Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Artist Senior Member mohawk menaceUnknown Group :icontransliterations: transliterations
from one world to another
Recent Activity
Deviant for 8 Years
Core Member 'til Hell freezes over
Statistics 597 Deviations 17,964 Comments 693,381 Pageviews

Random from Inspire.

scarlet titan by kian02 scarlet titan :iconkian02:kian02 38 1 Freezing Air by MindShelves Freezing Air :iconmindshelves:MindShelves 841 49
Literature
Water Work
She arranged to meet him at a seven thirty. He was fifteen minutes late, but she sat at the bar and watched him settle into the table and check his watch obsessively until almost eight before she walked over and seated herself.
He didn't get up. "You're late, I didn't think you were coming." Unapologetic. Strike one. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch, even though he'd just checked his phone and knew exactly what time it was, just to make a point. Arrogant. Strike two.
"I was actually sitting at the bar. You said from my profile picture that I'd be the 'most compelling beauty in any room', I was curious as to whether you'd spot me."
He laughed, reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. "You are, unmistakably, the most beautiful woman I've known."
She withdrew her hand to reach for her water glass, took a sip and smiled. "But you don't know me, do you?"
He waved to catch the eye of a nearby waiter before snapping his fingers and pointing to the table. "Yes, well, you
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 16 24
sea sunset waves vertical by Kinhiro33 sea sunset waves vertical :iconkinhiro33:Kinhiro33 8 0 With the Flow by robrey
Mature content
With the Flow :iconrobrey:robrey 343 12
Rain by IssaArts Rain :iconissaarts:IssaArts 5 1 Tranquility by Hengki24 Tranquility :iconhengki24:Hengki24 1,115 59 Ocean Storm VR by JJcanvas Ocean Storm VR :iconjjcanvas:JJcanvas 3,367 63 Discoverer by Afflation Discoverer :iconafflation:Afflation 380 31 Steam Vents by noahbradley Steam Vents :iconnoahbradley:noahbradley 727 6 Otava by JuhaniViitanen Otava :iconjuhaniviitanen:JuhaniViitanen 465 33 Monolith by JJcanvas Monolith :iconjjcanvas:JJcanvas 3,286 55 Animalia Me II by kian02 Animalia Me II :iconkian02:kian02 36 2 Bridge spin by RoyalImageryJax Bridge spin :iconroyalimageryjax:RoyalImageryJax 24 4
Literature
Infectious
Lauren struggled to open her eyes, the lids heavy, the light in the room blinding. What time is it? It was evening when–
"You're awake, good"
Darren. They were having dinner when she–
"The sedative will wear off shortly, you'll be a bit groggy, and the epidural will make it impossible for you to move, but try not to be alarmed."
She forced her eyes open, blinked as they teared against the bright light of the room. Darren stood facing her, stripped to the waist, one hand cradling the other elbow, idly stroking his chin with his free hand.
"The van I brought you here in is radio opaque, and this entire building is wired such that we're untraceable. I don't expect company."
He moved to a chair opposite, still watching her. On the table beside him she could make out an array of tools, and a camera on a long articulated arm, which he pulled and pointed at his midsection while he continued to talk.
"It's entirely possible that you don't know why you're here, and if that's the cas
:iconSRSmith:SRSmith
:iconsrsmith:SRSmith 51 38

