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About Literature / Artist Senior Member mindful coyoteUnknown Group :icontransliterations: transliterations
from one world to another
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Deviant for 7 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
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Random from Inspire.

Literature
Forces
It wasn't without guilt
that I cut the plum branches
from the still dormant tree
in the last week of February,
careful though I was to cut a criss
-crossed set, setting the ugly branches
in  my mother-in-law's urn.
I wondered if the part left
undisturbed envied  
the branches, growing
green and blossoming
inside, and if the boughs,
forced into early blush
grew bored or arrogant,
fluffed up with pride
before, before their time,
they died there, drying
in my sunlit window.
:iconSssorry:Sssorry
:iconsssorry:Sssorry 3 2
Pier by Rizone Pier :iconrizone:Rizone 78 10 Beach and Birds by TanyaSimoneSimpson Beach and Birds :icontanyasimonesimpson:TanyaSimoneSimpson 38 19
Literature
Lodgepole
Most Western towns were built around something.  Some were built around gold and silver mines.  Others were built around trade posts and lumber mills.  And some were built around crossroads or railway stations.  But the town of Lodgepole was built around Nothing.  
“No, really.  Lodgepole was built around Nothing,” says Coyote.  
“How can it be built around nothing?”  I continue to brood in the back seat as the car slips into the town-turned-county seat.  Sagebrush and cottonwood start to share space with grass lawn and flowerbed.  Buildings cease to be occasional shacks and some gain a second story.  Rounded foothills big enough to be called mountains in other places presage granite up-thrusts to the southwest.  A frantic creek big enough to be called a river in some places breaks and rolls and jounces northeast over rocks big enough to be called boulders in still other places.  The road and the r
:iconShaudawn:Shaudawn
:iconshaudawn:Shaudawn 2 1
The Blue Moment #24 by romainjl The Blue Moment #24 :iconromainjl:romainjl 152 12 The Blue Moment #19 by romainjl The Blue Moment #19 :iconromainjl:romainjl 178 9 The Blue Moment #5 by romainjl The Blue Moment #5 :iconromainjl:romainjl 112 7
Mature content
Of Anger and Beauty :iconsrsmith:SRSmith 7 25
Tokyo Back Alley by burningmonk Tokyo Back Alley :iconburningmonk:burningmonk 455 14 The Blue Moment #8 by romainjl The Blue Moment #8 :iconromainjl:romainjl 205 10 Schlern Panorama by TobiasRoetsch Schlern Panorama :icontobiasroetsch:TobiasRoetsch 172 17
Literature
Trigger Warning (Cento)
i. (HELP ME, MY HATE, SISTER OF MY LONGING)
The Rose of Heaven,
the rumbling Black Maria
queen, mistress, crucified at the gates
of the furthest city
like a god in a wafer
in dusty shoes--
always the same shoes without laces,
pitch-black queen of heaven and earth,
the rumbling Black Maria,
speak to me.
You are the honey of courtly hypocrisy
crowned in chrysanthemums
in the bed of some drunk, some tramp,
some fool,
waiting-room eyes
with tears all smeared
like dead birds,
the firm big breasts,
and this fish for sale
like an oyster perhaps,
too wide now.
Was it a Chinaman? A negro?
ii. (IT DIDN'T GRATE, IT DIDN'T CLANK, IT DIDN'T EXPLODE)
Jesus Christ in a wafer sleeps
like some awful instant photo,
very, very dull,
and the night clouds drink.
The apartment was his.
They are so naked, you imagine,
are moaning in Eden,
under the sacristies, red crypts,
the roofs, the cries, the steps, the hundred lights,
the fire of the robbers' camp
while she is berrying.
It is only a single drop of dew
:iconoverdebated:overdebated
:iconoverdebated:overdebated 31 15

