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Literature
to be young and in love...
i lie in a state of catatonia
as thoughts of you linger in my mind:
i did not permit them to be there.
          in my dreams your hands
          are interwoven with mine,
          while we lie in the grass and watch
          as stars gently rake the night sky.
          i fit gently into the curve of your chest:
          you breathe in with me (within me)
          and each of your fingers fits perfectly
          between my ribs. we fall asleep together
          while the sky turns dusky teal
       
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 2 3
Literature
seven.
i.
there are days where i dont feel real:
days like those are like being
in a different reality.
maybe i live in a world of plasticine,
and my day is an entire stop motion
film. but maybe i'm the one in plasticine,
and people skirt looks out of the corner
of their eyes, too inhibited
to point out this fact to me.
iii.
orion leads a waterfall of stars into twilight
and while sitting on the ground my mind
is truly tempted to depart, and
ride along to sirius, for i was once told
that our souls came from the stars.
iv.
mars was bright last night.
bringers of war always leave traces:
when i awoke, i was greeted
by clouds of smoke and ash
and there were rings of fire
floating over my bed.
v.
but last night i dreamed
of swimming pools and parties,
and playing at water's edge.
whimsical, light and breezy,
i float along in the air.
but still, in my dreams
there would be a hint
of smoke-smell.
and each breath grew tauter,
it was like a chord being pulled,
and starting to fray...
snap.
vii.
somet
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:icongracelette:gracelette 3 2
Literature
disjointed.
people used to think that i talked too much,
so one day i just decided to stop,
and then the walls caved in, from lack
of wind to hold them up.
then, they tried to make me angry: attempts
were made to spurn me into fits of rage.
it almost worked.
well, no. all that happened was instead of going out,
i went in, and within. they can't find me anymore.
i am my own master, i am my own slave.
i bite my tongue now, purely out of habit:
there are no words left to say.
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 0 0
Literature
-insert title here-
misleading mistakes and shortcomings
make for wanderers-turned-nomads, searching,
seeking and yet, not finding on solid land.
i know it's true... but do they?
i wonder if their search is in vain.
(shi shang zhi you ma ma hao)
'ni shi i ge xiao mei mei' --
wo bu shi i ge... see, how
may might turn to june and still, and still
the lights turn on but off again.
and it's like a morse code
message over the hill
but can anyone see it, yet?
yet still, it's quiet, now.
(mei ma de hai zi xiang ge cao)
a breath of wind, and each footstep
is another fight against an unseen foe.
have you spotted it, yet?
time washes grittily like how sand
sticks to your feet at the beach,
getting under your toes
and in near a heartbeat:
(li kai ma ma de huai bao
xin fu na li zhao)
xin fu na li zhao?
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 0 0
Literature
'i'm inside a hollow...'
i'm inside a hollow of a hollow
and every ghost of a whisper and shadow
is ten times louder but fainter in here.
pin drops become kettle drums beating,
and beating again.
(am i inspiring you, yet? because i can't inspire me. and no matter how many times i breathe in and out again i don't make any more sense within misery.)
whispers give way to less quiet sound --
or rather, to a slightly un-quiet ebb and flow
of waves running in and out and in again.
and a want to be inspired
seems an inadequate excuse for hiding away,
but yet hiding away is all i want to do.
no, i cannot be happy as you, for you.
i don't want to live a life half-lived,
and i dont want a life full of regrets.
by all means, live young with me.
but i beg you, please:
don't make me into something that i am not.
:icongracelette:gracelette
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Literature
this is a requiem...
this is a requiem in b(urned bridge)
flat, tunnelling out towards the sea
from a land of bitterness and acridity.
many a time you have sunk a tune
to davy jones and his locker mates
(the tune never reached,
but it never came back)
and so you went humming, in it's wake.
the seas swell high, then ebb and flow --
the moon is calling softly to
waters inside the cove that breathe
(with me) in and out with the seasoned
shouts of a sailor who lived off
salted air and blacks.
but sharp is his call, over the sea
(white frothy foam and mahogany wings)
and over rattling, cackling ivories
that grip onto bottles of whisky and rum
and fifteen hearts that bob about.
are you sure you want to come with me?
there are hearts from every dead man's chest
(yo ho ho and a bottle of rum) --
a sailor's death-song, from a life at sea.
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 1 0
Literature
to gwen harwood
i.
tonight i am in gumboots and
a summer night dress chasing dreams.
it's almost surreal -- i hear cock-crow
and lamb bleat, mingled
with earthly angel voices and i think:
'why am i here, in this place
that's in between awake and asleep?'
ii.
darling, i know i'm not all there in the head (you're not even here at all but through your letters, poems and wisps and remnants of memory) but we're both plagued with our own miseries. cancer did well to choose me. but why should you care?
tonight i lie in bed and write this in tribute of you, hoping, if there is a heaven, that you can read this.
iii.
and while i lie curled all cat-like, waves of tiredness wash over me. with each breath i take (in and out and in again) darkness seems too keen to come and take over me. how long ago is it that my death began?
iv.
we can't feel through fabric.
i am a ghost of a shadow,
unfeeling, with quiet screams.
i sink deeper into sleep and discover:
i don't find dreams,
      