Random from DDs I Featured

Literature
Salem
I.
the bright scarlet egg of dawn
nests in my head.
when it is time, it will crack my
skull like a shell
and be born.
II.
I have a witch's fingers and a
witch's eyes, rough pewter lenses
through which I see the world.
I have sabotaged their crops,
I have plagued their children,
I have eaten their livestock in the night
   (so they say)
and I hear the whispers in the streets.
they will be willing to kill
for their conviction, though
I am not willing to die for it.
III.
I am no longer human.
I've been branded
with an ugly mark
of fear and desperation,
one terse syllable that cuts
like a switch.
IV.
a thin reddish line splits the horizon;
I set my ribs on hinges
so they can get to my heart.
a damp wooden platform,
a rough rope necklace—
I am not a Spartan
carried home on his shield.
this is not an honourable death.
:icontoxic-nebulae:toxic-nebulae
:icontoxic-nebulae:toxic-nebulae 186 102
Literature
FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower
"Dora speaking."
"Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..."
"Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing."
"You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is."
"Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...."
"Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or anything of the kind, you really ought to be calling the authorities, not me."
"If you'll just let me explain Mrs. Appleby, please."
"Oh, very well."
"It's like this. I have a freezer in the cellar, where I keep frozen berries and mushrooms and things. It's quite roomy, although I usually manage to keep it filled to the brim. Anyway, I was going down there
:iconWolfrug:Wolfrug
:iconwolfrug:Wolfrug 89 66
Literature
No ocean
No one sleeps the night the army comes home,
and memory storms the shore, bipolar and sexy.
You always knew where to go and what to drink,
where to find the crows that stalked the summers
left lying wrinkled on shorn boardwalks,
Augusts headless and Julys scuttling over hills.
When you were gone I fucked Arthur Rimbaud
in a Parisian basement. He hooked his eyelashes
under mine and made waves on my skin.  
Tolle, lege, like the parable tells me.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 130 84
Literature
Buford
"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door.
I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the  bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit.
My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily.
His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo
:iconTheElectricMonk:TheElectricMonk
:icontheelectricmonk:TheElectricMonk 143 32
Literature
Housewarming
She opens windows
in  their wintery home, hopes
to let the cold out
when it doesn't work
she scratches matches to life
and burns the house down.
:iconSssorry:Sssorry
:iconsssorry:Sssorry 181 32
Literature
Even Though
There will be no caged fingers,
no tendons finely tuned to A from tension.
There will be no clenched teeth, gritting rosin,
to make the final singing note growl.
There will be unwinding bed-sheets,
hands slowly releasing the tuning pegs.
There will be slowly sliding scales
as the four limbs loosen past playing.
There will be a simple, quiet exit,
not to ovation, but to a hushed audience
who anticipate an encore,
even though it is uncertain.
:iconpretty-yin:pretty-yin
:iconpretty-yin:pretty-yin 146 41
Literature
exhibit.
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage
and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we
are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the
zookeeper.
Get us more milk.'
She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)
Roar. We are learning to growl
and snarl.
I tried to wrestle littlesister but we collided with
Nanny's gnarled sandalfeet and
she's mad.
So am I, Nanny.
I am a lioness today and I
am fierce.
Sarah tosses her mane and I explain patiently (she's only six) that lionesses are free,
don't need manes to chase antelopes
she's too young to care
if her imagination grants her maned masculine lion
:iconInkatMidnight:InkatMidnight
:iconinkatmidnight:InkatMidnight 178 79
Literature
swimming, not drowning.
when you're waist-deep in a love you know you shouldn't have even dipped your toes into, you spend a lot of time cursing the current. you try to stamp your feet but find the sand's up to your ankles and seaweed is tied in bows around your calves. the waves begin to climb, breaking on your collarbones and splashing your face. breath seems to take up more space in your chest. you bring air into your body in the shortest bursts possible and it spills back out like machine gun fire.
sometimes, though-- mostly in the first hours after sunrise, when you're alone with the space she inhabited on your couch and her perfume on the back of your knees-- you plunge your face below the surface and smile up at the sky, dragging your arms through the water just to feel its resistance against your skin. you pretend that holding your breath is a decision you're choosing to make rather than a necessity for survival. you pretend the waves are lively and invigorating instead of terrifying and beyond your c
:iconSatah:Satah
:iconsatah:Satah 204 84
Literature
Brackish
After the wet season, before
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.
During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.
This is my Pangaea,
this swollen geography,
this slacken land.
The point of no return.
Here, all else ends.
By dusk I meet the saltmarsh
and dehusk, grow halophytic
in the nightlight. I pull out
my hair, my fingernails, and
fill the gaps in my spine
with reed rhythms, saline.
The final rite: turning flesh to grass.
Tomorrow, morning mist
will drag the whitewash back,
ashes to ash.
:iconangel-in-pieces:angel-in-pieces
:iconangel-in-pieces:angel-in-pieces 125 51
Literature
Actinium Dreams
Y'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own?
I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the worst possible mix of autism, Alpha rays and ADHD.
And I do at least have my own nemesis, of sorts: the cadre of good ol' boys who call themselves DOTA, whose main ability seems to be workin' together to nullify and trap super-powered elementals. But t'be honest, they don't seem to have anything against me personally; I think they just have a ge
:iconHaveTales-WillTell:HaveTales-WillTell
:iconhavetales-willtell:HaveTales-WillTell 166 136
Literature
Rock Me
autumn blunders in, clumsy
stiff fingers frosted still
by early winds, rocking trees
back and forth
red leaves splatter the ground
paint drops, hanging from drooping
branches, rotten fruit still litters the sidewalks
i head south for the fall with the ducks.
the train creaks like aching joints
there's a crow on
my windowsill, ruffling his feathers
the trees flash by
red -yellow-red
my ticket's got a hole in the middle
from being folded over and over
the crow says "summer ain't that great, Peach Girl."
i watch the sky and ignore his clicking black beak
"the autumn's gonna follow
right behind ya
'n turn the whole world red-yellow-red
at yer heels."
i know in a week
the only green left will be my sweater
holes in the elbows, stringy cuffs
but i waddle like a duck
towards the leftover southern summer.
"i'm not ready for jack frost yet."
i tell him.
he laughs.
"get ready. the autumn storms are a-comin'
an' there ain't nothin' on heaven or earth to stop 'em."
:iconSugarHeartedGirl:SugarHeartedGirl
:iconsugarheartedgirl:SugarHeartedGirl 141 47
Literature
Poetry Self-Edit Checklist

