yourself.
Find out what you are,
Where you are headed.
Find your own moon and land on it.
Literature
Echoic
Echoic
Your core is refracted and deflected from
the straight path which
continues to lead you here.
Your transcendence,
although well documented,
lacked any sub-stantial
evidence
or clues on how to break
your punctuated fall.
R E S U R G E N C E
Fresh diffusal of cool silence
in this echoic theatre of beauty;
imitation of speech and gesture,
up
close
and personal.
You are replication,
my draft and fuzzy focus -
interpreted perfectly,
clearly defined fractal lines;
my better half
and improved reflection
lying in wait for me.
Literature
Selectivity
Why a word? This is no particular thing.
It can't be defined in an objective way.
The unstated dangles by half-open mouths,
a yawn like a cat stretching blithely at noon
as silence leans back on an unbalanced stool --
let it fall. The moment suggests it should be so.
If I see that your eyes project pictures behind
the irises, protean circles and spires
of curious leadings in lines of blank swaths
of colour, then I should say nothing.
But I
now find my lips quaver with verbiage amiss
and I fail to a sentence, or rather, this kiss.
Literature
umbrellas
I.
A boy putters in the hotel
corridor, leashed
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
and fading
into sleep.
II.
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
by years.
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
on wrists.
III.
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
Suggested Collections
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© 2004 - 2024 silveroxide
Comments81
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Just reread this poem after about 15 years and I still love it