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:icongracelette:gracelette 1 3
Literature
stained glass windows
i.
i get inspired by broken dreams
(see? i'm not quite as bereft of hope as others think) --
its a compulsion that i have. but admitting it
makes me blush not crimson but magenta
(my most hated colour), and certainly
it comes with a certain amount of elegence --
or is it eloquence -- to be able
to say this and still sound intelligent.
in a way, sophistication comes with having hopes
and dreams, even if they're impossible:
it is with ideas like these that the world will grow.
those of you who still dream, unmarred
by expectations, with feet and toes nestled in the mud
and a head that breathes fresh mountain air will
come autumn --
when the warm weather melts into crisp, cool air and the horizon loses its painted pink
-- see the sun give way to a waterfall of stars.
how can they not inspire?
but then again, stars are but exploding balls of
hydrogen and helium that radiate through the air.
ii.
you left your heart with me when we met at platform two,
delicately, i carried it in my pocket.
:icongracelette:gracelette
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kokura castle :icongracelette:gracelette 2 2 hana no koma :icongracelette:gracelette 0 4
Literature
a falling snowflake
a falling snowflake
leaves a touch of winter's breath
hanging in the air
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 1 2
Literature
see.
once upon a time i remember how you hated (still hate) the cold, and you fleetingly said i radiated so much warmth that if i was sitting in the snow i'd melt it all to water. do you remember that, too?
you, my dear, are as tall as trees and strawberry sweet, but similes don't even begin to describe you. to me, you're all towers and hearty smiles and honey-darling-dear and -- don't take this the wrong way -- wisened from life and a slight crinkling of crow-footed eyes.
when i asked, you said blue. i wondered at that because i thought red. red for passion, and energy -- the sort of spark and drive that i've never seen in anyone else. red for laughter (that i swear you can carry anywhere you want it to) and yes, red for love. not romantic love, but a love of life and for life that seems to fill everyone and everything around you, even when the people you try to give it to turn you away.
blue, to me, seemed an opposite of you. no, that's not right. a quieter side, perhaps? more of calm ski
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 3 4
Literature
teach me to fly.
teach me to think -- with slender, delicate fingers
and tippy-toed feet that are (ballerina-like, perhaps?)
with feathers too, of course -- for what is a mind,
if not wings we float our thoughts upon?
pretend to be hermes with me: together
you and me can handle it, i think. or if not
we can be angels and sit with saint peter
if you prefer.
there, you can teach me to soar --
i dont want to find that when im on the ground
that i have to clip off my wings.
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 1 2
Literature
untitled.
i.
ask again later, please? (i hope you forget).
wait a year --
          two years --
                   five years -- ten years -- forever (!) ,
                                        it's never.
                                              (i'm too kind to say no --
           is there a different word for "never"?)
ii.
i want to live spontaneously, forever,
and
:icongracelette:gracelette
:icongracelette:gracelette 3 2
ladybird :icongracelette:gracelette 0 0

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fancy dragon colored :iconhorseyperson:Horseyperson 9 2
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Project Comment: 0-5 Comments // Issue 29

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Literature
vanilla and blood oranges - c.
when we meet, it shall be in heaven.
it will be like this:
"hello."
and i shall tell you with my breathing, "hello. i am here. i am yours."
it will be like tasting with tongues not yet formed and seeing with eyes not yet made.
it will be like opal bashes and pearl-tasting kisses.
i know this already.
there is only anticipation now.
-
it's dark, but it's warm and there are no monsters here.
i am not afraid of the dark today.
i think if heaven existed, it would be here in this beautiful murk, with two heartbeats and muffled sounds, like palm fronds and spider webs.
i'm excited, but i can wait. i do not want to rush things here. i am happy where i am, for now, as close to you as is possible. there is no sense of time, but a very wonderful feeling, like bubbles, warm and bursting in my chest.
i cannot wait to tell you how beautiful you are on the inside.
. . .
you
are pulsing.
why are you
pul--sing?
i do not like i do not like this.
i want my softness back,
i want the beauty.
quiet.
then,
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Activity


soundcloud

Journal Entry: Sun Sep 11, 2011, 4:37 AM
i can haz a soundcloud account. if you have soundcloud too, follow me and i will be eternally grateful =D

soundcloud.com/gracelette

basically im finding i have less time to write if it isnt in the holidays BUT music is spontaneously (relatively) effortless and so no matter if im insanely busy i can still do a quick improv. hehe...

promise to write more as soon as i have time. i've missed it.

~~~

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deviantID

gracelette
grace
Australia
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:iconrini43:
Rini43 Featured By Owner Nov 13, 2011  Professional General Artist
Thank you for the fav :)
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:icondreamsinstatic:
dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2011
Thanks for the :+fav:
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:icongracelette:
gracelette Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2011
no problems =]
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:iconcopperdragonart:
CopperdragonArt Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2011  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the :+fav:!
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:icongracelette:
gracelette Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2011
you're welcome =]
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