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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
August 10, 2011
Of the traditional fixed forms, villanelles are among the trickiest to pull off without a halting, stilted feel. But Your Fingers Drip Sonatas by *UltimateOutlaw is positively flowing, a sensual delight of rhyme and imagery.
Featured by Halatia
Literature Text
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
like the whispers of late night love sighs,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
Your practiced notes fall as symphonic silver
as crescendos trip into passion cries.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
trickling through the silt of my soul like a river,
effluents that never ebb or run dry.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
as I wait with baited breath for you to deliver
movements like planets in celestial skies.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
out into the world in sharp staccato slivers
only to slip away to pianissimo, then rise.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
running down the knots in my vertebrae to linger,
then coming to rest in the muscles of my thighs.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
like the whispers of late night love sighs,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
Your practiced notes fall as symphonic silver
as crescendos trip into passion cries.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
trickling through the silt of my soul like a river,
effluents that never ebb or run dry.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
as I wait with baited breath for you to deliver
movements like planets in celestial skies.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
out into the world in sharp staccato slivers
only to slip away to pianissimo, then rise.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
running down the knots in my vertebrae to linger,
then coming to rest in the muscles of my thighs.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
Literature
She of the throne
first shard
Sometime looking back on this
you know you'll talk of
how you crowned each soiled scrap of me
as you found it with a kiss.
And I know I'll remind you
I remember
your forgiving lips
meeting my chilled, festering flesh.
We'll be lying, but I still want this.
second shard
Come back to me when I am whole.
third shard
When something falls to pieces it shatters
but before you're content thinking me glass
remember I will never be translucent.
fourth shard
I'm drifting through my kingdom
where the sun succumbs, keels over, bleeds out, dies.
When stillness corrodes the earth
I stand waiting, arms outstretched the exact
Literature
for her.
it's midnight and I'm writing love letters
on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight
and every limb has a story. all
my collarbone remembers is the frantic
hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight
of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my
broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows
remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery
store. my cheeks remember your makeup and
my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck
remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember
when you were young again and wearing
red and holding cups of tea in hands
that didn't shake yet and I remembe
Literature
Birdcage
Nothing ever happens the way you read in the history books. In war there are never two armies, there is only a field of men. Never a number of dead; but individual lives snuffed out. That is what the subject of history is, years shelved and decimalized. Birth and death, graphed to the simplicity of lines. Great wars a footnote to the next great war. The achievements of men and women plotted out against the bookmark of day, month and year.
And somewhere amongst this, my mother breathed. Somewhere danced in now long-closed nightclubs, laughed at jokes told by a younger version of my Father. And then the unpin-able moment she fell in love with
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its clearly a villanelle 
for
rainy day fun.
And saddly this was inspired by whichever Priest was playing the most absolutely gorgeous piano music in the chapel this morning as I was working in my office, not one of my many musician exboyfriends (though homage to them is paid in the lines about my spine & thighs)
for
rainy day fun.
And saddly this was inspired by whichever Priest was playing the most absolutely gorgeous piano music in the chapel this morning as I was working in my office, not one of my many musician exboyfriends (though homage to them is paid in the lines about my spine & thighs)
© 2009 - 2024 UltimateOutlaw
Comments111
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Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by
ing the News Article.
Keep writing and keep creating.
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by
ing the News Article.Keep writing and keep creating.