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About Literature / Artist LisoletteFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
The Most Excellent Tragedy of
The Most Excellent Tragedy of ...
Even
             in the beginning
There was a hint of laughing                     chaos,
But we pushedtogetherthemish-mash wanting
and needing flesh of our after-hour
           dreams!
the cunning, cunning deception
Where you doubted me, and I you
The always;
           I said, you said
Where nothing got better, and answers fluttered;
So there I stood and waited, while you needled
And nothing got better still.
But again— again, (always I tried to reason)
           your chant began anew,
Funny           how always these things happen
     
:iconneoHephaestus:neoHephaestus
:iconneohephaestus:neoHephaestus 5 15
Literature
Untitled III
already I miss our sun;
and days—endless
in your summertime smile
they are too few now—the memories, vague facsimiles of youth
when we feared not;
porous vessels, aged prematurely in transitive meditation
when we loved—strenuously;
I trace each delicate edge, pausing;
reconstructing ever mores and forever afters
but not knowing how to let go
years might pass; isolation
shall I then prepare for slumber,
finding no solace without sunshine?
for no strange flower yet grows—
as my garden has forgotten the seasons
:iconneoHephaestus:neoHephaestus
:iconneohephaestus:neoHephaestus 3 4
Literature
Waste
Call me Anna, she says, hoping they'll get the vague reference, but they never do, mainly because it's too obtuse, and partly because nobody really reads Moby Dick these days.
But it matters not, nothing ever does. She wears her hair swept up and her mind swept away. There are the remains of a meal speckled upon her collar and down the front of her top, but people make sure not to comment. It wouldn't be right, but that's for later.
First, call her Anna. Heroines always had such exciting names, she mourned, drowning in jealousy that she instantly hated them all. She embraced the plain out of spite, and insisted that people called her by her boring middle name, started work as a librarian, and married a man who was the human embodiment of beige.
He didn't stand out anymore than she did. He wasn't tall and wasn't short, wore glasses in the least imposing way and sometimes spoke too quietly. He hated repeating himself, so told people to forget he said anything at all if they hadn't heard
:iconMacDoherty:MacDoherty
:iconmacdoherty:MacDoherty 265 249
Literature
Love never forgets
Love never forgets,
The fun times that were had.
Love never forgets,
The tears that were shed.
Love never forgets,
The smiles that radiated.
Love never forgets,
The embrace that you gave me.
Love never forgets,
The advice that echoed through my ear.
Love never forgets,
The presences you had in my life.
Love never forgets,
The words on your tombstone.
:iconimed:imed
:iconimed:imed 13 47
Literature
Geisha
She waltzes across water
amongst mossy stepping stones
vibrant, fungus, green thriving on nature's concrete
which had already
been scratched on by smooth, beech sandals,
barefeet
sunshine
...rain.
And she drifts, with each careful step across water
a ripple in the pond spreads
goldfish kiss and breach the water surface
gazing at the lone willow moving gracing past stones.
Seventeen petals have fallen since autumn
only a stem
only leaves
a painted face to hide her last
In a lonely eye, the true beast and burden
beauty belongs only to her.
She can converse with you
ivory paint; tiny, red lips to speak
She would sing; she would dance; she would entertain you.
But never, not once, would she love you.
:iconCarousel-Trotter:Carousel-Trotter
:iconcarousel-trotter:Carousel-Trotter 15 16
Literature
Il Anor III - A Hearts Journey
A woman hugged her partner close
And whispered in his ear
No one heard the words she chose
Save whom she called dear
With those words in mind he rose
And took a breath of daring
And looked around at all of those
His words would not be sparing
It has been just a decade
Since the day that they had met
Under moonlight, in the hidden glade
Two hearts could not forget:
A lonesome spring was looming
Lonely winter it had been
For a young man's life was blooming
Like a king without his queen
A part was absent in his life
That he'd sought all these years
A woman that would be his wife
And love away his fears
But none he'd seen thus far
Shared the longing in his eyes
They would leave his heart to mar
And destroy him with goodbyes
So one day in that lonely chill
A tale would seek his ears
Of something that would inspire will
And forsake his lonely fears
It was said that during the dying week
Of the frost-filled months of late
Eros' star would be there to seek
To seal a forlorn fate
It was the onl
:iconjazblack009:jazblack009
:iconjazblack009:jazblack009 8 33
Literature
Morning Tea Rituals
Morning tea ritual
one sugar, two sugars,
cream  
-
Morning kiss ritual
hand behind head, ruffling
hair
-
Morning jacket ritual
leather coat shrugged on, brace against
wind
-
Morning silence ritual
meaningless repetitious words; nothing really much
said
-
Mourning tea ritual
one sugar, two sugars, cream: we wave farewell and
goodbye.
:iconAgnesPterry:AgnesPterry
:iconagnespterry:AgnesPterry 7 16
Literature
Much Too Fast
Remember?
Remember that once when you and I
just us two drove home in your car-
after sledding all afternoon, chilly
and wet and soaked down to our socks.
we drove home in your old blue buick- with
the broken door handle.
Remembering is such a silly thing- I don't
remember the cold.
I remember your arm slung over my shoulder
uncomfortably. until I pushed over
across the long bench seat, kicking
the CD player on the floor with my
fleece-socked foot- and sat beside you,
your arm down by my waist, hand on my
sweatered stomach, my hand
curled around yours, both watching as the world blurred by
(you really do
drive much too fast. Silly boy, with the mid-life crisis several decades too soon.
