deviantART: Popular Stillness Wallpaper Poetry

The Yellow Wallpaper

Sun, 11 Mar 2007 22:57:13 PDT

So this is my poem version of the story "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I had to do it for an essay at school. Read the story if you want to further understand the poem.

The Yellow Wallpaper
Charlotte Perkins Gilman

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.
A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity--but that would be asking too much of fate!
Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.
John is a physician, and perhaps--(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)--perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.
You see he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one's own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression--a slight hysterical tendency-- what is one to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites--whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to "work" until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal--having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus--but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.
There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden--large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't care--there is something strange about the house--I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes I'm sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself-- before him, at least, and that makes me very tired.
I don't like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.
He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.
He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.
I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. "Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear," said he, "and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time. ' So we took the nursery at the top of the house.
It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.
The paint and paper look as if a boys' school had used it. It is stripped off--the paper in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.
One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.
It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide--plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.
The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.
It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others.
No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long.
There comes John, and I must put this away,--he hates to have me write a word.

----------
We have been here two weeks, and I haven't felt like writing before, since that first day.
I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength.
John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious.
I am glad my case is not serious!
But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.
John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.
Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way!
I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already!
Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able,--to dress and entertain, and order things.
It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!
And yet I cannot be with him, it makes me so nervous.
I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wall-paper!
At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.
He said that after the wall-paper was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on.
"You know the place is doing you good," he said, "and really, dear, I don't care to renovate the house just for a three months' rental."
"Then do let us go downstairs," I said, "there are such pretty rooms there."
Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose, and said he would go down to the cellar, if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain.
But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.
It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for a whim.
I'm really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.
Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deepshaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.
Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of story-making, a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try.
I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.
But I find I get pretty tired when I try.
It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about my work. When I get really well, John says we will ask Cousin Henry and Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put fireworks in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now.
I wish I could get well faster.
But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had!
There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.
I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere There is one place where two breaths didn't match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other.
I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a toy-store.
I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big, old bureau used to have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a strong friend.
I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could always hop into that chair and be safe.
The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when this was used as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out, and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children have made here.
The wall-paper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticketh closer than a brother--they must have had perseverance as well as hatred.
Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed which is all we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars.
But I don't mind it a bit--only the paper.
There comes John's sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful of me! I must not let her find me writing.
She is a perfect and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no better profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which made me sick!
But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these windows.
There is one that commands the road, a lovely shaded winding road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great elms and velvet meadows.
This wall-paper has a kind of sub-pattern in a, different shade, a particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights, and not clearly then.
But in the places where it isn't faded and where the sun is just so--I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.
There's sister on the stairs!

----------
Well, the Fourth of July is over! The people are all gone and I am tired out. John thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had mother and Nellie and the children down for a week.
Of course I didn't do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.
But it tired me all the same.
John says if I don't pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.
But I don't want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother, only more so!
Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.
I don't feel as if it was worth while to turn my hand over for anything, and I'm getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
Of course I don't when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone.
And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town very often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I want her to.
So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on the porch under the roses, and lie down up here a good deal.
I'm getting really fond of the room in spite of the wall-paper. Perhaps because of the wall-paper.
It dwells in my mind so!
I lie here on this great immovable bed--it is nailed down, I believe--and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we'll say, at the bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.
I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this thing was not arranged on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard of.
It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise.
Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the bloated curves and flourishes--a kind of "debased Romanesque" with delirium tremens--go waddling up and down in isolated columns of fatuity.
But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing seaweeds in full chase.
The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going in that direction.
They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds wonderfully to the confusion.
There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there, when the crosslights fade and the low sun shines directly upon it, I can almost fancy radiation after all,--the interminable grotesques seem to form around a common centre and rush off in headlong plunges of equal distraction.
It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap I guess.

----------
I don't know why I should write this.
I don't want to.
I don't feel able. And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some way--it is such a relief!
But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.
Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.
John says I mustn't lose my strength, and has me take cod liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.
Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia.
But he said I wasn't able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished .
It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness I suppose.
And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head.
He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.
He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.
There's one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wall-paper.
If we had not used it, that blessed child would have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn't have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.
I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all, I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.
Of course I never mention it to them any more--I am too wise,--but I keep watch of it all the same.
There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.
Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.
It is always the same shape, only very numerous.
And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don't like it a bit. I wonder--I begin to think--I wish John would take me away from here!

----------
It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so.
But I tried it last night.
It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around just as the sun does.
I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another.
John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wall-paper till I felt creepy.
The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out.
I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back John was awake.
"What is it, little girl?" he said. "Don't go walking about like that--you'll get cold."
I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.
"Why darling!" said he, "our lease will be up in three weeks, and I can't see how to leave before.
"The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave town just now. Of course if you were in any danger, I could and would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is better, I feel really much easier about you."
"I don't weigh a bit more," said 1, "nor as much; and my appetite may be better in the evening when you are here, but it is worse in the morning when you are away!"
"Bless her little heart!" said he with a big hug, "she shall be as sick as she pleases! But now let's improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!"
"And you won't go away?" I asked gloomily.
"Why, how can 1, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really dear you are better!"
"Better in body perhaps--" I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word.
"My darling," said he, "I beg of you, for my sake and for our child's sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?"
So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn't, and lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.

