In Preparation for the Great Robot WarsThe sun which glints off steel and chrome
Refracted by the superdome
Constricts the pupils of professor
Who teaches bolts and volts and ohm
Through their masks the students wonder
of grassy knolls, ravines asunder
Geology’s of no import
While skies are loud with robot thunder
Gerund and interabang?
Of utile ore there lies the gangue
We learn the language of the drill
and iron claw with copper tang
We train our students by the score
to make scrap of the auto-corps
and extirpate our android fate
In measures for the robot war
A Poem Anent EvilTo balance such dissymmetry
Was fated here soliloquy
(as pigeon is by name a dove,
and philters that by altar wine )
His mingling with this verse, thereof
Makes dissonant polyphony.
Love-pinkened cheek and petal’d prose
(chemical by Bodenstein)
By bloom-robbed breast Hegemone’s
O, mercy for the compass rose !
For East of Here lies Valentine.
Shattered Stories: Lovesick On that fateful night, Fitzwilliam donned his hat of tinfoil, which threw a becoming shadow over his mild features; fixed it at a rakish angle, and stepped outside. Wheatley, the butler, opened a Chinese umbrella to shelter his master, though it was not raining. The waning sun, which stained the landscape port wine, was still quite in danger of ruining Fitzwilliam’s peaches-and-cream complexion. Fitzwilliam was led to his stallion by the butler, all parties presently looking blue as bottles cast beneath the tinted light of the parasol. Wheatley mounted the saddle with style and offered his unemployed hand to Fitzwilliam. The smartly-dressed youth squirmed his way up the horse’s great side, struggling not to get the horse’s horsiness all over his dinner jacket. Nothing spoiled a party quite like the perfume of topical flea medicine layered with laudanum, of which the latter Fitzwilliam dabbed behind his ears for special occasions.
As the noble
Ann Won't EatEmbracing your cello, you take up less space
Than the hollow-boned spruce, bow firm and melodic,
Your hair falling out
All over the strings.
Happy concertos hang on the rafters
Just as you yearned for yourself
A less-permanent proxy for you;
Watching and smiling,
The wooden beams modelling
What we pine for, and though you decline
A ticket to the theater,
Maybe it's possible you can
Find laughter here on the ground-
Because it's funny, like we say all the time
We can't even feed ourselves
How were you supposed to feed the baby?
And maybe it was rape,
But how pure were you to begin with?
You still love him, and
You can't undo that like
He undid you.
It's becoming clearer to me these days
That I won't see you again
Just as I said
Though you didn't really believe that,
It hurts when you're wrong.
So carve your arm up, I love you,
I dare you.
And callous your
Because maybe it's not so flawed
Because wrong can be measured in degrees
Like the cold of your
Winter SweetEyes aglaze; digits icing over
With death in the periphery
An avalanche of downy notes
Flutter by on paper motes
We make snow angels in the dusk
And cake ourselves with frosting coats
AnorexiaOpaque as ocean
Heavy as feather-
Tied to the tether.
Veins that chain
Rip at the wrist!
Bones that bind
Fingers in fist.
For what I can't be-
A soul that can love
What eyes cannot see!
Beast in the KingdomMy watch, a testament to Time, ticks tenaciously. The delicate click of teeth meeting tooth; the beat of a miniature heart. A resonance I recognize from elsewhere-
The mouse lay shivering in the warmth of my palm
The miniscule vessels, chambers, and veins; struggling to pump the precious fluid that slows with every life-shattering breath.
Yes, it is-undoubtedly-the insignificant vibrations of the mouse's beating heart that sound so alike to the timepiece that touches my very veins- both ticking down the time they have left; becoming unwound.
Finding"I wanted nothing more than to grab the envelope and tear it open violently. Nothing has been more excruciating, in my sixty-odd years of existence, than watching Irene unhurriedly study the translucent cerulean envelope, black ink penetrating the waxy paper in places, adorned with stamps of faces marred by the Postal Service. Upon opening the letter, we understand we'd been nothing more than naïve children. We were pawns, utterly disposable."
Helena"I used to wonder, with childlike curiosity, if her hair burned her ears and neck if it were to go unwashed too long. Only on Sunday night, when she bathed, I was convinced the fire was quenched. When she thought no-one was looking, she'd pull out her tortoiseshell hairpins and let her auburn hair flicker in the dimming summer light; we watched, fascinated, through the age-warped windowpanes as they silhouetted a widow aflame."