Poetry Self-Edit Quick Start Guide and Checklist

Introduction
The idea behind this is to give newer poets a way to better edit their poetry themselves, without having to rely as much on an external editor.  It can be frustrating, especially for new poets to request feedback from a friend, or worse, to post a poem, and have all of the responses be about grammatical errors and other details.  We write poetry to convey ideas and emotions, and when something is off technically about the poem it distracts the reader.  When a reader is distracted enough to notice an error or other problem it means they might spend the time they might otherwise have spent glowing about your poem to post a comment correcting you instead.  
After this introduction is over the checklist will be as brief as possible while retaining its utility.  The idea is to serve as an organizational tool and a reminder rather than to educate on effective
:iconMahi-Fish:Mahi-Fish
:iconmahi-fish:Mahi-Fish 217 56
Literature
The Farmers Son
We sat sipping grappa as the storm clouds rolled in from the ridges
like the smoke from some great unseen inferno,
the wood walls and shingles of the house complained to us
in low groans,
of the wind coming up hard, through the valley,
and there was flickering light from a candle,
and she told me how light from a prism dissects into different colours that correspond
in some way to our bodies and that all of life was a rhythm
and I believed that part,
and I believed there were stars beyond the sight of man on any grey day
and that they might hold some greater secret than prisms or rhythms
or any question a farmers son could ever mutter,
   
and the wind slowed to a stillness
and the rain moved in and our voices gave way
to what my Father would call The Lords Music,
the pitter-patter of water
on the dry and flaking earth.
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth
:iconbrassteeth:brassteeth 104 79
Literature
Senryu Series 11
1.
election day
choosing the devil
I know
2.
first date
her parents question
our future
3.
road trip
the kids unpack
a squabble
4.
massage therapy
another old knot
of heartbreak
5.
deep recession
I add more spice
to the ramen
6.
televangelist
available on Itunes
salvation
7.
job well done
from the boss...
blue moon
8.
18th birthday
a postcard
from the army
9.
cemetery
even here
the poor section
10.
midnight diner
everyone feeds
the jukebox
11.
haunted house
we let the youngest
go first
:iconLaurence55:Laurence55
:iconlaurence55:Laurence55 134 0
Daily Deviations I featured during my time as a volunteer and staff member.

52nd Street

Sun Apr 22, 2018, 10:58 PM

Listening to:


Toshiki Kadomatsu - 52nd Street

Skin by ginkgografix


22 days in...
I've been keeping up with NaPo just fine so far, but I think the ultimate reality that I'm coming to is that I still don't miss poetry, basically at all. I definitely feel like what I've written this month by and large isn't great compared to what I used to write when it comes to poetry, but also I'm not invested in it. The only thing really keeping me writing more poems at this stage is the fact I said that I was going to do NaPo this year. When I write stories, I want to write them, I want to put more effort into them, and I want to make them as good as possible, but I feel pretty passive about poetry, even now.

I guess the bright side is that having done this should make writing stories more fun, but it's weird becoming aware that you don't have passion for something that used to be routine. Someone asked me a few days ago if I missed playing clarinet, and the honest answer was that no, I don't miss it at all. I never enjoyed performing, I always found it stressful, even when I was as prepared as I could have been. 

It's really been a month for recognizing what I want and what I don't, I suppose. Outside of here on DA, there have been some unusual personal developments in my life, but I think things have finally started to settle down some, which is good. The two job thing has finally started to pay off in a big way, so even though I went a long while with horrible sleep habits, financially I am finally, officially afloat, at least for now.

How are we all doing?

Music corner:


deviantID

ikazon
mohawk menace
Artist | Literature
Hi there! I'm a storyteller of sorts. Here on DA, I was a gallery moderator from 2010 to 2011, a community volunteer from 2011 to 2012, and a staff member from 2012 to 2015. Feel free to say hi, I don't bite!

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:
 
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
:hug:

Hope things are well down there for you and yours, Jay. :)
Reply
:iconextrin6:
extrin6 Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017
there are some really gorgious pieces in your gallery!
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
This is a very belated reply, but thank you! :)
Reply
:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2017   Writer
:tighthug:
Reply
:iconikazon:
ikazon Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2018   Writer
:huggle:
Reply
Add a Comment: