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January 6, 2013
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The Hidden Artist: Writer Feature 2

Journal Entry: Sun Jan 6, 2013, 5:37 AM
  • Mood: Joy
  • Watching: The People's Court
  • Drinking: Milk


Hello everyone!

Sorry about the delay, but I had been looking around diligently to find some of the best and beautiful literature deviants who don't get enough recognition!

In this bi-weekly feature, I will feature six lovely deviants (three male and three female) to encourage more people to come out of their shell and view beautiful works they might not have seen otherwise!!

Show these deviants some love by :+fav:ing this journal and viewing some lovely deviations!!

Canis44

An intellectual writer and a George Orwell admirer, this deviant will leave you breathless with clear and concise theses as well as thought-provoking poems and essays. As a very sophisticated writer, it is highly recommended to check out all of his works! Did I forget to mention that he is also very knowledgeable when it comes to Latin and its related literature? (It makes me feel like I can put my 4 years of Latin education to use!)

4:00 Insomnia4:00 Insomnia
Every morning.
Bedded by insomnia
Sight, barbed by black
daisies.
It is the same dream,
The fantasia breaks in
My head, splinter
Of light bulb ashes
no fixed
Form
No
Form
Only the cerebral
imagery
It is not a form.
Only
A half pence
Tin, and broken
Oily and screeching
Yet no sound is made.
A waking vision
I cannot wield
The need
That narcoleptic need
You
used
To
Help
me
sleep
s          o
s          o    u
                   n
                      d
                         l
                           y.
Ponderings on Religion and Kant's ArgumentPonderings on Religion & Kant's Argument
By: Canis44
Praemeditari
Some Quotes Worth Reflecting on:
"Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness. To call on them to give up their illusions about their condition is to call on them to give up a condition that requires illusions. The criticism of religion is, therefore, in embryo, the criticism of that vale of tears of which religion is the halo. Criticism has plucked the imaginary flowers on the chain not in order that man shall continue to bear that chain without fantasy or consolation, but so that he shall throw off the chain and pluck the living flower. The criticism of religion disillusions man, so that
:thumb321422875:






tommyboywood

The writer of three children's books and a "sometimes poet", Tom's pieces can entertain individuals of all ages, and create a different meaning for everyone! And don't forget to delve into the world of his delightful toads!

If I Were King
If I were crowned the new king
of the royal realm of Toad,
I'd surely change a lot of things,
give my toads a lighter load.
They'd love me till the end
They'd sing my praises high
They'd consider me a friend
They'd hail me till I die
If I were crowned the new king
of this land I love so dear,
I'd wear my kingly gold ring,
show off all my kingly gear.
They'd love me till the end
They'd sing my praises high
They'd consider me a friend
They'd hail me till I die
If I were crowned the new king
oh, but it's really just a dream.
I wish for it more than anything,
more than cake or mint ice cream.
Because...
They'd love me till the end
They'd sing my praises high
They'd consider me a friend
They'd hail me till... oh well, time to get back to work!
The RoseOnce upon a time, in a land far away, there existed a dark and lonely kingdom. Most of the creatures of the land, the mighty and the small, had long ago fled this place. In this land the sky was always grey, for you see, the sun refused to shine here. No birdsong to greet each new morning, no stars to glow and sparkle at night.
For over this kingdom there ruled a cruel and hideous ogre.  His name was LARLAN.  He hated everything that was good or kind or pretty.  He was ten feet tall and was fearsome, with foul-smelling breath and a vulgar tongue.  He took delight in his harsh domination over everything.  He hated everything and everyone.  But there was one thing that he hated more than anything else: flowers.  He despised their beauty, their fragrance, and everything that they stood for.  For you see, he had nothing but evil in him.
Larlan took special pride in a field that he owned.  In it, he meticulously cultivated weeds of every kind.  Tall ones and small ones, coarse ones and fine
Butterfly
A warm summer breeze blew you into our lives;
we knew not from whence you came.
Your flight was delicate - your colors vibrant!
You entertained us with your smile and dance - the dance of life!
Flitting hither and yon, free and without care; now with broken wing.
But 'twas not the season for healing.  The darkness came and took
you away from us, and we beheld your face no more.
'Twas a warm summer breeze that brought you to us;
'twas a cold winter chill that took you away.
And so we long once more for the summertime; in the paradise
of God will we see you again!  The darkness will nevermore take
you from our side.  We will delight in your presence.  We will sing
together the songs of Jah. We will bask in the glorious light of life,
and forever enjoy our society of friendship and good times.
Until then, sweet butterfly, you will rest.  You are gone, if but
for a moment, but you are not forgotten.  You made our lives brighter,
better. You taught us how to live and how to love.  
So, unti
Apple Pie
I've heard it's been said that toads prefer flies,
that most like to eat bugs and things.
But I met one recently that eats only pies,
and occasionally apple dumplings.
Now I know you will say that it's hard to believe,
but I swear to you that it's true!
Yes, my apple pie toad (who I like to call Steve),
would gladly eat pie just for you.
It's true that he's gained a few pounds over time,
but it really doesn't matter you see.
'Cause my apple pie toad is mine, only mine,
he's so very special to me!