----------
On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal mind.
The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.
You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well underway in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream.
The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions--why, that is something like it.
That is, sometimes!
There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes.
When the sun shoots in through the east window--I always watch for that first long, straight ray--it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.
That is why I watch it always.
By moonlight--the moon shines in all night when there is a moon--I wouldn't know it was the same paper.
At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be.
I didn't realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind, that dim sub-pattern, but now I am quite sure it is a woman.
By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.
I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.
Indeed he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal.
It is a very bad habit I am convinced, for you see I don't sleep.
And that cultivates deceit, for I don't tell them I'm awake--O no!
The fact is I am getting a little afraid of John.
He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an inexplicable look.
It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis,--that perhaps it is the paper!
I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I've caught him several times looking at the paper! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once.
She didn't know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the paper--she turned around as if she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry-- asked me why I should frighten her so!
Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John's, and she wished we would be more careful!
Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!

----------
Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was.

John is so pleased to see me improve ! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper.
I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was because of the wall-paper--he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.
I don't want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.

----------
I'm feeling ever so much better! I don't sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.
In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.
There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously.
It is the strangest yellow, that wall-paper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw--not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.
But there is something else about that paper-- the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here.
It creeps all over the house.
I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs.
It gets into my hair.
Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it--there is that smell!
Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.
It is not bad--at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.
In this damp weather it is awful, I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.
It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house--to reach the smell.
But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell.
There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch, as if it had been rubbed over and over.
I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and round--round and round and round--it makes me dizzy!

----------
I really have discovered something at last.
Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out.
The front pattern does move--and no wonder! The woman behind shakes it!
Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over.
Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.
And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern--it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads.
They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white!
If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.

----------
I think that woman gets out in the daytime!
And I'll tell you why--privately--I've seen her!
I can see her out of every one of my windows!
It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.
I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.
I don't blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!
I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can't do it at night, for I know John would suspect something at once.
And John is so queer now, that I don't want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don't want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself.
I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once.
But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.
And though I always see her, she may be able to creep faster than I can turn!
I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.

----------
If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.
I have found out another funny thing, but I shan't tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much.
There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to notice. I don't like the look in his eyes.
And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very good report to give.
She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.
John knows I don't sleep very well at night, for all I'm so quiet!
He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very loving and kind.
As if I couldn't see through him!
Still, I don't wonder he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three months.
It only interests me, but I feel sure John and Jennie are secretly affected by it.

----------
Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. John to stay in town over night, and won't be out until this evening.
Jennie wanted to sleep with me--the sly thing! but I told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.
That was clever, for really I wasn't alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her.
I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.
A strip about as high as my head and half around the room.
And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me, I declared I would finish it to-day!
We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before.
Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.
She laughed and said she wouldn't mind doing it herself, but I must not get tired.
How she betrayed herself that time!
But I am here, and no person touches this paper but me,--not alive !
She tried to get me out of the room--it was too patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for dinner--I would call when I woke.
So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.
We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the boat home to-morrow.
I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again.
How those children did tear about here!
This bedstead is fairly gnawed!
But I must get to work.
I have locked the door and thrown the key down into the front path.
I don't want to go out, and I don't want to have anybody come in, till John comes.
I want to astonish him.
I've got a rope up here that even Jennie did not find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her!
But I forgot I could not reach far without anything to stand on!
This bed will not move!
I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner--but it hurt my teeth.
Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek with derision!
I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try.
Besides I wouldn't do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.
I don't like to look out of the windows even-- there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast.
I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?
But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope--you don't get me out in the road there !
I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard!
It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!
I don't want to go outside. I won't, even if Jennie asks me to.
For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow.
But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.
Why there's John at the door!
It is no use, young man, you can't open it!
How he does call and pound!
Now he's crying for an axe.
It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!
"John dear!" said I in the gentlest voice, "the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!"
That silenced him for a few moments.
Then he said--very quietly indeed, "Open the door, my darling!"
"I can't," said I. "The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!"
And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.
"What is the matter?" he cried. "For God's sake, what are you doing!"
I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.
"I've got out at last," said I, "in spite of you and Jane. And I've pulled off most of the paper, so you can't put me back!"
Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!

Song of Healing

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 13:56:03 PST

Surprise! Poemtry! Still no "fan-poetry" section I see....

I know I said I had pretty much given up trying to write this stuff, but I got insomnia last night and somehow my thoughts turned to a conversation with ~ i-e-m-s about how she loved the Song of Healing and how she loved the Zelda lyrics I did way back. Well then the tune got stuck in my head and the words just hit me, so I rushed to get a pencil and paper.... So ~i-e-m-s this is for you!

As with all my Zelda lyrics, this will probably make NO sense unless you've played MM and are as fanatic as I am. ^^, It is most often played as a eulegy (<--- spl chk) so I decided to give the song a kind of eulegetic, yet serene theme. Also, the song has the weird ability to change sorrows into masks, in turn Link wears the masks to change into that person. So that explains the last two lines.

I think there's a lesson to be learned here: no matter how crazy life gets, it won't do you any good to sit around and scream and pout about it like a little kid (eat THAT Silvertide, Shinedown, etc.). Point is, depression doesn't solve anything. So for the love of the proverbial Mike, straighten up, focus on the positive things and maybe you'll be able to see clearly enough to do something about your problems.

The preview is Googled. Surprise! It doubles as a wallpaper!

(Why do I always write too much in the artist's comments box? )

Tune (c) Koji Kondo, Nintendo
Lyrics by CFZ

Fetish

Tue, 14 Nov 2006 07:32:36 PST

was looking over some wallpapers i had made. and came accross the one that has some pics from Ctphotoguild, and Creativezone on it. and it just really hit me again that these things are still not widely accepted. many people still have to hide who they are. and cannot freely express sexually the things they like, want, feel. i know, because i am one of them. it is very difficult when you and your partner/spouse have such different wants/needs.

this poem does not have a set structure to it. it is mostly just some of my thoughts on paper.

Time

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 02:37:43 PDT

_{Time.

