Showcase | 012

Jul 14, 20137 min read

Deviation Actions

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Published: Jul 14, 2013

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The main focus of The-Asterismos is to celebrate and provide exposure for your excellent literature deviations. Each Sunday, I will be taking the time to feature a number of outstanding pieces submitted to the group during the past week. I encourage you to browse through the work below! Each deviant featured is very worthy of your support.

Star-crossedYou woke up on
the wrong side of
a cosmic bed
A pillow of
nebulae,
crushed
under your head
Meteorites
are all the tears
which you have shed
Your ring finger
is Saturn,
yet
remains unwed
Forever lost
in outer space
among a dreamed
starry array
Your light shines bright
lightyears away
but not enough
to seize the day
Star-crossed
and vaccum-cleaned,
sleep-tossed
and solar-weaned
Let your love be
a tesseract-
then I'll wish to
become Titan. Fire, Water, Air, EarthI once worshiped a fire god,
a man who wrapped himself in
flames and brimstone armor.
I burned myself trying to touch his heart.
He loomed above me and
no matter how high I reached
I was only grasping smoke.
I once worshiped a water spirit,
a man so elusive, running his own
course, even when it ran away from me.
His heart ran through my fingers.
He was cool to the touch, as
refreshing as rain, and cleansed me
for the brief time he allowed me
to swim in his pond.
I once worshiped a djinn,
a man of the air, whom I never saw
or touched, only felt in my lungs.
He sustained me, kept my own heart
beating, though I did nothing for him.
When he vanished the air left
my lungs in a rush, and I was
sucker-punched, breathless.
I have found now a mountain,
a man of the earth, unshakeable,
steadfast, a constant figure
on my internal landscape.
His heart is made of loam, a fertile ground,
and I revel in it. Together we grow
a garden in the mountains,
above the world, and we live like angels. AnonymityLast train to who knows where
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.
The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.
Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages
Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Heading for destinations disconnected from the rails they ride,
Unknown to fellow passengers and carriage workers alike,
Gone before dawn tips the trees.
Landlocked

You told me not to lose myself in these monsoon-moods, but the winds backed to westerlies and caught me up in their currents; the ebb and flow of these atmospheric tides may yet turn my bones to gypsum-dunes, fated to crawl across dry land forever in search of the sea. david and ruth laskini have to be honest;
seeing you has always felt like
looking inside a cityscape, nightlight kaleidoscope
and i've grown accustomed
to fragility and our literal,
nanosecond dalliances.
we flicker on and off at the speed
of improbable, dysfunctional
light. i have to be honest;
i am honestly afraid
of your sorrowful sighs, and eclectic
gaze, though eerie and off in its
lissome niche, still crawls under my skin
and plants little foxgloves
where i can never find them.
you worry after events so impossible
that your aura of floral hues
giggles and reminds you
that kept-secret cardamom leaves have stayed
for as long as you asked
and let you sleep soundlessly with
midnight traffic lullabies. morning,
we both know, is tainted with the dull mauve
of my departure and now that it's time
for yours, i have to be honest;
you mustn't
grieve.
you are more than a secret
that will be forgotten with the creak
of a silent grandfather clock, and your
petals, my sweet, your beautiful petals,
still grace me in love, and other natural disastersacres of barely concealed tragedy
are sprawled along the vacant beach,
spreadeagled like a group of starfish or
a colony of dead Vitruvian men.
hair becomes whip-like in wind
as shorelines burst onto squeals of water,
each one a hideous screech
from gaping jaws, a cry that echoes
for hours while stars tick-tock overhead.
i could swallow entire mouthfuls
of the pale sun, feel them explode
like lightning strokes in my aching belly
and still think like a deserted seashore -
the only signs of life
ruffled seagulls picking at dry oyster shells.
the earth is a sphere and the coast
is a box of empty prayers
held together by a couple loose ends
of fishing wire
sharp enough to slit throats.
FellstarI caught with trembling hands the two halves of a falling star
and with sky nails pryed it open.
Inside I saw your name engraved red in silverdust walls
next to the marks of passing days.
And I wished to see you for I was then blind
stranger to the universe of your moonlit iris.
I closed my eyes to the starlight. It reminded me of those sparks in your eyes.
I swallowed with trembling lips the pure heart of a falling star
and held it close to mine.
And I wished to find you somewhere in the cosmic fog
that surrounds the foreign suns you hide into.
The planets call me mad.
I thought they would surely know,
but it seems they don't quite grasp what it means
to be star-crossed. Skinny Love Anthemsplease forgive us,
while our torn-fabric world unfurls.
for a while,
we've forgotten about your deliberate simplicity,
your skinny love anthems,
your expressive wrist beads
and poetic coffee stains.
these are precious though gentle,
so keep them safe in little wooden boxes
locking up your fibrous tobacco hearts
heaving for the heaven they see beyond
the white lace curtain,
deep into the wet woods.
we're blacker sinners,
but we'll pray for you,
for your skinny love heaven.
i hear your melodies -
i crunch inwards and weep,
you are all so very deep.

See you next week for Showcase 013!

- Jessie

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Comments18

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^{i like reading this showcase especially the scatterbrain's guide to the galaxy.}