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Alzheimer'sHis house is made of crumbling slats
    of rotted knotted oak
  peeling paint
and weakened joints.

  The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
   dragging fresh sunlight in
      and memories away.

Even on the clearest days
       he visits the front porch
    less and less often.

        He prefers to explore
    those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.       
Alive Like Dirt-

Winter vanished, a dream
Minutes after having woken;
The imprint and the lines
Still crisscrossing the edges
Of thought, retreating at my
Touch. It was important.
           I think.
                      I thought.
Though, I've lost it now.
           Am reeling now.

I reached out, five distinct
Points forming a living symbol.
           A tool.
 &
The Stellar Void"Can you kill me, please?"

I must have looked startled because her expectant gaze saddened a bit.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Can you kill me?" Her face brightened as she repeated the morbid probe.

Confused, I couldn't help but notice her rather familiar clothes. Faded pink jeans, knock-off Converse shoes. Little black hoodie with a torn right sleeve.

"You just looked a bit angry and I figured you'd be the best person to ask."

I stood next to the bench. My backpack dug into my shoulder and I shrugged it off. It'd be awhile before the next bus came anyway.

"Why?"

She looked down the street. The dim lights barely revealed the closed shops and l
the less i knowsomething new: my breath hitched but the words meant nothing.
i owed the light peserverent flattery in the form of prose,
stories of what could have been.

the gloom in which i slept was a system altogether unable to measure up to the new universe;
to exist together in perfect cognition is first to understand that i never wish to be better.
how pitiable this impure form to which we all succumb
littered with stars. i am temporary like them, almost, always and never.

I have forgotten how to live. it is late mornings during which i upturn my lazy eyes to the sky
against it's will. there, like you, live millions- and my mind is reborn.

t
One Day I Shall Lay Down And Dieone day i shall lay down and die

and so for now here is my kiss, my golden-ness,
my forehead pressed against yours
like two strange animals lost on a plain of
red sand. one day i shall lay down and die so
now here, let these birds pick me apart,

show you it all, the torn underwear
and the girl gazing at the soft glow
on trees, the ferocious lion-love
weeping under the kitchen table. one day
i shall lay down and die

so for now i feast on beaches, your breath,
the flutter of my dress sore against my skin
someday i will find that peace,
plant a spring-flower deep in my heart, land one last cool kiss
on the bow of your mouth and sl
Undressing PoetryShe clothes herself in poetry,
seals her skin within the verse.

Each line becomes another garment
that conceals her fixed form's curvature,
but peels away when read.

Last night I dissected a stanza,
clamped it tight between my teeth
and tugged it down her legs.

Her body breathes warm and sweet,
speckled red like a summer strawberry field.

I sucked the juice from her lines and
spit the punctuation like seeds.

My lips mouthed the shape of her words
as my skin grew more sticky with
every splash of imagery dripping down my chin.

I peeled apart her soft pages
with sticky, pink fingertips that left them
clinging to my skin.

A sing
Spelling CountsThe line read:
"Fallow your heart",
I wondered what more there was to say.

Fallow your heart, leave it
empty and waiting for a season
so love can grow, nourished,
in a replenished, whole ground.
Fallow your heart so it does not become
Worn and barren with overuse.

The line read "fallow your heart",
but the poem, overworked,
meant only "follow".

Please remember that spelling counts.
The Rumour of IcarusIcarus—
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
HeartmindWe lost electricity on the night you left me
and I spent the night curled up against the rain,
drinking in the slack of damp green winds
in our treasured driftwood home of mist.
I had to come to think of time
as a medium and my thoughts as
imperfect and cursive. It was a wrinkled medium,
a mediocrity of sunken breath: words condensing
into droplets that so contorted my teary lenses
that I couldn't tell that you were turning towards me

with a sound, the sound a book makes
when its leaves are rustled against the grain.
Tonight my body lingers on the edge of the ocean
like a gasp; New Jersey's throaty highways
bear my rosefelt thou
16.7.1945You can't blame them for what they did, not really.

Their war, ensnaring the most powerful countries in the world and sending millions of their finest young men and women out as if to the slaughter, had been raging for nearly six years. Both sides showed no sign of faltering, entertained no thought of surrender. Something had to be done to break the psychological stalemate. Something that would make men fall to their knees in awe even as their cities and their people disappeared in a flash of white light.

What the scientists and the handful of informed onlookers say today in the desert under heavy rain will never be known by man, for the ag
02:22 AMi.

Like drops of water we fall

yet

I must be
of
a different
drop

you might think that
you want to be different yourself
but

you do not

you want to be special

I am not special

everyone wants to be special
although
not so special
that

they're different.

ii.

Some girls
want to seduce me

because I'm different

I don't mind, but
I've never really liked those girls

I don't really like girls at all

I like sex though, so..
I let them

even though
some will fall

(plip.)

in love with me.

iii.