Sitting here while time goes by, here a bottle of wine,
dark outside.
Why wondering how was the day...
It slides, glides...
Past seasons, never mind the early days
now here feeling my sins, my seasons.
Still sitting here,
(an empty bottle)
dawn...
Why wondering how will be the day...
Let it slide, glide on you.}

Still about the seasons, life...

Missing You Part 2

Sun, 28 Aug 2011 20:46:48 PDT

I needed to get this off my chest. I only ever told one person what the real meaning is behind what I wrote for part two. Once again... was emotional writing this, but I'm getting better.

It is something that I am truly disgusted with myself for doing before, on the same day my grandmother died. Oh, and her age was 67 or 68, so she still had some time ahead of her.. but she is with grandpa now, where I know she is happier.

As it is part two, I used the same chorus

Part one link: [link]

Wallpaper

Sun, 24 Apr 2005 19:56:15 PDT

To Jon Avery. If you ever read this. Yes, you finally have a poem written about you. Kiss my a$$ you coy bast@*d.

To hell with you. Karma Avery Karma what goes around comes around.

After all this time he is the only one and still does give me butterflies.

Not Exactly Alone

Fri, 26 Aug 2011 17:36:45 PDT

First experiment with slant rhyming with normal rhyming. PRAISE ME!

Inspiration: CKY

Yeah its a darker poem but it still has religious stuff in it. But, of course, it is all open to interpretation.

Here Is Where I Lie

Sat, 13 Aug 2011 20:57:56 PDT

Isn't how I usually do rhyming. Some verses I got going is a, b, c, a which I never really did before, to my knowledge. It isn't for much of it, but still a difference.

Kicking Acorns

Fri, 08 Oct 2004 06:42:35 PDT

Kicking Acorns

*** full view to read the words ***

The Idea
Melancholy is a great muse for me. I write alot when I'm in pain and it helps me deal with it. This time I wrote a song (cuz a song is still a poem - so this is a Visual Song, not just a Visual Poem) based on something that has recently happened to me. There are a few emotional embelishments, but that is to be expected, as the song is coming from my perspective. For the visual portion, I wanted to have the look of a music video, at least one frame of it anyway. I tried to keep the words off to the side, so they wouldn't be in the way. The words however are where the look of the image had to be derived. I found a wonderful Autumn scene with a sidewalk photographed by Marina at ~brancastock. She has many more wonderful scenic images, so please go check out her stuff. Of course I found just the right model with just the right pose in Pavel's gallery at *darkmatterzone. Because of the model's expression, I flipped the idea of having me moving on after being hurt to the model moving on after being hurt. The acorn, which I used to be a physical visual representation of the metaphor used in the song, I got from Hemera Photo Objects.

The Details
Following the music video idea for this song, I needed to make the background more dynamic. I added lots of color to not only make it look more like Autumn, but to create the surreal quality of the image. After editing the colors, I then had to try to match the colors on the model to make her look like she was really there. I also made sure the sun was reflecting off of her skin the same way it was shining in the background. I tried to stay with Autumn colors to place the text, but I had to lighten them up to keep the image from being too depressive. This 'scene' from the 'music video' concept, would be near the end as the main character is turning away from the pain and moving on. The colors needed to reflect that as well. I also really like how the chair back, which she is about to let go of, looks like a park bench. It fits perfectly with the whole theme. I put a lot of work into this one and once again made it in PC wallpaper dimensions.

I do hope you enjoy this expression from me. Please let me know what you think. Thank you.

Love is not over-rated!

Sercy

The Beginning (CONTAINS SPOILERS!)

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 11:20:37 PST

Read this at your own risk, it contains spoilers of the Original Ben 10 series.

I'm not the best at Poetry but whatever.

Have a Poem about Ben 10! I'm going to be doing all the series, excluding Omniverse since it's still beginning and I haven't seen any episodes.
I know Kevin 11 wasn't directly brought up, but Kevin will be mentioned in the next two, seeing as how he has a big role.

I hope you enjoy this, and yes I know, I suck.

Anti-Bullying 2 and 3

Fri, 16 Sep 2011 19:19:00 PDT

More for I made them shorter than the first one just in case, but I think I still like the first one more than these two.

Ashes of a Burning Heart

Sun, 02 May 2004 22:15:11 PDT

Well, here's another one. Heh. I told you my inspiration comes sporadically. I had so much fun making the last one, I made this one. This one took a lot longer, if anything, most of the time was spelt aligning the text (and it still doesn't look that great if you ask me), and now my mouse hand is a bit sore. The poem is one I wrote awhile ago, but when I looked at this picture (a wallpaper from Ragnarok Online) it reminded me of this poem, so I used it as a backdrop because I thought it fit.

Here's the poem in it's original form for anybody who cares:

"Ashes of a Burning Heart"

These days they go by,
one into the next.

I lay back and watch,
until I am all that is left.

I stand so still,
my mind moving faster.

Deep within me,
my heart is my master.

I am restless and lonely,
the world passing me by.

No one to call on,
and I cry out, 'Why?'

I take my sword,
my heart ablaze.

The battle approaching,
my mind like a maze.

If I die tommorow,
will someone remember me?

If I don't come home,
will someone cry for me?

There is a warmth in my heart,
and a song in my mind.

There is a name on my tongue,
a love I cannot leave behind.

All I have left,
is my heart and my sword.

What would be lost,
if my death provoked not a word.

Eyes forward,
determination so true.

To the end I go,
to die for you...

I like the way this one turned out. The text alignment is a bit off like I mentioned earlier, but I did it all by hand. I like the way the gradient over the background with blur effect worked. I was just kind of experimenting with it and I thought it looked cool. So yeah, there's my poem.

lonely little girl

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 21:13:43 PDT

_{Sorry for the tease, folks.

