Sta.sh
| They say you eventually have to reap what you sow, and autumn is the season; this gallery is my harvest, the fruits of my efforts. Please, enjoy. |
| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
until my wings are singedShe had always been a faerie, with heruntil my wings are singed by *katiekerr
Nightingale's brittle bones,
Her coalish eyes—
Ink-black, sky-fine
As if emerging from a dream—
And delicately damasked wings,
White as a wedding gown
And more pristine.
No one ever told her
That love is, by definition,
Keen and terrible—
And yet she remains, a
Rogue and discordant
Prayer (a witchcraft urge)
Strung as pearls between her lips,
A brilliant counterfeit.
That magic, still
Buried in the warmth of her tongue,
Holds none of the innocent silver
So many people sell their hearts for.
No,
No one ever told her
Fall
Has lost her leaves,
But she—
She will keep on.
This Is Not a Resting PlaceSkyscrapers leerThis Is Not a Resting Place by *katiekerr
Amongst the ruins and scattered debris,
Their fervent empire, their entrails,
Their cities laid to rot,
Waiting to be a corpse
As though to wither were to die;
As if all humankind
Listened not to the Pharaoh's
Armies march.
| They say you eventually have to reap what you sow, and autumn is the season; this gallery is my harvest, the fruits of my efforts. Please, enjoy. |
NarcissusThese measured glances, metered smiles that hideNarcissus by *katiekerr
The way you feel behind illustrious
Displays of counterfeit emotion ride
The line between your improprietous,
Coquettish affectations and your all-
Consuming moral principles, which I
Too keenly sense are morbidly appalled
By my existence; I can taste the lye
And vitriol competing on your tongue
To burn me hollow while we kiss, and this
Is only one distraction: here among
Your audience, Narcissus, you insist
On more than my submission or defeat,
But shaming me, to safeguard your conceit.
| Winter is a long, slow season well-suited to contemplation and introspection. The pieces in this gallery are some of my favourites, but still have lots of room for improvement. |
LaceYou found me lacing up my dress,Lace by *katiekerr
My fingers twisting knots and caught
Behind my back. Like you, but less
Repentant: Take a seat,
Worry your tie a bit,
Look up at me, recite
Your too-rehearsed confession.
Now, every time
I reach to touch
Somebody else,
My fingers break,
Still tied in knots
Between the lace.
Lost + FoundThat boot that braved a winterLost + Found by *katiekerr
Frozen in the mud
Remembers chasing
Curfew with one sock foot
Like a life depended on it.
Two weeks of chicken-soup-flu
And no one ever bought a pair of shoes new
After that, but the janitor cut it loose two years ago
And kids still say, "I'll wait for you by the boot."
One of those watches with the straps
That snap around your wrist, leaving welts
Like interrupting hockey night for homework help
Tick-tick-ticks somewhere in this pile of junk.
The sunglasses you bought two summers back
To hide your first black eye,
Wrapped up like Christmas
Inside the sweater you'd wear
When lying got to be too much to bear.
| Spring is a turbulent season, all heaving storms and new life, temperamental and always subject to change. These are mostly first drafts, still shaking on their calfs'-legs, waiting to grow into something that will survive the next winter. |
Five Seasons (Alternate) There was this moment, early last May, when I could have glanced up from the book I was reading at the breakfast table.Five Seasons (Alternate) by *katiekerr
I could look out my window and see you standing on my lawn, this waif in a windbreaker grinning at a daydream you're probably too old for. I could bring you an umbrella. I could invite you in for coffee, and we could lose the whole day debating questionable Scrabble plays. We could take to the streets after dark and try to find an all-night diner that will feed us both for less than fifteen dollars. I could fall in love with you.
But I don't.
...spring
You go home with nothing but a story about how springtime leaves you feeling lonely. Your roommate blows off a dinner date to take you out for drinks. You send a Chardonnay up to the stage between sets and the singer takes you home.
The new girl at work works up the nerve to ask me out.
I don't have a reason to say no.
Your
| Summer's all about having fun, and so is this gallery. You won't find any "serious" work in here; it's just me chasing down whimsy and playing with my toys, mixing and matching stray thoughts and trying to make my chemistry set explode. |
| "Poetry is the language of a state of crisis." |
| "I write to read the stories I cannot live otherwise." |
| "She who wields a pen, wages war." |
| "Poetry is honesty, unabridged by the truth." |
| "Life's too short for bad coffee, and too long for expensive liquor." |
| I don't submit to groups. Even the ones I'm a member of. If you see a group feature on any of my deviations, it's there because the group curated it. If you actually interact with the community, the community will give you the recognition you deserve. |
| Don't bother thanking me for it. In fact, I will hide the comment from my wall. If you really want to thank me, you can read one of my poems and leave a thoughtful comment. Better yet, just go make some more beautiful art. |
Congrats! You have been featured 