a swan, snow-feathered,
you seemed, until you molted
to reveal a duck
with feathers like the mountain:
snow melting, lilies blooming
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[Camp NaNo, Story 14] ElapseIn the years that were bright, the years Frost described as gold-before-the-green, we lived half here, in this world, and half in Lothlorien.
Not the original Lothlorien, of course. Even at eight years old, I knew that I could not reach Lothlorien on foot, at least not in a matter of minutes. Perhaps if I followed the sun westward long enough, I would find Lothlorien, and perhaps Rivendell, and perhaps even the Havens, but not in time to get back home for dinner. So, instead, we created--found--our own Lothlorien.
In the late afternoons, I would sit beneath the trees in our front yard, and Gray would join me, settling quietly beside me without rustling the grass. And I would dream. I did not know then that the trees were called mellyrn, or that the flowers were called elanor--however, I knew the colors of Lothlorien, and that was enough. I dreamed of the trees around us rising, rising, their bark turning silver and their leaves upon their spreading limbs turning golden. A
[Camp NaNo, Day 12] ChildrenThere is a family down the street with six children. Or, at least, Gray and I count six from our window. We watch them wheel in circles in the street. The windows are closed, but I can hear their squealing from here. It is a noise we both have grown unaccustomed to.
Gray says that if he looked away, he would be unable to tell if they were squealing in joy or distress. Just like piglets, I say.
How uncharitable, he remarks.
And now you know why I don't want any, I say.
We continue watching, because the chores are done and the housemates are gone and there is nothing better to do, and it has been a long time since we last watched children play in the street. I ask Gray how long it has been, and he says it has been at least six years. I comment that time sure flies, and he agrees, though he comments also on the cliche.
Another child squeals. I look and deduce that it was from joy. At least it's better than silence, I say.
I tell Gray that even if I do not have
[Camp NaNo, Day 11] CelebrationSoon after going home for the summer, she decided she was sick of home cooking.
Her chance came when her parents drove north on a weekend trip. They had invited her to come along and see her cousins, but she had managed to convince them that she was too tired from work and that she would have trouble studying on the road. Thankfully, they had dropped it at that, and she hadn't needed to cook up any further reasons.
They had left the fridge stocked with leftovers, with homemade bread and dumplings, but she ignored them and dialed a local pizzaria's number. The employee who picked up was pleasant-voiced, with a crisp Southern accent that reminded her of her high school friends.
"I'd like a large pizza, please," she said.
"What toppings would you like?" asked the employee.
"Pineapple," she said, because she was the only person in her family who liked pineapple. "Extra pineapple."
"Will you be picking it up, or would you like it delivered?"
After providing her address,
[Camp NaNo, Day 10] FrostQuite fittingly, she dreamed of being sick while she was sick.
In her dream, she was the only patient in the room. The nurses and doctors spoke in hushed tones around her; more than once, she caught whispers of "that poor girl."
There was an IV in her right arm. It itched, and she tried to pull it out, but a doctor frowned at her and she stopped. There were oxygen tubes up her nose, which she minded less since the air from them was pleasantly cool. She felt fine, except for the fact that she couldn't get out of bed, and she wondered what she had been hospitalized for.
Her supervisor from the lab she worked at came to visit her, bearing a tray of mouse DNA samples, pipets, and a slab of agarose gel.
"I know you're sick, but could I have your help loading these samples?" her supervisor asked, an apologetic smile on her face. She didn't have the heart to say no.
She set the tray in front of her, and one by one, she pipetted each sample into separate hollows in the gel. Her bed was not
[Camp NaNo, Day 9] FootstepsThat summer night, she learned that supermoons were not auspicious omens.
She had been sitting at her desk, the overhead light on, her laptop open and playing quiet classical music in front of her, her statistics textbook open on her lap, her head bent as she read the most recent chapter on confidence intervals. Gray sat next to her, hands folded across his lap, eyes closed. Then she heard her father call her name from downstairs.
"Did you see the supermoon?" he called.
"The what?" she called back. Gray opened his eyes.
"There's supposed to be a 'supermoon' tonight," she heard her father say. "Are you able to see it?"
She glanced at a window behind her and saw only darkness. "No," she replied.
"Let's see if we can find it!" She heard her father get up.
"No, I'm fine," she called back hastily, but the stairs were already squeaking. He entered the room and walked over to the window, craning his neck.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.
"No," she said. Gray was sitting completely still, but
[Camp NaNo, Day 8] AspirationShe remembers a conversation she had with Gray that still makes her sigh.
Many summers ago, he was waiting for her when she walked outside, leaving the house empty. Not going to call Angela and the others today? he asked as they began walking down the street.
Nope, she said. You're more interesting to talk to, and she has soccer practice.
I don't know how to feel about your word order, he responded. She laughed.
They continued down the block and came to a large fountain, with a base big across as a living room and a jet the height of a ceiling. They say that you can see a huge rainbow when the sunlight hits this fountain at the right angle, she said. They walked around the fountain, twice, but saw no rainbows. Screw you too, she told the fountain. She picked up a pebble and tossed it at the fountain. It plinked into the water, like a coin, and sunk.
Why did you do that? he asked. It's not the fountain's fault.
I know, she s
How to Be an Artist (haiku)(Post-It Note to Self)
Bid darkness welcome…
Rest easy—ready your mind's twigs
For a spark’s orange touch.
Innocence - Tumblr Poetry RequestInnocence floats
like dandelion seeds
gently sleeping on blankets
of summertime winds.
Only when it’s rooted
down, six feet under
does it bear any weight.
History of the High-Rise"Innovation"
Every culture wants
to put all their people in
"For Richer or for Poorer"
The higher you are
the longer you fall, from grace,
or the faulty wall.
I am but a doll, are you?I am but a doll
Hollow, Broken, and, so cold
Wearing a bright mask
Hiding the misery deep...
deep under a smile
plastered on my face to look...
normal, no one wants a...
Burden, of a human sad...
but true misery
I am a marionette
a puppet to life
a slave to normality
no one wants to here
the sorrows of those near them
they have got their own
a burden simple as that
to live a fake life
is what we need to do or...
we will be abnormal
hated as an outcast or...
loved as a fake which...
I ask which will you choose friends
life, true life as your...
Real self, or will you choose a..
Fake life, in a mask
one leads to happiness but...
at a cost, normal...
or will you take the...
road most traveled your real self
a hard road but at..
the end the truly happy...
so bright masks, or truth
Erotica Replica (Haiku version)Flaunt human bodies
Don't conform to the same mind
Influence the change
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More