Some boys
want to beat me up

show me my
true
face

also because I'm different

and because they grew up with a strong father
the things they should have told ussee, no one really warns us about growing up.
they leave out things like heartbreak and gossip and broken people you could have saved but didn't.

it is this: the girl who holds her wrists and sits alone and tells me no child should ever grow up being afraid of someone who should love them. Her eyes are fierce, and something inside me is screaming but the clock ticks and the moment is past. i pretend i can't hear the pieces of her shatter as they hit the floor.

the next time we speak there are new shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders hunch as if somehow she could fold into herself and disappear. maybe it would be better for us both if
a picture of a plane.The day her daddy got sent away, the whole neighborhood fluttered with closing curtains and eyes watching through cracked doors. His wife called it a mistake, the cousins called it rape and said he was a pedophile.

And she just kept dipping her fingers into paint and dreaming about kites and the eyelashes on dolls, because she didn't know what any of those words meant.

A year later, he came back, and she washed the sidewalk so he couldn't see that she was drawing their secret in light blue and petal pink chalk.

-

"Those are nice pictures, baby," her daddy would tell her, but she hated it, because he always sounded sick, and he would rub h
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:icontarantellino:

Carnevaleby ~tarantellino

DescriptionDetailsShare
Download JPG 680 × 15540
I HAVE BEEN GONE FOR AGES but I'm back and I have this massive painted collagey poem thing :^D

Everyone is telling me I need to get more PROFESSIONAL about my art, so here is a professional list of materials I used with professional bullet points.
:bulletblack: top section: marker and colored pencil on construction paper
:bulletblack: 2nd section with faces and rainbow thing: watercolors, india ink, sharpie and acrylics on cheap watercolor paper
:bulletblack: 3rd section with collagey bits: chopped up pieces of band music, burnt pages from an old Italian romance novel, pictures from a Topolino book, and cut up bits of old paintings
:bulletblack: 4th section with reverse color scheme: sharpie and white acrylics on black construction paper
:bulletblack: 5th section with masks: collage of printed out Carnevale masks that I plagiarized off of google images
:bulletblack: last section: acrylics and red sharpie on construction paper
:bulletblack: depressing poem was written by me
:bulletblack: the whole thing is about 8 feet tall and 5 inches wide

I FEEL SO PROFESSIONAL

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS THING

EDIT: MOTHER MARY'S TESTICLES, I GOT A DAILY DEVIATION :iconcannotevenplz:
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO'S COMMENTING. JUST... HFSDKFJHSDLKJHFLJKSDHKJ
I'M GONNA GO FLAIL AROUND MY HOUSE NOW AND TELL MY FAMILY
THANK YOU
©2011-2013 ~tarantellino
Category: Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Visual & Found Poetry

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Submitted on
October 12, 2011
Image Size
1.8 MB
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680×15540
Views
28,733
Favourites
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Daily Deviation

Given 2012-05-28
Carnevale by *lifeandpasta Suggester Writes: This traditional mixed media visual poem piece by lifeandpasta is truly one of the most amazing I've seen. The vibrant colors and scenes blend brilliantly together and fall in sync with the sad but beautiful original poem. It looks like it took a lot of hard work ( Suggested by =TammiBlue and Featured by ^Beccalicious )
:iconthomaswyatt01:
~thomaswyatt01 Feb 27, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
It took me way to long to realize I hadn't faved this.
Reply
:icontarantellino:
~tarantellino Feb 27, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
That's okay, this thing has way too many favorites anyway. :iconserioustearplz:
Reply
:iconf-skala:
~F-Skala Mar 17, 2013
it will keep getting more because it's amazing :stare:
Reply
:iconthomaswyatt01:
~thomaswyatt01 Mar 3, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
I was about to say "No; it's not even at 2k!"

But then it was almost 3k. I didn't think it be like it is, but it do. That is indeed a lot.
Reply
:iconsaracoolpants:
Mood: Wow! ~saracoolpants Jan 5, 2013  Student General Artist
this is sweet!!
Reply
:iconskipskatt:
*Skipskatt Dec 31, 2012  Student General Artist
Holy hell, this is just amazing. I should have watched you ages ago.

You definitely Deserve the DD :)

Just, how you come up with this amazing writing and art is beyond me xD
Reply
:iconwhopper-jr:
~whopper-jr Dec 16, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
this is AMAZING!!!!!!
Reply
:icontheothervivi:
*TheOtherVivi Jul 25, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Wow this is so beautiful! How long have you been working on that piece? Fell in love with that poem :D
Reply
:iconabsolutelysherlocked:
~AbsolutelySherlocked Jul 10, 2012  Hobbyist
I know a place where the forest grows sideways. I absolutely loved that line. The poem was depressingly beautiful. :) Amazing piece, truly.
Reply
:iconwhxyte:
~Whxyte Jun 19, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Holy hell, why aren't you in my watcher's list yet?!
That DD is definitely yours to keep, it almost feels like a song just ran through my head, and I've experienced an entire event. I especially love the pauses in between the poems where pictures take up the meaning of words and it all just sinks in somehow.
And for the heck of it I can't get over the fact that you're barely a year younger than me.
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