DifferentialME

A varied artist on deviantART, this lovely artist's talent clearly shines through in her literature! A beautiful poet and a vivid prose writer, this deviant will leave you breathless with each heartfelt and inviting piece of literature she creates!

That One MomentFreedom is the wind at my shoe laces,
      in that moment....
The blue sky is my castle,
And the swingset chains are my stead as we ride the clouds into sparkling waters.
This feeling of forever,
In one moment..
The scooting of a squirrel,
The squeak of a swingset chain that sends the birds scattering lazily forward,
The sand that kicks like sparkling glass beneath worn sneaker toes.
The trees that shower brilliant green leaves on to our heads.
Freedom is the jump to the ground,
The rise and fall of a swingset seat,
in that moment, this adventure is ours.
His Name Was Sam    His name was Sam, and he spent every day he could curled up with a nice, large book on the sofa near the window. He seemed to always be star gazing, the way he looked at his books. A million eager drops of water on the paper for his brain to drink. He'd spend hours there, perhaps all day. He was always there on rainy days, to buy a cup of hot cocoa, and I'd often talk to him before or after he read. He'd always be so wonderfully different from everyone else. Though his moods were strange and changing, like the westward winds shape clouds, so his day shaped him new each morning. Some days he was somber and quiet. A real Edgar Allen Poe perched in his corner of lament like a raven on a bust of pallas. Other days, he was vibrant and naturally glowing. Like Robert Frost after a stroll in the forest on a nice dirt road.
   He'd always have something to say, if you were willing to listen. Rain or shine, he was always there by early morning, right when t
Black Raspberries.When youthful fingers plucked and picked,
Raspberries,
While you talk of fun delightful silly things,
And the day is simple,
And full of these delightful wonders,
Your mouth runs black drippings,
We lick our fingers,
Laughing,
And I see you,
Five years from now,
Toating billions of stacks of books with me down the hallway,
Gobbling up fresh library air,
And we are friends,
And the books are like our grand adventures,
Instead of monkey bars.
We're much higher now.
Like swingsets,
To and fro,
           rising.
And the book smell,
Soft and dotting,
Fills the air,
With splendor,
And we talk,
of complicated things,
And big questions,
That hang over coffee cups like paper stars.
     And we talk,
Of    simple   things,
    And make paper hats and boats,
               out of old essay
Star DustAs you drew with your pinkie,
In the stars,
Swirling their dust,
Like spiral stairs,
I remembered the way,
To the moon.
The map,
On the tea leaves,
At the bottom of old cups.
I forgot to tell you though,
And when you went away,
I could never go back,
Because you took your star dust with you.



tulinuotio

A Finnish writer, this deviant promises "that [she] will never stop attempting to shatter and redefine [her] world view, enjoying the kaleidoscopic, living debris that it leaves behind." and with each piece of literature we are brought into a world of pure emotional poetry. She will never cease to amaze you, and wield her words to spark each and every emotion that resides deep inside of you.

Aurora BorealisWeightless snow and the jewelry of ice shards in the air,
Silver yarn flying all about like serpents,
Dark blue satin night sky wrapped around me, with stars like sequins,
Ethereal swan wings of the wind playing with the powder snow.
The moonlight a cascading blue on my unruly hair,
Jingle bells of long-maned horses ringing as they leap,
Spruces whisper in the horizon, fading in the twilight.
We call upon the Cygnus and draw it down,
A great avalanche of stardust upon us,
Swan-riding witches and their ancient spells,
We sing like the wind howls on the glaciers.
We put white candles on the ground around us,
We had a ball on the ice of the lake that night,
Twirled around in endless circles.
If you came here, through the tall silver gates,
Leave your earthly attire on the way,
And let the frost adorn you with flowers.
NocturneI am a yellow maple leaf inside a storybook.
My spirit has been hung on the signposts.
I walk beside ghosts,
In the fading light of two cities,
The starlight getting stronger.
I used to stare at the sea,
Unaware that the cold wind
Was all that I desired.
Leave a MessageThe walls are tall and white,
Sky ice blue and red heated plastic,
Looped and straight lines,
Numbered from one to ten.
Forest-greens turned neon,
Flowers covered with glass,
Memory wiped clean.
The anesthetic in the air,
Silent corridors with mirrors.
Breathe in,
Polish your style
And smile at me.
The traces of your steps
Are collected and saved,
So dance freely while I am gone.
the CastleI wear a crown of red flowers. On my hem are embroidered stories of unicorns in a glade.
Yarn tangled in the feet of flying birds.
Armies hidden by the trees,
Like the sea of life,
Turned into ice and shattered every night.
Only a single voice echoes in the abbey,
A broken soul devoted to the wooden saints,
A heart poured into a goblet of glass,
Drained and filled again each day.