Random from DDs I Featured

THOUGHTS by Cestica THOUGHTS :iconcestica:Cestica 1,429 108 ID by tetsuok9999 ID :icontetsuok9999:tetsuok9999 1,645 0 Designn Magazine Contest (Custom Journal Skin) by UJz Designn Magazine Contest (Custom Journal Skin) :iconujz:UJz 126 28 My planet by Yufei My planet :iconyufei:Yufei 2,741 273
Literature
my father lived in India
my father is a man of many colors.
on the nights when the moon stays asleep,
he lotions his palms with pomegranate juice.
the sugared blood pools in the creases of his
skin, staining it India’s red.
sometimes, my father scrubs his hands until
they are nothing but flesh & fruit rinds.
when he was younger—all skinned knees and pocket
knives—he must've slipped on a thousand marbles.
my father’s father was a welder who rolled and spun
steel into tiny spheres.
when he died, my father’s hands became blue and
free of pocket knives. to this day, he keeps a bag
of marbles on our mantle.
from time to time, he shakes the cool metal into  
his open palms and waterfalls it back and forth.
see, this is the trouble with blue hands:
they never let go of the things that scar them.
they try so hard to be red again.
my father doesn't like whistling because
an old woman in India told him it was uncivilized.
she perched herself on the edge of the Ganges River
and kneaded
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 181 86
Literature
to icarus
in the next life you were a phoenix
a fiery resurrection
songbird of ash & second chances
when you flew south for the winter,
you made it every time
see for you, the universe was an olympic mountain
jutting out of the ocean, a temple you would never set foot in
an elaborate maze you'd been lost in for too long;
the only love you'd ever known was from the coalfire
of your father's hands in the dark, they were the most angelic
monsters, they were beacons
his mind was the gears of a clock that never stopped spinning
but the light,
the light was a promise to be seen
the fire, a dancing enchanter that never leaves
the future was an echo on the labyrinth walls:
prince, dream of dove and swift and nebulae,
dream like the lone at night for the warmth of day
you were a golden child, waiting to be found in the darkness
the earth is too flat;
you said you'd go up,
thought you'd be a little closer to the gods
your downed shoulders caught wind of the whisper in the air
—the ground is no place
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 283 28
DELVE April 2014 by AlanRalph DELVE April 2014 :iconalanralph:AlanRalph 238 51
Literature
Grace
Mother, eighty-four, took Uncle
James for a ride yesterday.
Drove her brother to the cemetery
To visit Daddy and Mike.
After, she called their flowers lovely,
Then asked, "Where's Daddy?
Where is my Husband?"
           
                     *
For the first time in fifteen years
I dream of Mike, him driving up
In Mother's big Oldsmobile,
Then waiting.  We talk, he nods.
Now, I realize he has come
For Mother.  As the old ones say
To take her home.  I go to her
Bed, grab her hand.  I'm waking,
Mother's hand cooling in mine.
                     *
April 15, 2009
Today, my little sister and I
Will go to select a coffin
For Mother.  Eighteen years ago,
I went with Mother to choose
Mike's.  Yesterday, my Mother died.
Like a kaleidoscope twisted,
And twisted, the world
Broken, scattered bits of glass.
 
:iconSwep-Lovitt:Swep-Lovitt
:iconswep-lovitt:Swep-Lovitt 83 25
Literature
the split the spread the thread
you were standing in the lamplight with all the grace and incident of the black sea
and i sat with a scrape of skin pressing into the carpet uncomfortably.
a shift of light moved us quietly into arms, some forgotten touch newly placed.
the only stirring in all the world was the moving of our chests
which at their crests would touch—a faithful mythology of meeting.
titular gestures carried italics and lost their momentum mid-air.
we were xerics of this arid landscape brimmed with sea air.
the shifts of light moving our bodies glared ceremoniously,
our puckering sensations forming a stunning tear.  
we danced as statues with flesh and touch
more soft and real than our real bodies ever had
and covered the subway floor with our gritty concrete shards
—a bloom of breaking that spread and mixed and marked
that linoleum floor, grounded stone(fire)works.
a warm and gathered silence of togetherness.  
the still beat of murk.
no undoing,
these relics
of movement,
ever made
:icongedwaylem:gedwaylem
:icongedwaylem:gedwaylem 78 12
Literature
Magic Flute
The moment I felt Death courting you
my rib cage collapsed. I curled
into childhood: the strange little girl
always alone, talking to herself
on the playground, thinking she
was whispered a safe solitude
of hush-holy clouds, relieved
to slip away from mating rituals
unnoticed; a detached solitude
seeing only in shades of rock
beneath a surface any touch
or even death couldn't reach.
Listen: Love is the beginning of Truth
you were the first coup de foudre
I climbed and the last amour
out of this place. Wherever
the courtship carried you,
if ever a marriage or honeymoon,
I renounce this waiting of hope;
this solitude of celibate womb;
this misguided Magic Flute -
just to see Love embracing you
before finally surrendering
to my own destined course.
This I promise the Universe.
~
Image 'Romantic Encounter', 1864 by Mihaly von Zichy (Hungary) 1827-1906 (St. Petersburg)
:iconAhavati:Ahavati
:iconahavati:Ahavati 223 55
Literature
the letter that never arrived
as if grief had never hollowed out my heart,
caverns echoing with the memory of a laugh,
as if despair had never stolen my voice
until love whispered in my ear
and I knew what mattered,
to speak
of knowing: there are things
you will decide to protect yourself from,
pain
you must never relive,
and some you must live
and live again,
no matter the cost
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy
:iconsunshinegypsy:sunshinegypsy 112 10
Literature
Otherwise Good Condition
I have worn the same dress
for four days, because
I am sick, exquisitely
sick --
black and gold, your drunk
dimestore Nefertiti. A
white stain announces
itself, a muddy star:
she coughed
here. Undo yourself,
those sallow words you drink,
let the silk fall loose. I've got
a face like dirty laundry
and burial grounds --
What I touch becomes
unwell. I wear my hair
like it pains me,
blow kisses
like a little girl
sucking her teeth
at cars, the caked little
tombs of sugar that crumble,
naked
under the hot milk
of the sun.
:iconemilygolightly:emilygolightly
:iconemilygolightly:emilygolightly 110 28
Literature
the hanged man
This little red book you call the human body:
take it up and shake it. Shake the flaking pages
out of it, shake it from endpaper to endpaper
until the last of the phrases are gone; shake it
until it's aching and empty, the soul of a bird.
I will give you new words.
:iconzebrazebrazebra:zebrazebrazebra
:iconzebrazebrazebra:zebrazebrazebra 327 112
Literature
The Rumour of Icarus
Icarus—
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell—
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse—
no one gave a damn.
But Icarus—
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri
:iconOpus-T:Opus-T
:iconopus-t:Opus-T 391 103
Literature
Unbound Ties
You choke on the meds—
the bitter taste of failure,
the coffee thick in your
indecisive throat.
Downstairs,
a baby howls like
a mistreated coyote
at the vaporizing moon—
the all day affair
of listening to abandonment
thumping in your ears.
Across town,
a man you might have
learned to love
boards a bus
for greener pastures—
the promise of keeping in touch
rolling in your mouth
like a pendulum uncertain
of its true purpose.
& in a tiny town
on the edge of oblivion,
your one-time, for-all-time lover
chokes on the daily defeat—
feeling the chorus
of your blood
burst against her lips,
all the unspoken things
piled up in the alley corners
like last year's
forgotten leaves.
:iconschriftsteller:schriftsteller
:iconschriftsteller:schriftsteller 178 61
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

