As the title suggests, this news article series aim to promote wonderful aspects of the deviantART community, from showcasing beautiful works of art, to informing you of great groups, and to interviewing inspirational deviants. I feel so happy being part of such a wonderful community and I hope to make it better, even if it's only a little bit, by making these articles. My goal is to bring to light everything that impassions me and, hopefully, inspire you!
A showcase of art that has simply left me speechless from all genres, from digital/traditional, artisan, emoticons, fractals, etc.
A showcase of photographs that have left me in awe from all genres, from nature, macro, fashion, conceptual, abstract, etc.
A showcase of literature that has motivated & moved me from all genres, from prose, poetry, flash fiction, short stores, etc.
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
So let the sparrows in.
With its branching hallways
Furniture rooted to the floor
Twin CoresI cry like I always do,
even though you flurry around my crooked
smile as if you're in a parade.
Placing my hat on your head you
prance away, naughty with mischief and
The grubs you toss flutter away
as butterflies before me;
I suppose this is the passage of time.
My sweet gentleman, though
you dry up all my tears
you can't efface their gulches.
The vapor flies off my tongue at
sharp points that slice at your essence.
My cringes are all that keep you young.
You ride me through life,
a captain to calm the cascades of joy
and love that threaten to crumble inside.
Now I'm older than you by many times,
Fifty-Three DaysI remember the day we dug our graves,
In which, we'd spend those fifty-three days
Surrounded by those who wished us harm
High up on that barren hill lacking in charm
We dug them two feet deep,
Six feet wide,
In which we could safely sleep,
And from bullets hide
During the day temperatures soared
Our skin would blister when bare skin touched rock
At night it drastically dropped
And we returned to our shallow graves
All except one, who wearily gazes
Down on the green valley below
Where we sometimes tread, but fear to go
Monotony ate at us day after day
A lull had come, our cares went away
And then with a patience, that I've
The RedWanton shreds of commissar,
come take away the filth.
Fill my brain with what I need,
never too late to change.
Channels, speak the only words
worth playing, repetition non sanctum.
Saving nothing for below,
before, or beneath the glorious
glare of sallow sunshine, we
weep for reality's trust.
Try, and fail
Fall, and stay
Strive, and die
Dinner at the banquet of commons,
Commiserate our want.
dry-erase i exhale in long, unbroken paragraphs.
the sky is never symmetrical on nights like these. the stars don't align perfectly on earth's axis, and you don't hesitate to point it out.
you examined the celestial bulbs, and screamed. you curse the sky & i string out each of my hopes on a winter breeze, and the wind stirs my bones. my skeleton freezes over & you notice. you reach out for my hand.
indifferently you sigh, and i inscribe my worries on my skin, pen scrawling over the expanse of flesh.
you lean in & smile. with the intimacy of tapeworms you breathe hot tiger-breath down my spine and try to exhale the hypergraphia from my flesh
a long awaited return.It was raining when we landed.
to our sun-drenched systems,
stumbling with snatched-
Another bus, another train
whirring upon endless tracks.
We run, we flee through foreign streets
disdainful eyes stare on,
desperate for a taste
The SuitcaseThe sunlight turned the chapel windows white.
The cemetery was rankly overgrown,
Thick vines had covered nearly every stone;
Dense leaves of ivy shimmered in the light.
Thin cracks of age were trying to rewrite
Each epitaph. The honey-sounding drone
Of engorged flies had soon become the lone
Sound in the afternoon. Then I caught sight
Behind a tombstone of a stained suitcase;
It leaned against the grave, quite unforgiving.
Red canvas, ordinary enough. No trace
Of rubbish near it, just a small misgiving
At how I am so ready to embrace
That such a place is home to someone living.
The StrangersA man and a woman were walking down a street in a bad part of town.
That was the scene.
They walked side by side, but not together; next to each other, but apart from each other like two south pollarded magnets. Two complete strangers walking in the same place, probably towards the same place, but not with each other.
She was a young woman in her early twenties; he appeared to be a man in his mid-to-late thirties. She had straight-cut, jaw-length black hair; he had soft brown curls and a beard. She was beautiful like a shining star on a clear nights' sky; he was handsome and that was about it. She was dressed for prowling, with a sho
State of MindThey buried her today.
