If you wish to suggest or have questions please send me a note titled "Let Unknown Be Known" or "LUBK".
Let These Be Known
" To write an ode that rhymes
requires an art:
to set from spoken word apart
the poet wishing to impart
a wisdom so profound."...
An Ode That Rhymes
" Those little things
" The day I met you
I found a friend -
And a friendship that
I pray will never end."...
" Once upon a time there was an ugly turtle. She had a very low self-esteem so when she asked others how she looked; they told her she was very beautiful. She was pleased but never grew vain. Word spread that there was a turtle more beautiful than the stars themselves in reference to the ugly turtle and turtles came from all over the lands to catch a glimpse of her.
Now, this turtle may have been ugly but she wasn't stupid."...
Written by John Christopher Clinton
What do I want,
when I tilt my head back,
and gaze up at the stars?
for the answer to arrive.
Do you, truly,
want to know who I am inside?
If so, come on,
I'll take you someplace far
far deeper than you thought;
And show you how I cry.
What do I want when I close my
eyes and look up at the stars?
I'm thinking. I'm guessing.
What do I want?
Does it feel right?
How many times should it feel "right"?
Wait. Dawn has arrived.
Do I, truly,
know how to handle this?
Can I, be okay,
letting you see every part of me?
Even what I hide,
from my own eyes.
What do I want? What feels right?
Someone who understands more than I can.
Someone who looks at me like he can't
ever, let me give up.
Who do I want? What will feel right?
Have I seen it?
When I do, will I?
What do I do when I close my
eyes and look up at the sky?
Wishing. Hoping. Dreaming.
How do I know?
Will I be alright?
There's so many answers,
Even my heart qu
" I remember this place,
as a cold winter breeze danced ever so evidently on these shores,
drowning itself in swooping motions of bitter eloquence."...
And The Ship Sailed On
" Edgar was confused. He couldn't understand what had happened, but one day he had been visiting his gram with his family, and the next thing he knew, his gram was gone. His mother had explained it to him repeatedly, but it didn't click with his brain. He couldn't understand what she meant by the words 'stroke' or 'heart attack'; all he knew was that his gram wasn't there, smiling and playing cards with him."...
Spirit of A Child
" The city is cold
with your neon reflections. and here I am,
waiting for the bus that will not come"...
missing an echo
" Large hazel eyes resonate the youth of a lost childhood and the hardships of a struggling young woman who has had to experience far worse than one should ever have to endure. With images and lengthy scars, arms depict the pain she has overcome to be where she is today. She is a lost soul searching for love and acceptance in a calloused world."...
" The bright lights and the fast pace of the crowds in the city seemed like a foreign land to Matt. It felt like he had been away from them for so long that he could only just recall the sights, sounds and smells of the over-crowded streets, and the fumes from the traffic slowly crept into the back of his throat, making him splutter and reflexively gag."...
The Red Angel: Chapter Eleven
" It wasn't easy being a kid.
I suppose it's never easy for anyone to be a kid. There are just so many things out of your control.
When I was a kid, the worst things I ever had to deal with that were out of my control were my parents. They were totally out of control.</i>"...
Oh, To Be A Kid Again...
" Kathleen Schapiro
27 September 2006
Writing Prompt: Firsts
"My name is Kathleen Schapiro, and I am sixteen years old. I think that 16 is the best age to be because it is a perfect square (4x4) and also happens to be the sum of the letters in my first and last names."...
Writing Prompts: Firsts
~Nicktroptopolis says: A very sweet story about love and obsession (but not in the way you'd think).
" Isobel is seven.
She is not graceful enough to be a girl. She had ballet lessons once, but she grew impatient of moving slowly and wearing matching socks. The only good bit was pretending to be a horse, galloping and cantering across the wooden floor....
~Nicktroptopolis says: A brilliant depiction of childhood loneliness and confusion.
" I type vainly on my keyboard, stupid words. My novel unfinished pouring out like sour milk, just keep thinking 'no one will drink this.' So I stop writing and bring up my pen to my mouth and chew on it like a dog chewing on a bone, trying to get those last morsels of flavor out of it. I pick up the stacks of computer paper, the hopeful bundles, they are my work, my job. To read the novels of accomplished writers and decide whether they are good enough to meet the shelves of bookstores around the world."...
Tom Story A Written Confession
`Trapiki says: When ~OgenB asked me to have a look at one of his stories, I never expected something like this. The depth and imagery of his writing amazed me, even if this is an old tester chapter, it still deserves more attention.
" Walking home from school, fueled by the anger boiling in my veins and the chemicals in my pocket,
loaded on a syringe and ready to go, ready to go, ready to go to the end of the world to make it right,
silencing all those toads who dared to hurt you, my prince, my angel, my life. I talk with my fist"...
!Kaust1k says: These people are poets. Well, except for ~mechanicalwonderland. She's fourteen and still growing but I know, I sure as hell know, she's going to be a great writer. And her piece "Wrath" is a great indicator.
" drug me up
on sun-stroked days;
i am overdosed
on shattered clouds and
shards of salient air."...
between blinking and breathing
!Kaust1k says: *prairiedaisy is one of the best and most prolific writers I've come across here on DeviantART in my nearly three years I've spent here. Almost everything she writes is unbelievable. I highly recommend you check out her gallery.
" once in preschool we all pulled our shorts
down and our dresses up like little whores.
the playground boys ached to touch the lace
hem of my dress, to pull my hair and kiss me
without knowing why exactly they wanted to.
i also hit my sister with a wooden baseball
bat, but that was a mistake, i promise."...
important things to know:
!Kaust1k says: ~estallidos has had a very interesting and tumultuous life. And it shows in her poetry.
" I love the intangibles.
Like the smell of clean white sheets hung out to dry, like the care free innocence of cobwebs between your thighs.
I love the texture of gray skies, and clouds dipped in the melted melancholy that falls to the earth, and to my tongue, with the consistency of warm butter.
I love the thoughts of perhaps, and mishaps, and the color that's neither blue, nor gray, but is seen only when the sun casts shadows on not-so-fresh snow and the valleys of criss crossing footprints."...
!Kaust1k says: ~Jay--x is a great writer. And while much of her stuff is more cryptic than I'd like, that is also what makes her poetry so interesting. 02.13 is about as confusing as it gets, and also, about as beautiful.
Many thanks to all suggesters!!!
Stay tuned for next month's LUBK!
LUBK - one, two, three, four