This morning as I was waking up from a dream I was having, (in which I was peeling some wallpaper off a wall in my grandparent's house, unveiling this poem I had apparently written when I was six years old; I'd written and carved it on the wall, and there were accompanying Mirrormask-style illustrations and it was all cool, hence where "the key has reached its boiling point" came from. I know it makes no sense but shut up it's poetry. xD ANYWAY there was this girl sitting there and I think she was who this poem was about. She was wearing red, black, and gold Victorian-style clothing and she had very long, curly, ink-black hair and dark brown eyes. Pale skin, ruby-red lips. She was just so pretty and so sad looking.)

So anyway I was waking up and I'm like "I HAS TO WRITE POETRY NAO" and I spewed this thing out in less than 20 minutes. I'll probably improve it as I see fit; I think its ending is rather abrupt, but other than that I'm pleased with it.

Of course I should know better than to repeat other people's mistakes (see: Stephanie Meyer) and write literature based off stuff I dreamed (see: Twilight) but yeaaaahh I'm kind of being a massive hypocrite so I'll shut up about that.

I think the girl in question is a combination of some of my favorite female characters. She kind of reminds me of Xion and Namine from Kingdom Hearts (themes of "Nobody", then all the artwork) and Helena from MirrorMask (artwork on the wall). Yeah.

HAI I'M STILL MAKING STUFFFFF <33 ILU GUISE}

May 2010 Haikuthon

Sun, 02 May 2010 02:05:32 PDT

This is for the Haiku Club's May 2010 Haikuthon!

I've never done anything like this before, so I thought to myself, now is a great time to start! Comments and critique always welcome!

1: I read through some of the info on the Haiku Club's Eastern Poetry Forms journal about Haiku... I will never read haiku the same way again. Anyway, I was trying for a pivot-line on this one... and that's what I came up with.

2: Not trying anything fancy with this one, I've just had that image hanging out in my mind lately, so I thought this would be a good way to express it.

3: Tried doing some repetition with this one... not sure how I feel about it.

4: I originally wrote the first and second lines switched... but I think it works better this way.

5: It was windy today, so this came to mind. I wanted to use multiple senses, so smell in the second line and hearing in the third.

6: I saw a pair of mallard ducks walking together in the grass. I'm pretty sure they live in this little stream area down the street from where I live because I see them there all the time. They're pretty adorable, so yes... I wrote a haiku about them.

7: Just writing about the moon.

8: Inspired by a dying fire I was standing next to... I've been thinking about it because the wind was blowing the smoke from the fire into my hair and now, hours later, I can still smell it around my face. I don't mind it, though.

9: I like writing about sprinklers for some reason. The second line was originally "little sidewalk rivers" but I decided it sounded better without it.

10: I live in the mountains and it rained today. It's always so beautiful the way the clouds roll across the peaks. And all the mountain greenery looks even brighter under a grey sky.

11: Still raining here. Trying again for a floating line.

12: Sunset.

13: Haha, it's STILL raining here! I was going to write a haiku about it, but I was getting tired of writing haiku about rain. So I decided to draw some inspiration from my desktop wallpaper. I dunno how I feel about it, but at least it's not about rain again.

14: I went to Las Vegas for my sister's wedding. I wrote this haiku while I was looking out the window of the hotel at the view of the city at night.

15: Las Vegas sunset.

16: I spent most of this day in the backseat of the car on the way home. That's pretty much all I saw, along with lots of cows and hay. Should joshua be capitalized?

17: I was looking at my strawberry plants today and they both have these little white flowers, but no fruit yet.

18: Just thinking about a reflecting water surface.

19: Okay. The mountains behind my house are AMAZING in the sunset. And one day my mom and I were talking about how they looked like someone painted them with watercolours. (My mom is a watercolour artist.) I originally had it with the first line as "mountain range" and the second line was "lavender peaks and pink hills", but that second line seemed so long and I thought a reader would be able to understand that I was talking about mountains with the word "peaks".

20: Just as it says, a little bird was singing all by itself outside my window.

21: I dunno... I just like wheat fields.

22: It was my mom's birthday today. And I wrote a haiku about hills.

23: And today is my birthday! Haha. Anyway, I was thinking about snakes, so... yes. No real reason behind it.

24: I was looking at a picture of a sunset over water and was intrigued by the thought of the horizon being like a thread.

25: The moon had a gold hue to it, but there were also street lamps when this haiku came to mind. I saw it and instantly these words formed.

26: I was sitting in a garden with bright orange flowers and it was a sunny day.

27: I was thinking about how farms look from an airplane.

28: In my house, we have these huge windows because we have an amazing view of these awesome mountains. When it gets rainy, they get misty at the top and they always make me think of ink drawings.

29: I was in Las Vegas again... I don't normally go there so often, it just happened to work out that I went twice this month! But one of my friends lives there so I was visiting her. Anyway, we went to Lake Mead and there were these kayaks there, so I wrote this haiku. I'm not sure if it makes sense... the second line was originally "like birds on the water", but that sounded clunky.

30: Okay, it was really hot, so I was thinking about winter. I just wanted to try writing a more wintry type of haiku. Unusual because I normally write things inspired by my current surroundings.

31: Just a simple one about a summer night.