Uncle Charlie's Got the Rots AgainUncle Charlies got the rots again, down with the disease again. They may have to take the other leg this time, at least the foot. He just lays there in bed most of the time, staring out at something only he sees. Grandma Carol tries not to cry when she goes in to tend to him, but he must hear her all the way from the kitchen as she sits there crying over the potatoes. Slice, slice, slice; a little more gone each time. I sit on the porch and think how we all die like that; piece by piece as the good things turn rancid and are cut away. I wonder if Uncle Charlie sees Aunt Martha, seven years gone now. I kind of bet he does.
Playing the Innocent (a tickle story)Please Note: This is my first story on dA, and it also contains tickling and bondage so if you don't like that sort of thing, please don't read it. Thank you!
Playing the Innocent
Her muffled, melodic laughter could just be heard as I stepped through the doorway.
Before me I saw a gorgeous blonde lying on the bed at the far end of the room, thrashing her head, pulling at her wrist restraints at the headboard and trying to kick her legs to break free of her ankle restraints.
I saw my colleague, Jamie, tickling her upper body quite frantically, and I saw him flitting his fingers around the girl's belly button, then he glided up her stomach and then he parted his hands to tickle both of her sides, and she was writhing ferociously.
I smiled and walked towards her, and she briefly turned her head as she heard my footsteps on the cold, concrete floor, but she quickly turned away again to resume her struggle.
I walked over to her bedside by her head and l
A Blanket Statement -Toon-It was a cold autumn evening. If not for the science expo in town, Snapdragon wouldn't have ever ventured outside. His teeth chattered as he wrapped his tail around himself in a futile attempt to warm himself.
Snapdragon was a dark green alligator (or was he a crocodile? Even HE was never sure) with a light green underbelly that extended along his arms and legs. His snout was elongated, and his back bore two vertical columns of slightly longer, black scales. Most distinguishing was his scaly hide, which was incredibly coarse front and back; his scales were so rough they could be used to sand wood.
I'm so COLD! I'd better find some extra insulation before I retire to my hotel room.
Glancing up, Snapdragon noticed that he was passing by the expo grounds. Despite the expo not opening until the next day, he could see that one of the exhibits was open. The words "BLANKET MAKER" graced the top of a large, cubical thing the size of
Cookie Calamity -Toon- -Req.-The alleyway was quiet, save for the hum of a few air conditioners. A black-and-white kitten by the name of Color wandered by himself along the alley; he'd never been to this alley before, and wanted to do some exploring. Occasionally he would pause and peek into a trash can in search of something shiny, but for some reason all the trash was dull and boring today.
As he passed by the back door of one building in particular, a scent coming from it made him stop in his tracks.
Color's nose hadn't betrayed him. That building was a bakery, the newly opened Sprocket Bros. Bakery to be more precise, and someone was baking cookies inside.
Discreetly the kitten pushed the door open, glancing back and forth. He'd definitely entered the kitchen, and it appeared to be vacant, not a butcher or baker or candlestick maker in sight. The scent of cookies was still strong, though.
Surely no one would notice if I pinched just one cookie. Maybe tw
It's CHRISSMSMHPPPHHHHH - part 1Robber Baby
Robber Baby, pull that rope around the arms Of me.
been an awful good girl, Robber baby,
so hurry through the window tonight.
Robber baby, Please use the scarf near you,
It’ll keep me nice and quiet, that’s true,
Robber baby, so hurry through the window tonight.
Think of all the jewels you’ll find,
Think of the helpless girl you’ll have to bind,
Next year I can look just as good,
But I want you to come in and be so kind,
Robber baby, I wanna feel,
the tape from the red roll you peel,
Been an angel all year,
Robber baby, so hurry through the window tonight.
Robber honey, there's something you need to stuff,
Into my little mouth,
Robber honey, so hurry through the window tonight.
Robber cutie, and pull the rope tight around my knees,
And pull my ankles right back,
Robber cutie, and hurry through the window tonight.
Come and tie me on the bed
Wrap one more big scarf around my head,
I really do want you to,
Georgia, 1946"Damp night air and hot summer fear. Looking through the crosshairs while my face caught fire. Flex, shudder, pull, fall. Dust, moonlight, blood. The walk home though the long grass is unbearably uneventful. No serpent to bite or scorpion to sting. Just guilt, silence, dread. Hiss, hiss, the grass screams and clings to your ankles."