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Literature
Walking to Work on a Monday Morning
Crushed beer bottles,
like flower petals,
adorn the morning
sidewalk.  Sparrows
flutter in formation
from crumb to crumb.
Graffiti Malala smiles, saying
“You’re halfway to work;
you’re halfway from home.”
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Sunset in Reverse by anapests-and-ink Sunset in Reverse :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 8 4
Literature
Caravan Palace
The stage is lit
by lasers and light tubes,
the air a blend
of sour diesel weed,
cotton candy vape,
cigars, popcorn and poutine.
A man in a seersucker
suit and straw hat
two-steps with a woman
twirling a glow-in-the-dark
hula hoop.
I press two fingers
to my clavicle,
feeling the heartbeat
of the bass saxophone.
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Literature
Flagstones (Section 170 (7))
I went back to the secret
waterfall where once
we professed our love
and poured libations to the gods,
only the river had dried
to a trickle
and was choked
with leaves.
I stood there
alone
on the wide dry stones,
listening to the humbled
murmur of lost waters,
and realized
that when the river was gone
it became a road.
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Please Reuse or Recycle by anapests-and-ink Please Reuse or Recycle :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 3 2 The Bacchae by anapests-and-ink The Bacchae :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 1 2 Night Rest Stop by anapests-and-ink Night Rest Stop :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 1 1
Literature
Toffee and Ashes
Her lumpy braid twists round itself,
strands of black and gold untangling,
curliques of brunette dangling
above the toffee-colored shelf
of her shoulders.  Her eyes, dark as ashes,
burn between her chomping lashes.
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Sightseeing by anapests-and-ink Sightseeing :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 6 4
Literature
Kurt Cobain and Gentle Mystics (Excerpt)
Student parking was beyond teacher parking, at the back of the school by the baseball diamond.  Over the years, there had been more than a few cracked windshields, but students rarely complained.  Free reign to drive yourself to school tended to make little things like trashing your clunker  insignificant.  It was those really bad balls that made it to the teacher lot that caused trouble.
Jess had backed the car up right to the very edge of the lot.  Britney and she sat on the hood, feet up on the bumper.  The 1991 Crown Victoria was boxier than a picnic basket and easily lent itself to sitting.  Keith was leaning on the open rear passenger door.  Germ was talking to Ricky, one of the Junior Varsity baseball players already on the field.  Keith may have been the popular one, but Germ could hold a conversation with anybody.  While we watched, he laughed, punching Ricky on the shoulder.  Ricky grinned back, shooting a quick glance at
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Literature
Fig and Hazel at the Mall
“Hmm,” Hazel said.  “Let me see.  That one.”
He pointed off somewhere over Fig's left shoulder.  She licked her plastic fork, then stabbed it in her slightly mushy lo mein.  “Hazel,” she said, “You know it's rude to point.”
Hazel grinned.  On his boyish face, it was positively mischievous.  “Okay, fine.  The one in the blue top and short-shorts.  With the purple Chuck Taylors.”
Fig twisted in her seat, unsubtly scanning the crowd on the other end of the food court.  “You sure?  She's got long hair.”
“My dear, dear Fig,” Hazel said, “You need to learn to let go of all these stereotypes.  It's unbecoming.”
“Yeah, whatever.”  Fig picked back up her fork, twirling a strand of lo mein like it was spaghetti.  “I still don't see how you could think she's gay.”
“You're really going to question this?”
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Afternoon Break by anapests-and-ink Afternoon Break :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 2 4 Autumn by anapests-and-ink Autumn :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 2 5 Philadelphia Airport by anapests-and-ink Philadelphia Airport :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 9 11
Literature
By the sea shore
There's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell.  Or it's supposed to be the ocean.  Lynn's always thought otherwise.
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell.  Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen.  They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore.  Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes.  Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls.  Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool.  Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack.  The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed.  She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
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West Quoddy by anapests-and-ink West Quoddy :iconanapests-and-ink:anapests-and-ink 6 6