A Midnight Meditation

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 09:24:49 PDT

I was reading my Islamic Ideology and Muslim Society textbook, trying to decipher and put into the context words such as axiological chain and nexus and Divine Will when my Mp3 player, which I have to shamefully admit, was blaring some feministic sounds, switched to Sami Yusuf’s soulful-almost tranquil meditation. Almost at once, the cloud of bitterness, heartaches and impatience that have been dominating me for the past few weeks simmer away in each hum of the singer’s voice. It was such a surreal, peaceful moment for me that I felt the urge to record such beautiful epiphany in a poem. I am still having a rough time, but the song had put me back into the right perspective. Suddenly, I realize that there is always Him to help me untangle my web of emotions, and this ugly selfishness that is eating the very core of me could be stopped if I run to Him for help. It does not matter anymore-these weird feelings that I have been experiencing, my frustration that is boldly surfacing, my love-hate relationship with a good friend-one thing I know for sure, I could always always envelope myself in my shield of prayers and let the world disappear, at least for a while.

p.s. Photo is courtesy of Marlynna Sorry, ana curik anti punya wallpaper

Wallpaper

Sun, 16 Oct 2005 04:28:14 PDT

this poem came from this piece of wallpaper that was left on my wall, and last night i kept looking at it because it was annoying me how it was still there after all the other bits of wallpaper had come off of my wall. I thought about if it was real and it was sitting there sniggering at me that it was still laying on the wall. I just wrote down my feelings and this is it really. hope you like it.

What's Your Interpretation?

Fri, 30 Nov 2012 13:46:32 PST

30.11.2012
21:37pm

Before you read my comments below, tell me what your interpretation was of the verse, and what you would add to the poem. I'm curious as to what you feel when you read my poems - I've recently discovered that even when I am at my most happiest, I can still write gloomy poems!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this during my English lecture yesterday; I was thinking about my poem 'Almost there' and the first line was stuck in my mind. I came up with the verse totally out of the blue and then I started analysing it myself! (This verse was also influenced by 'The Yellow Wallpaper' which is a short story).

Analysis:
The woman is locked in a room and is hearing voices through the walls. She longs to be outside; 'green' represents the grass; 'solid hollow' is an oxymoron (intended): the walls are hollow - what she can hear are children playing outside. 'will ever see' represents the feeling of hope that she'll get out of the room.

Alone

Sun, 10 Jul 2011 09:30:49 PDT

A poem dedicated to Lala, a minor character in D.Gray Man. I didn't watch the episode, but still..she was just a doll, who needed love, that's all..and her best friend died..

Her Lullaby just makes me cry, every time I hear it..

D.Gray Man belongs to Katsura Hoshino.

Wallpaper belong to KuroKohai

The poem is mine, please don't steal.

Hope you like it

Waiting For Nothing

Fri, 20 Jun 2003 15:26:38 PDT

I was going through a hard time in my life recently, and I find that the only thing that helps me when this occurs, is to listen to musician/poet Kevin Max. While listening to one of my new CDs, one of the tracks was Kevin reading some of the poems that he wrote, and one of those poems was called, "Black Wallpaper, Blonde Tea." I burst into tears when I heard it, and like all of his poems it sent chills down my spine. This poem is my thankyou for Kevin not only writing that poem, but also helping me express the words that I had been keeping bottled inside.
And I will still hold on to my dream of being able to write poems with him one day.

SHORT STORY: Eternal

Sun, 15 Jan 2012 15:17:26 PST

Written from my iPod Touch

And I'm falling, I'm drifting away...

My eyes snap open.

The first thing I'm aware of is the silence, so heavy that it's almost like it's crushing my ears as if they were grapes.

I know of three things. I'm in the dark, I'm on the floor, and I'm alone.

My vision finally focuses, and I realise that I'm staring at a tiled ceiling.

It's dark, but at the same time light enough for me to see, like some eerie twilight lighting.

Groaning, I pick myself up off of the floor.

I look around and establish that I'm in a classroom. The desk and chairs are small, and low towards the ground. I turn around, taking the full room in, and realise with a dull thud that I recognise the place.

I'm in my old classroom in primary school.

I look out the window, expecting to see nothing but black. Instead, I see the playground and the field, and the road beyond that.

But in the sky, there are no stars. In the houses there are no lights. In the car park, there are no cars.

Abandoned.

I turn away from the window, a steady unease growing in my chest. Strangely, there is no fear, just the faint sense that something is wrong.

I exit the classroom and look down the hall, to the left and to the right. Nobody.

Slowly, I walk down the corridor, admiring the posters and pictures on the walls, and the quiet stillness of the place.

I'm in the past.

Everyone has grown up or left, so this particular time frame is no longer occupied by anyone. I'm alone here, as if the lights have been shut off in a production and everyone has gone home but me.

I leave the school and walk out to the playground. I trace the lines of the ground with my shoe. Looking around, I see none of the new colourful playing structures I saw when driving by recently.

Everything is as it should be.

I walk across the field and out of the gates, looking up the dark, deserted road. There is still not a single sound other than my footsteps and the gentle swooshing of the wind.

Eerie.

I know where this road will lead, and I know that I will only hurt myself by following it. I walk forwards.

It's only a short walk, and I stop when I reach the place. Although the walk required minimal effort, my heart is beating as if I have just run a mile.

I look through the front window, and a wave of sheer nostalgia crashes through my soul as I see the contents of the living room inside.

Shakily turning, I walk towards the front door and try the handle. I know that I will find it to be open, but it still makes me jump when the door silently opens, inviting me in.

I step across the threshold of my old house.

I explore the living room and the kitchen, touching objects that have, up until now, been lost from memory. A shiver runs down my spine as I see an old picture on the wall. And as my gaze falls upon the stairs, I know exactly what night it is.

I wait outside my old bedroom door, knowing what I will find inside, but dreading it.

Fight your fright with all your might.

I enter.

My sister's bed is empty. Now, if I were walking through a memory, this would not be so, but this is not a raw memory. This is a pivotal point in my life, and I am the only one in this world.