I stood in the crowd, all of us dressed in blacks. I straightened my tie nervously as ladies I didn't know in big, veiled hats exchanged soft, sad words about what a shame it was. How she'd been so brilliant, how she'd had such a full life ahead of her. Ladies that didn't even know her.
There was a coffin, but there wasn't much in it. They didn't open the casket either, like they did sometimes. The man at the funeral home had said there was a limit to how much they could make fit for viewing, and I didn't really blame him for not even trying.
"This sucks," Cindy told me. We were sat at one of the cheap metal tables t
Pretty SwallowPretty swallow, will you fly?
Spread your wings to reach the sky
Will you soar above this smog?
The lights will lead you from the fog
Pretty swallow, will you sing?
Happiness your melodies bring
Will you entrance with a tune?
When the sun hits high noon
Pretty swallow, will you fight?
As the stars lose their light
Will you leave your city fair?
When the kites fly nowhere
Pretty swallow, will you fall?
You're the hope of us all
Will you keep our dreams on clouds?
If we can't speak them aloud
Pretty swallow, will you fly?
Spread your wings and say goodbye.
My muse. My love. If only she had given me a second thought, if only she had known how much she stung me with each blank stare, each averted gaze. Have you ever been completely, hopelessly sucked down into the depths of infatuation? I could do nothing but pursue. She was beautiful, of course, but that wasn't what pulled me so--she was wild. Not wild in the usual sense, wild as in animalistic, a creature of the natural world. She was independent. She was self-sufficient. She didn't need me. But oh, I needed her. So I gave chase. As the hunter pursues his quarry, I courted her fervently, feverishly, obsessively. I was turned away, reje
lonely phantoms.Bright blue seas, rippling
with life. Fluid dances under a glaring sun
that grows dull
to me, and slowly
falls to the
stale night breathing
stale air. I enter your dreams:
you sleep alone as I.
Gentle stroke -
Fingers float across your peaceful face,
the phantom skin of stoic limbs,
each aspect still, suspended in
Your pulse cries
lips meet lips, and
(it's) twistedtwist twist twist
the wire doesn't show enough;
skin is syrup, let it drip away
hold, stretch and tighten-
blossom is floating in the spring storm
licking and sticking like moths on our skin
when wings swirling wind upwards
inflate clothes like our bodies should
we fight to lose before we see ourselves 'win'
Here I will inform you of cool groups I have come across or have been recommended to that I feel need some more exposure.
A selection of DDs I have suggested this month and any that have been accepted.
Here I will interview an inspirational deviant I have picked or one suggested to me.
Bradley. Some people call me Kandii, and you can blame =BlissfullySarcastic on that. <3
Back when I registered, I was really into the game: Star Ocean: The Last Hope. That was basically it.
Even though I ask this question in my interviews, I never thought about what I would say when someone asked me. And my interviewees are right, it is a tough question! I'll keep it short and sweet.
I first discovered deviantART by a friend begging me to join. I originally signed up as ~RandomTwin back in 2008. At the very beginning of 2010, I decided I needed a fresh start and made another account, =The--Last--Hope.
dA Related. In my time I've created Stamps, IDs, journal skins, deviantART Suggestions and Tutorials. I don't really consider myself an artist, I'm more community orientated.
^namenotrequired. He's my main inspiration, as a community rockstar as well as a Community Volunteer.
The community by far. It's like having another (and much larger) family, and I'm really grateful to have some really great friends on dA. I cherish you all.
That's a tough question, because it all depends on what I'm doing. If I'm making stamps I'm inspired by deviants like `ClefairyKid; if I'm running community things I'm more than likely inspired by the [community] rockstars.
Just keep practising!
I'll just leave you a few quotes to inspire you:
Thank you for taking the time to read this article!
Please make sure to the article to help spread the DA love
If you have any art/groups you would like me to showcase or a deviant you would like to be interviewed, please note me. Or, leave a comment with your suggestions in this journal, Suggestions for Interviews & Spotlight Artist. Thank you!