You can't speed through life, not with all your training and
all your certification- not if you
jump off a cliff-
or drink yourself sick,
or go to war-
life is not about getting as close to death as you can
it is about more..... ah, to explain would be useless and wrong-
but to live is life- isn't that s
:iconsavethmoosen:savethmoosen
:iconsavethmoosen:savethmoosen 1 3
Literature
My Sympathies to Rosaline
There's not one man who loves the greyed-out moon,
The girl in second place, the swan made crow;
While ev'ry man adores the sun at noon,
He sleeps through all that Luna has to show.
There's some unknown appeal for mortal men
To chase the brighter, farther, larger sun,
To want a burning, untouched jewel when
A softer gem is waiting to be won.
I'm sorry on behalf of all my kind,
But, Rosaline, there's not much I can do;
I only hope that you can keep in mind
That some men run on lunar cycles, too.
At least, on this, you may still yet subsist:
Remember that eclipses do exist.
:iconError732:Error732
:iconerror732:Error732 7 58
Wolfsgeheul :iconschatten-drache:Schatten-Drache 10 15
Literature
It is This Way with Poems
Daily, I shove out the old lives, born
still
images, some of them wrapped up like a caul,
these underdeveloped darlings
pressing their fingers to a small glass of the world;
they want to be loved.
I imagine pulling them out of me,
their bodies at the end
of a very long sort of string,
a kind of meat and hook,
or a trick of magic, these thousand bound handkerchiefs
out of my two human sleeves.—
I’ve found
I have made you out of everything.
I have made you out of God’s throat,
out of God’s toes, God’s sedated little bones.
I have made you out of limestone,
out of whole batholiths and salt of earth.
I have made you out of word-things,
out of adjective law and obscenely gestured tropes.
And now I give you this handful of loves—
:iconcatching:catching
:iconcatching:catching 2 8
Literature
Prologue to 'Untitled'
"Please stop!"  Nico's words echoed at a deafening intensity, but the angel knew its cries were barely audible anymore to its soul, Amanda.  She had long since pushed her guardian further into her subconscious, cornering Nico's voice where it was barely above a whisper.  
Like other guardian angels, Nico had flickered into existence as a being designed purely of thought from the moment and without corporeal bodies to tether them to reality, the fate of these entities is to linger on the fringes of the human mind.  They existed to guide and protect the individual souls entrusted to each of them, but they were never meant to stray into the conscious mind of their protected souls.  Nico, though had been forced to cross that barrier out of desperation to save his most recent soul, Amanda from destroying herself.  It was no longer about protection of her soul.  Instead it had become about protecting her life.  
Protecting a life that didn't want to be protected left Nico wanting only to be
:iconbindmywingsofwax:bindmywingsofwax
:iconbindmywingsofwax:bindmywingsofwax 1 9
Literature
Shirt and Pants
A man strolls past
toward the coffee shop.
He wears a shirt and pants
as most men do.
I continue on my way, because
thousands of men in shirts and pants
have crossed my path before.
But I glance back and think of him
as a favor for a normal man.
For every man (with or without pants)
has a story to tell.
Maybe he lived in a trailer
until his parents won the lottery.
And they all ran down the street
yelling and dancing as it poured.
Or perhaps he had a rough childhood
and his goldfish was his only friend.
And when he fell (hard) for a girl
he was left alone in the dark at 3 am.
I follow him to the coffee shop
and sit beside him.
He sips his coffee. Black.
Maybe his mother drank her coffee black
too.
I start to ask him,
But he's only a man.
Most men would think that
my question is strange.
Or maybe he is strange too (I hope so)
and he is dying to ask me
    if my aunt bought me these shoes.
:iconraemarshall:raemarshall
:iconraemarshall:raemarshall 9 12
Literature
Coffee and Cigarettes
My coffee and cigarette,
oh, hot coffee,
oh, tasty cigarette,
slowly burning my heart away.
Slowly, torn from the aspects of a woman's love,
broken, and mutilated,
my own choices,
no longer in sight.
Sigh.
My coffee and cigarette,
the cutest barista, the best coffee,
rolling cigarettes, a handicraft,
my true focus, slowly fading.
Slowly, my soluble soul,
falls into heartless solvent,
sweat forms, I can not handle it.
I can not handle her, sigh,
I turn to coffee and cigarettes,
falling apart,
slowly burning my heart away,
my true focus fading,
but my memory remains,
my feelings taken over,
but, I love her still,
forever and ever,
like I promised one day,
as I promised everyday.
:iconMagicality:Magicality
:iconmagicality:Magicality 5 48

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Lisolette-Anwe
Lisolette
Artist | Literature
United States
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:iconchristel-b:
christel-b Featured By Owner Feb 26, 2007   Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the fav on [link] :hug:
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:iconskybluegoodbyes:
skybluegoodbyes Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2007
Thanks so much for the favorite!
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:iconstarlit-sky:
starlit-sky Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2007
thanx so much for the fav:D
it really means a lot to me:glomp:
Reply
Hidden by Owner
:iconstarlit-sky:
starlit-sky Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2007
i'm obliged:blush:
you are too kind:blush:
i'm so sorry that you can relate to it though:(
:hug:
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:iconlisolette-anwe:
Lisolette-Anwe Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2007   Writer
Hehe, I'm sure that in the long run it's for the best. I suppose with the advent of that happening that I will have a plethora of poetry to add to my gallery...
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconamalgamadora:
Amalgamadora Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2007  Hobbyist General Artist
I love your gallery.
Reply
:iconisrealjericho941:
isrealjericho941 Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2006  Professional Digital Artist
i just added some of my old poetry just for you!
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