Random Favourites

Literature
a shut in place
Meg's world is a world of uneven earth and blue skies, surface rock cracked and blown about by howling wind. She runs through wasteland, stumbles with purpose towards a wooden desk in the distance. She runs and runs, dirt and stones scuffing Mary Janes, but the writing desk is a finish line she can't reach.
"Why a writing desk?" her friend Alex says when she tells him about the dream. He emphasizes the question with a hand, waving the sandwich he's holding towards her before taking a bite.
She's left out details: how she is smaller, younger, a smooth-faced child with little hands dressed in her Sunday best instead of the twenty-one-year-old English major she knows herself to be. How the desk speaks of a familiarity she can't place and screams of a significance she can't understand. How she's been having the same dream for weeks and how it haunts her every waking moment with an urgency of impending consequence and menacing complexity that reminds her of Kafka.
Meg shrugs, the motion cau
:iconVocable:Vocable
:iconvocable:Vocable 108 24
Literature
IRT Sunflower Sutra
Manufactured corpses
     scattered disrepair
   shattered
     alone
    sullen
     decaying
With tree root wires,
     rebar
     pipes
    trunk of oil drums
    leaves of scrap paper and foil
Leaking batteries, a head of a doll, a broken glass
    I raise
Here's to you, the fallen, forgotten
To you, returning to the soil from whence you came
I raise this shattered glass to your shattered window, long dead train car
No sign of natural life is seen,
save the uprooted, rotting husk of a sunflower
The lone soldier of the natural living,
destroyed by that which could kill the nonliving
Seatless chairs, broken wheelbarrows,
busted cars crying shattered glass tears from their once glowing eyes
The colors once vivid fade to gray and rust and black.
Farther from the center
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Literature
i stayed home monday
i stayed home monday because i wanted to cry and write broken poetry of how my ribs are no fortress composed of marrow but shards of memories cross-stitched to spine.
i decided sometime by mid-morning all i wanted was for you to encircle me and whisper gentle words across my shoulder that would dip around my lower-back and find home in my chest.
i envisioned cardiac surgeons tangling their hands in my thoracic cavity and struggling to find my heart, but only coming back to an empty waiting room with scattered slips of paper detailing a midnight heist.
as i mouthed words scratched into a bathroom stall, i hoped each consonant would tumble from my mouth and emit cheap florescence that would guide me to starlight where you once danced along a chemical wasteland in the stratosphere.
there was a swimming pool in my wastebasket when i was finished with my theatrics, and i checked out of that shoddy motel on fifth avenue in a canoe made out of cardboard boxes that formerly held my plasticine
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:iconhipsterfag:Hipsterfag 35 27
Literature
The Silent City
Cities should never be silent.
She walks through the hollow streets of Tokyo, passing vacant vendors and flickering neon signs.
"Stupid train…" she mutters, seeming to be in control. But her eyes tell the real story. They are pleading, begging for answers.
Where are you?
"I'm right here."
She stops in her tracks.
"Wait no…"
Suddenly, it's like she's on the Light Train again. For a moment, the ground beneath her feet, the words in her throat, the hurt in her eyes, is yanked away.
When they return, she finds herself standing on water, as though it were glass. Everything is frozen in time.
"… Now I'm right here." His voice is directly behind her. It slips through her ears and into her body, curling around her heart like a vice.
"I see you've made a deal with Zephyr," she says, her voice still disguising the turmoil within.
"Only temporarily."  
She scoffs and looks around. Her eyes widen as she looks up and notices where they are. The Itsukushima Shrine.
"Y
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Literature
Uncle Tom's Cabin
For those of us who grew up on Evansdale Street, Uncle Tom's Cabin had a double meaning: first, it was a book on every parent's bookshelf that was both a regret and a reminder, and second, it was that ugly old shack that stood (well, sort of stood) at the end of Evansdale Street, where Brookwood's residential area finally gave into the woods. The older kids would spread the legend that the shack once belonged to an old fisherman named Tom, and that we were allowed in it every day of the year except September 1st, because that was Tom's niece's birthday and we had to leave them the house so their ghosts could celebrate.
Aside from that, Uncle Tom's Cabin was our hangout year-round:
In the winter, the shack became a research facility that managed to switch locations from the North to the South Pole daily while the ten of us waddled through knee-deep snow to search for Yeti and polar bears and dancing penguins.
In the spring, it was a king's castle we defended against dragons that looked
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:iconfrizzymissizzy:frizzymissizzy 211 108
Literature
11. Memory
This is a tribute to the fickleness of memory.
This sentence is for all the times you had a great idea, then forgot it as soon as you had the time to write it down.
This sentence is for the dream so profound you woke up screaming, but forgot in another five seconds.
This sentence is for the nostalgia that glosses over all the unpleasant parts of the past.
This sentence is for the song that never goes away.
This sentence is for the fright you get as memories slowly fade away to nothingness, visited only in your dreams (refer back to sentence 2).
This sentence is for the warmth of that time you were all snuggled up in just the right chair reading a book or watching a movie while eating comfort food.
This sentence is for that embarrassing thing you did once which you tried to forget but now you remember again (hint, school, youth, family, other people laughing, awkward silence, disappointment, and probably alcohol).
This sentence is for the memory of a sad time which has lost its bite ove
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:iconbellairs:Bellairs 2 2
Literature
Switch to Blow
When
Hoovering
Ottomans,
Observe
Sleeping
Hamsters...
!
:iconSCFrankles:SCFrankles
:iconscfrankles:SCFrankles 4 12
Maple Leaf Rag by littlesis92 Maple Leaf Rag :iconlittlesis92:littlesis92 14 3
Journal
I have an anti-joke addiction...
So, a man walks into a bar. Suddenly, the universe around him cracks, unable to sustain the weight of infinite potential punchlines. He tumbles through an empty void amongst shards of his broken reality.
:iconBellairs:Bellairs
:iconbellairs:Bellairs 2 29
Literature
birthstones - senryu
            in my pocket
I press our birthstones together
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b-ckl by zora-iuga b-ckl :iconzora-iuga:zora-iuga 56 7
Literature
Chicken
Papier-mâché chicken
abandoned, curbside,
its skin a patterned patchwork
of Fifties wallpaper, smooth
and rough, like a tomcat's tongue
I want to take it home
and cherish it, make it mine
—but people might see me,
people might think I'm ridiculous;
and so, I'll be ridiculous
:iconpseudometry:pseudometry
:iconpseudometry:pseudometry 19 45
Journal
The Ladies of Lit: Volume XVI
Welcome to volume sixteen my Literature series, The Ladies of Lit!
The premise here is simple. Below you will find an assortment of Literature features from a selection of female deviants here on DeviantART, all of them suggested by you. In this article, you will also find a variety of other things of interest, including:
:snowflake: This article's deviant spotlight: featuring the amazing thorns. She has offered to answer a few questions as well, to tell us a bit about what inspires her writing and which piece in particular she favors.
:snowflake: Additional information about our upcoming events, including a special critique Q and A session in our official TheLadiesofLit chatroom. And we also have a selection of other interesting Literature news links to share with you.
:snowflake: Our "meet our contributors" section. Be sure to
:iconLadyLincoln:LadyLincoln
:iconladylincoln:LadyLincoln 19 14