I walk towards my younger self, noting how is cheeks are clear of tears - the tears that never came - and how I am sleeping restlessly. This is the night after my mother's death, and I am slowly falling into the depths of pessimism, deeper by the second.

"You don't know this, but in another few years you'll be living an almost completely different life."

As soon as the words exit my mouth, the silence swallows the room back up. I can't help noticing the childish wallpaper and toys, and how grey they are in this lighting, how fitting it seems.

The child in the bed remains a sleep.

I brush a lock of hair out of his eye. "Let me tell you a secret." I lean down and whisper into his ear. "It gets better."

I stand up, looking down at my previous self. "I love you." I turn and leave the room.

As the door shuts, the younger me fidgets and murmurs in his sleep. A twitch of a smile appears in his lips, and an onslaught of colour sweeps into the room as reality returns. He wakes, briefly, and feels his sister's presence in the room with him. He turns over and goes back to sleep.

The younger me might not have known it, but the present me knows that the presence of those I love will never, ever fade, and as long as I can feel their presence in my soul, I will never find myself to be alone in this world.

Description:

...wow. Not only was that the eeriest thing I've ever written, but I never originally meant it to turn out so deep and emotional at the end.

I'm extremely proud of this.

When I Come Back

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 18:08:55 PDT

yes yes this little short poem was actually for someone bcuz i still live them with all my heart and tis is how i show how i love them..........

A poem for Scar

Tue, 12 Oct 2004 03:28:28 PDT

I wrote this poem for a Scar wallpaper... It never appeared on Devart; it was a gift for a friend. But I give you the poem now. Of course, it was written long before ep. 42. That time, I still believed in a happy ending - for everybody.

Eyes

Thu, 06 May 2004 09:39:48 PDT

:UPDATE:
I got the pic that inspired the poem but I don't think the girl who made the wallpaper's site is still up. ><
Ooo I hope I put this in the right categories since this is my first time doing this. ><
inspired me to upload what little poetry I have, so thanks!
I guess this is a fanfiction poetry piece since it's talking about Kamui from CLAMP's anime X. (You each should see that show, it rules!) I wrote this awhile back and was inspired by my then current wallpaper, I'll see if I can find it and upload it.
PS I'm NOT a poet

Starlite

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 21:15:34 PDT

I got inspired by
I love Rainbow Brite! Though, I kinda thought Starlite was a little full of himself. But still loved him.

22/30 NaPoWriMo

All poetry and fractals are copyrighted to me. If you wish to use my poetry, please ask in advance. As for the fractals, you may use them for wallpapers/background or buy the prints.

I Surrender.

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 12:17:45 PDT

Sitting in chapel at my good ol' school of NCC, and just came up with an idea for this. Didn't turn out quite as I had hoped, but, it's alright. I'm still trying to put music to it.

Oh yeah, and for the display, I got a wallpaper from FFSpree and edited it. The picture is of Lenne from FFX-2, it fit enough for me, and she's super-cool. Hm...now I want to play the game some more...

Innocence.

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 15:09:34 PDT

Inspired by my darling neice Caitlin, who will be one on Sunday.
A few days ago, she slept round our house and fell asleep in her cot still holding onto my finger. I took a picture of the hand/finger and it's now the wallpaper for my phone
As you can tell, I love her very much. This poem doesnt do her justice but I like it non-the-less.

Girls can have them too.

Mon, 19 Mar 2007 23:28:09 PDT

This is a...

I don't know what this is. It makes sense to me... but like I said before: nine glasses, each 32oz, of coffee... hoooly man, man.

Man Man. Is a band; how many of you have seen the wallpaper video? If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you haven't seen it. Okay?

Okay.

...go. I still have Febreze in my eye. Ow, ow, I'm out of coffee.

February Blossoms

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 22:09:46 PDT

Day 7 of 30 Day Poetry Challenge

Prompt: Take a walk until you find a tree you identify with, then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor for yourself or your life.

Actually, I found this tree around campus back in February. I always am in awe how cherry blossom trees (and other blossom trees) bloom in time for Lunar New Year - a sign spring is coming around. It was really gorgeous and I loved how it stood out among the regular green trees. I don't have a camera, so I took a picture on my phone and it still is my phone's wallpaper.

I wrote this poem to reflect my life and how there was a huge factor that severely impacted my life (like the rainstorm); yet now I have come back stronger. I'll be sure going to keep an eye out to see when the flowers bloom again.

Father of Lights - 43

Sat, 09 Nov 2002 06:30:57 PST

Poem #43 - Father of Lights
I know this poem may not get as many comments as it could if I say its about God but so what. I remember somewhare in the Bible that He is referred to as the Father of Lights and it just kind of struck a chord in me.

The flow is a little chunkier than I like (especially that last line) but it is a decent start. I seem to have been on a poetry kick as of late. With my job going more and more nuts I haven't had much time to write or Terragen or make any new Quake 2 skins, but when I do i try to upload them ASAP for you all. I hope you enjoy this one, it was fun to write. It's about half of the length I originally had, but I cut a lot of verses out (and still may cut the second stanza....

Thank You for your support...you have no idea how it feels to come back froma crappy day and see 20 comments on how much people loved your poem / wallpaper / skin. It brings a smile to me when not much else can and for that I thank you all.

::[Matrix7]::

I - The Dark Embrace

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 07:58:37 PST

My first new submission in a long, long while. I wasn't trying to be all sad and gloomy but it appears that my mind is still tuned that way. In any case, i like how it turned out.
The wallpaper was made by straychi1d-d5qisdp

Sunset

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 20:46:07 PDT

A simple wallpaper I have had for a long time. To date, it is my favorite picture period. So I finally did something to it using Photoshop CS. A nice, simple image to kick off my actual artsi-ness into Deviant Art.

Very simple, I know, but the message is still clear.