l0rd0fth3sk13s

A fairly new member to deviantART, I couldn't help but feature a lovely deviant who also has a knack for writing children's literature! While she is also a talented artist, her dynamic style of writing does not cease to entertain!

Fish Are Five Steps Ahead of MeThere was a fish
a simple thing
who spent his days
quietly swimming.
He had a bowl
and a castle or two
some rocks at the bottom
and a family-room view.
He didn't want much
'cept some food time to time
he just swam 'round quietly
taking no mind.
His bowl wasn't large
but neither was he
and the food wasn't great
but then, it was free.
His castle was great
even though he forgot where it was
his memory was poor
that's what being a fish does.
His life was bright
what with time suspended
it was hard
to get him upended.
He didn't have to work
or deal with other fish
he didn't have to worry
whether he hit or miss.
He didn't have to care
whether his scales went with his fins
he was a fish
everyone wins.
His life was easy
swimming in a bowl
he got fed every day
and had a castle when he got cold.
Now I have a bed
and a room to myself
but anyone could barge in
before I could shout for help.
I own no castle
in which I could hide
I have friends
who frequently take sides.
I am judged
when my shirt cl
Gladice the Polar Bear (Childrens story)Our story begins on a cold winter day,
with the waves a-crashing and the sky so gray
and a little ball of snowy white puff,
a baby polar bear, covered with fluff.
Her name was Gladice, because, said her dad,
when he first saw her he was so very glad.
And this made Gladice feel gladdest of all,
'cuz nothings better than being loved by all.
But Gladice got in trouble 'cuz although she was gladdest,
out of all of her siblings, she was the baddest.
Poor little Gladice just didn't get why
you shouldn't touch paint if it isn't quite dry.
Or why when she went near the museum to play
she wasn't supposed to touch the things on display.
She didn't understand why she got in trouble
when she popped her brothers favorite pink bubble.
Her daddy tried everything to get Gladice to behave,
but Gladice was Gladice, and she could not be delayed.
And then, one day, out of the blue,
Gladice did something she wasn't supposed to do.
She took her favorite toy down with her to the shore
even though Daddy told
For Those in LoveHere we go a-laughin'
Strollin' and a-bathin'
In the sunlight that beats the gloom.
Here we go a-lovin'
Dancing and a-movin'
Singing out loud
No matter the crowd.
Because when I'm with you the clouds go away
The sun shines brighter, the flowers don't fade
The birds chirp new tunes as they float through the sky
People are different, people are kind.
Watch us as we go-oh
Tumblin' in the snow-oh
Lovin' the life we been blessed to share.
Beauty must be catchin'
Everyone is laughin'
And I'll love you forever I promise, I swear.
Because when I'm with you the clouds go away
The sun shines brighter, the flowers don't fade
The birds chirp new tunes as they float through the sky
People are different, people are kind.
A Sad Poem Dedicated to The FallenIf only today was all that you needed
then maybe I wouldn't feel quite so defeated.
But you needed everything, you needed it all
and now we all watch as you stumble and fall.
That doesn't mean I don't forgive all the fights that we had
I'm just saying the times you were gone were the best I've ever had.
You were blinded by the scars from your past
all the dreams that were broken, and the hopes that were smashed.
If only you knew what I know today
you would have stopped trying to live in yesterday.
But your life has gone by and I can't get it back
and I can't rebuild the heart that's been cracked.
And no matter how many times I water your grave with my tears
nobody listens, because nobody hears.
So I'll watch the sunset slowly fade
on hopes and memories from another day.
I'll watch the world forget your sin
and the great thing we could have been.
Because tomorrow, nobody wins.




Do you have any deviants who don't get enough recognition! :note: me and I will feature them!!




Take care!
CelestialMemories





I would like to emphasize how hard it is to find some male writers //dead. Just finding those three took a couple hours.

:iconlillianastorm:
LillianAStorm Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Cool! I'll check them out! :D
Reply
:iconcelestialmemories:
CelestialMemories Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Yay!
Reply
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