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Anonymous:iconlion-essrampant:Anonymous:iconxlntwtch:Anonymous:iconandrewpom::iconscfrankles::iconblakecurran:
But using a public toilet when your vintage skirt is lined with crinoline is... awkward. What impractical ways have you celebrated?

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anapests-and-ink

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Hello! I'm...

a Deconstructionist. It's my religion.

a writer and a reader. Both are equally important.

always willing to leave a comment. Just ask.
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:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, dearheart. Have a beautiful day :heart:
Reply
:iconpoetrymann:
Poetrymann Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2017  Professional Writer
Reply
:iconanapests-and-ink:
anapests-and-ink Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the features!
Reply
:iconcarmalain7:
Carmalain7 Featured By Owner May 13, 2017
good afternoon,

just wanted to take a moment to say, with all the talented writers here on dA and all the brilliant works, i truly appreciate you taking a moment, good miss, to read mine in A Ghostwritten Letter to My Lost Twin Brother.

and the words you left, unequivocally honored.
:iconbowplz:
means much and more, Catie, thank you. Thanks for everything!
Reply
:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner May 10, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
:heart:
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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
A blessed birthday, Catie.
Steve
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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
:heart:
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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner May 16, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
:wave:
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:iconanapests-and-ink:
anapests-and-ink Featured By Owner May 17, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hi! I know I haven't been around much, sorry.
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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner May 17, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
How goes life? We'd love to have you two over for dinner sometime.

I will be in the show at Image City beginning mid June.
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