:My.Sanctuary:

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 06:25:19 PST

its still a work in progress...the preview image is a wallpaper i made where i edited a picture (c)nin.com [nine.inch.nails] it kinda shows the thoughts inside the brain while locked inside a padded room of ur mind...just kinda how im feeling right now...the words are from lyrics (c)preformed by trent reznor of NIN the song is called 'Dead Souls'

Sztorm

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 10:03:57 PDT

[Polish]
Tak, to jest wiersz. Tylko nie miałam pojęcia do jakiej kategorii go wrzucić.
Zainspirowany pirackimi rymowankami członkiń klubu Depp na epulsie xD Nic specjalnego, ot wytwór nieprzespanej nocy ;]
Hope you enjoy.

[English]
It's my poem, but I really didn't know which category to choose. The title means Storm. I don't think I'll translate it to English, it has rhymes and things like that, it'd be too hard for me to change it. Well, it's still just a rubbish

Inspirited by Pirates of the Caribbean xD

And that preview picture I took from one site with wallpapers... I can't remember which, it was while ago when I found it.

cool blue desperado

Mon, 23 Apr 2001 23:01:15 PDT

yaiy!... pixelcatalyst is submitting poems.
an old poem made eight years ago...
... a wallpaper for this poem coming up.

········································ ···········
cool blue desperado

time whispers things i terribly feared
a burdened promise had been uttered
circumstances conspire something to depart
a flaming coal is engraved in my desperate heart
gloomy tears rushed down my cheeks,
for there is something this heart miserably seeks
something he thought he had already found
happiness and laughter that\\\'s how it sound
too late to discover it was just an illusion
illusions... which they call as confusion
an innocent heart had been broken
a heart... once like a blooming flower in a garden
sunset peeped through these frightened windows
whispering waves of tears thats what it shows
shattered love awaits a sullen and melancholic morn
for i tell you ... a desperate heart had been silently born
yet... inspite of it all
memories of you still lingers in my soul
for this heart can never ever deny
that what i feel for you will never die...

········································ ···········
should i go back to submitting wallpapers?
(\\\",)

don\\\'t forget pixelcatalyst issue no. 018 will be
released this 25th of april 2001
pixelcatalyst.com [[link]

pixelcatalyst here over and out.
hmmm... is this the way to submit poems in here?

[-]
Submission Error: You MUST submit an accompanying downloadable file when submitting deviations!

let me include an unrelated image... i\'m still in the process of creating a \'poem-splash\' or whatever you call it.

[-] and another error
The downloadable file submitted matches the same name as a previously submitted deviation. Please ensure that the file that you are submitting is in fact a uniquely named file.

wah!

Jail of Balloons

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 18:41:18 PDT

This is my room.

No, I'm not kidding. Ever since we moved into this house when I was six...This has been my room.

And as a child, I loved it.

But now, as I'm constantly being reminded that I must "give up childish games and dreams," these wallpapers do nothing but mock me.

They mock me, and it hurts.

I see the most light, but I would rather keep the blinds up...I don't want to see it. Even the light mocks me. These stupid sheet of glass keeps getting in my way.

And when I stay on the phone or computer for more than thirty minutes, or when I talk to loud, or not study enough...I get disapproving tones from my father.

I'm lonely. I'm being cut off. I work but work is work. When I'm home, everything is still the same. I work for no pay, but I thought that having a job will make my dad cut me some slack and let me hang out with my friends more...but instead he keeps bringing up my old blunders and say that I'm still not good enough to earn the right to let loose.

I'm nineteen.

I drive.

But I can't fly.

I'm also broke.

Broke of money, broke of social interaction, and I feel like I'm broke of time.

The longer I go on like this, the more I lose.

I hate this house, and above all, this room...

And a house is not a home. Home is where you don't feel lonely.

I am lonely.

And I cannot cry. Because my tears are apparently made of oil...they fuel my father's flame more than they quench them.

MustNotSleepMustWarnOthers-ap3

Thu, 31 Mar 2005 18:50:24 PST

Aesoproject No. 3

The text in this wallpaper is from Aesop's lyrics, though they are in numerous songs, they are also tattooed on his arms. which i think is really sweet.

the first time i heard these phrases was when i was listening to Float.
song: Commencement at the Obedience Academy
lyrics: Aesop Rock

chorus:

Must not sleep. Must warn others. Trust blocks creep where the dust storm hovers. I milk my habitat for almost everything I want. Sometimes I take it all and still can't fill this pitfall in my gut.
Must not sleep, must warn others. Trust blocks creep where the dust storm hovers. I'm tryin' to walk on top of sunshine but it's ridicilous at times. That's why I'm touring with this warning. Feel it, it's like...

overall, i am more satisfied with this one than the first wallpaper. i hope you enjoy it too. werd.

ARS 19 - Intentions

Thu, 22 Aug 2002 07:16:34 PDT

this is a charcoal/pencil/oil pastel drawing i did and manipulated...more images from my dreams...

i still sway with the wind...

Our Simple Hearts

Sun, 12 Jul 2009 09:10:19 PDT

Yep. More romantic stuffs. Again, ©H. Draine.

I'm not entirely sure about this one. It is supposed to be both about how people in love, no matter who the two people are or how they're in love, have the ability to be happy no matter what the situation as long as they can be near one another- and about gaycism. Yep. Still unsure as to how it turned out though.

The Beginning of Wisdom

Wed, 07 Dec 2005 22:24:05 PST

You don't have to know everything to be wise. Master's degrees, Ph.Ds, etc. are nice wallpaper, but you can be a highly educated person and still be dumb as a post in life.

forgotten

Sun, 04 Nov 2001 18:28:39 PST

alright the bright effect on the left was cool but it left it too empty and it was the wrong resolution for a wallpaper so I put it one side and created a poem to go with it called forgotten. not my best poem but still. It looks good with the piece.