Wee Woo

Fri Apr 21, 2017, 5:27 PM

Listening to:


Pristin - Wee Woo

Skin by ginkgografix


Greetings.
In a perhaps not odd turn of events, I don't really have much new to report. Just had one of those moments where I was like, "you haven't posted a journal in a while..." :P I guess the lack of things to report is probably a good reason why, though, hah. It's been a lot of work and playing Overwatch for me over here (made it to Diamond tier this competitive season, trying to get to Master before the season ends!), with a bit of writing intermixed, but admittedly not as much writing as I should be doing, or would like to be doing. That's something to work on for the future, but I guess realistically that's something I'm going to be working on for the rest of my life :laughing:

How are you all doing? :D

Music corner:


deviantID

ikazon
mindful coyote
Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a writer and a former volunteer and employee here. If you've got site questions, fire away! If I can't help you, I'll point you toward someone who can. :]

Deviousness Award

Deviousness Award
A deviant for nine years, ikazon is a monumentally influential member of DeviantArt. A champion of DeviantArt’s literature community, he’s contributed his own writing and journal skins to the community since he first joined DeviantArt. In 2011, ikazon became a Community Volunteer, shining a light on undiscovered pieces in both the DeviantArt related and literature galleries. His dedication to the community quickly made him a beloved figure on DeviantArt. Soon after, in 2012, he was hired as a full-time staff member, where he ran multiple community projects, such as the 2014 and 2015 Valentine’s Day Exchange!

However, ikazon’s contributions to the community extended past his time as a community volunteer and a staff member. From contributing journal skins to the CalendarProject to leaving encouraging comments for his fellow community members, ikazon’s supporting presence has been felt all across DeviantArt.

We’re proud to name ikazon as the Deviousness Award recipient for March 2016!
-awarded March 2016

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconwh0rem0ans:
wh0rem0ans Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2017
Someone just faved my piece that you suggested for a DD, many moons ago. I cannot remember thanking you; perhaps I did not, and that possibility I regret. That DD meant the world to me. I just self-published a book, and that wee bit of encouragement is part of what made me braver. Thank you. :frail:
Reply
:iconpassyvorex:
PassyVoreX Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2017
I have a lil question. No idea if it was answered somewere..

But where is this Commission portal?
Was it removed?
Or moved somewhere else?
Looking for commissions is currently so hard..
without the portal..
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner May 1, 2017   Writer
Hiya! I'm afraid I haven't worked here in a few years so I can't give a definite answer, but it does look like the portal has been removed, or else relocated to a different URL. You might want to check hq for updates :)
Reply
:iconwesleyayers:
wesleyayers Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2017  Professional Traditional Artist
aaawww my brotha!! Dude, from my deepest part of my heart, THANK YOU

I didn't get to that part of the process in changing my profile last night, so I did not know I needed a core membership to change my username. Thank you for stepping ahead of me in this, it means so much to me!
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2017   Writer
No worries at all :)
Reply
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