Lightning and Thunder

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 21:32:39 PDT

My 23rd piece for NaPoWriMo.

I really like thunderstorms, however they still sometimes scare the beejeezus out of me.

All poetry and fractals are copyrighted to me. If you wish to use my poetry, please ask in advance. As for the fractals, you may use them for wallpapers/background.

Recreative Dream

Sun, 27 May 2001 05:28:15 PDT

this is a short poem i wrote for a special person. originally, i was used for my latest deviation, the wallpaper called Recreative Dream - [link] - to describe the feelings and purpose behind this image. and...err...is probably my first poem at all, furthermore english is my third language so i still got some problems with expressing it all...

Recurring Dreams

Wed, 08 Dec 2010 11:49:47 PST

two recurring dreams that i have.
the first one is about the house that my dad's parents used to live in. the wallpaper in my dad's childhood room is trippy as hell.
the second one is about my highschool music teacher. i keep dreaming that she is still alive, and i always wake up crying because just for a second i believe that it's real.

House Tape: Littleton Colorado

Tue, 10 Jan 2006 14:51:54 PST

From "The Last Place You Look". I was rooting through home movies one day, and found a tape simply entitled "House Tape". On it was footage of our house in Littleton, Colorado before we were completely moved in. The carpets were torn up, the walls had old wallpaper on them still, so we got to work fixing it. This poem is reflecting on this tape, as well as other memories I have of living there.

Question the darkness

Tue, 16 Dec 2003 15:23:29 PST

I have been going through a lot of my older writings and seeing wich ones still really speak to me and which ones i would like to set to some sort of background.

Im also trying to fill my basement with art and i have this thin piece of panel above the bottom of the steps that this would go perfectly too. it would also sum up a lot of how i feel at night in this place so its perfect.

oh this is also down to an interesting wallpaper size (1040xzomething my desktop settings are on center with a black background) so feel free if you wish.

thanks

Goodbye to the color Red

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 19:56:07 PDT

Ok so my computer monitor decided to not display the color red. And I'm super upset because now everything that WAS red, is on a grayscale. BUMMER RIGHT?! So this is for red. To come back to my monitor where he belongs. I tried to fix things for him by unplugging the blue cord in the back of the screen and then replugging it in but apparently it wasn't enough ._.

I really miss Red. I can't photoshop without the little dude. My desktop wallpaper is a mess without him. And to be honest. Whenever I'm on the computer it feels like I'm in the freakin ocean in the middle of shark week. Greens and Blues. Ugh. Kill me. PLUS I can't really look forward to checking out all the art here on dA because everythings... OFF!! Well except for the writing. But still.

So... I've tried the cord thing. Anyone have any suggestions?

Thanks
~Alice

Hope, like feathers

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 15:59:15 PDT

Inspired by 's fractal: [link]
which is beautiful and stunning and beautiful and whatever
else (it's late and I'm out of vocabulary)
I'm still using it as my wallpaper and it comforts me somehow everytime I look at it...
so I felt a bit obliged to finally do something...
Natalie, I hope you don't mind using your fantastic piece of art as my preview file
If you do, I'll remove it instantly
Anyway, a bit less on the emo side, as I'm getting these happy bursts in the last time, despite not having that much luck and happiness...
I'm weird...
Anyway, I hope you like it, as I tend to do so... at least a bit...
despite missing any kind of rhythm... or any other lyrical stuff....

Damn, my brain REALLY has rotten away T_T

Prized Prayer

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 11:26:28 PDT

Yet another Haiku.

This one I typed in Paint, made pretty, and took a picture of with my phone so it's my wallpaper. ^^

It means something more to me then most bescause it's religious. Thoth and Isis are my lady and lord, I am wiccan. So is my boyfriend. And when we had some hard times, I asked our gods and goddesses to help us out, and I still have him. So they've helped me alot. So has the rain.

I mumble this nightly now, after giving them my thanks and offerings. And he was busy with graduation and such, and now our work schedules work against us. I grumped at him for it, but wrote this, now we're working well again.

Guiding Hearts

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 01:26:02 PDT

I've been doing some messing around with some anime wallpaper I have, writing stuff on them, poems and such. This is one I did today.

You know, I'm really seeing a change in my poems. There's something different, I'm not sure what, but I'm using expressions and words I've never thought of before. Hah! Maybe it's because I've changed so much just within six months, and I'm happy. Somehow, I guess my brain seems to realize it and the words just pour out. Sometimes I have no idea what I'm even writing; they just seem to come out all at once and before I know it, I created a poem.

But in any case, I like it. I'm still surprised at myself for growing my vocabulary with poetry, but I'm liking very much how they turn out.

Hiatus

Sun, 03 Oct 2004 15:27:16 PDT

Yeh i wrote this like two days ago. It's still pretty raw at the moment, and i'm hurting quite a bit.... My girlfriend has fallen out of love with me, and we've just been through a huge long summer holiday, where we had so much fun. It was honestly the best eight weeks i've ever had. And now she's ended it, cos she doesn't love me as a boyfriend any more. She likes 'Ben'. Not that i'm sore or anything.....Yeh it's just that we decorated my bedroom together over the holidays, and so every inch of wallpaper has a memory, every tiny bit of paint. I have a draw full of photographs of the happy days, and a picture of when she loved me smiles at me from my wall. I can't go in my room without crying now, the very bed where we made love in still holds her scent, and i keep finding her hairs everywhere. I can't really take it. I wrote this song very late one night, fresh tears rolling down my face. It's not meant to be happy.