Something old and ancient here, within this somber forest
I have nearly fallen from the sky, the earth still somehow there, lush
with rotten wood and fallen beams, I have stepped into the viper's house.
I'm silent, here, afraid to move--dust gathering like sky
And on my arm, such bright red dots
Blue scales do make them brighter
There's no path here for the lost, but I--
I peek through night-lit windows to see
who will help me, slow poison beating with my heart.
You, sir
are a Victorian masterpiece.
Things were
maybe
on a bad foot,
but now I take our stolen moments of pleasure
and turn them loose
on cold, December mornings
thinking how wonderful it will be
to be in love
with someone else.
The Slumbering Woman by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
The Slumbering Woman
Sing quietly, Cathedral,
for what we had
was a darkness that sucked out the light
and in throwing it back out again, it fell
like sinking stars in gaseous dark.
This is the false mountain, and
sometimes it rains here--
sometimes
so paved with half-remembered dreams.
You, who have torn me with your Being and Time,
my heart is aching. Deep
in the glittering faces of this city
a new kind of clarity
will awaken the slumbering woman
shattering forth
into something greater than herself.
sometimes I miss the sound of heatdrunken cicadas whispering in the trees
when we are inside among the wood and grain and amber blocks
silently our dreams become reflections of our days, the restless minutes
spent in stiffness like a little death, at once both alive and stilled
its august again
sometimes trees bend in the dark under the weight of the wind
sometimes the air sizzles with light and joins with the earth
and then
sometimes I sit on the porch and listen
sleep falling in on the rain
waiting a
the empty medallions by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
the empty medallions
wordless grasses above a silent sea
of night-entangled time
a poem has grown wordless where
a love of stone, old and mute
climbs ledges above a silent doorway
palpable as a maple moon
an empty sea
leaves a mind motionless in history and
a winter of lights releases
globed memory-silent and dumb
and sleeve-worn casements
equal time
for true leaves should light
the empty medallions
and two old trees be as a doorway
Its strange
she said
to think of her now
getting older.
I think of her then
nineteen, and it so cold out.
Time flies, said the boy in the yellow shirt
looking up
and we can only fly with it.
He went back to reading
and she looked out a window.
I wonder if shes changed, she thought
and how.
She Was Always Waiting by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
She Was Always Waiting
The heat was oppressive, even in January. At night I'd wander aimlessly around the house, stripped to my underclothes. The fans were always on, the incessant whirring a familiar background noise. It was cooler outside, of course, but inside it was like the house had been drinking the heat all day, sucking it up as if it stopped, even for a moment, the wood would crumble into dust. It was a Sylvia Plath heat, the hell fire of our discontent.
I remember being attracted to her even then. The heat only seemed to intensify emotions. Lazily I drifted through the days, pulling my consciousness through curtains of humidity and all the while nursing
Something old and ancient here, within this somber forest
I have nearly fallen from the sky, the earth still somehow there, lush
with rotten wood and fallen beams, I have stepped into the viper's house.
I'm silent, here, afraid to move--dust gathering like sky
And on my arm, such bright red dots
Blue scales do make them brighter
There's no path here for the lost, but I--
I peek through night-lit windows to see
who will help me, slow poison beating with my heart.
You, sir
are a Victorian masterpiece.
Things were
maybe
on a bad foot,
but now I take our stolen moments of pleasure
and turn them loose
on cold, December mornings
thinking how wonderful it will be
to be in love
with someone else.
The Slumbering Woman by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
The Slumbering Woman
Sing quietly, Cathedral,
for what we had
was a darkness that sucked out the light
and in throwing it back out again, it fell
like sinking stars in gaseous dark.
This is the false mountain, and
sometimes it rains here--
sometimes
so paved with half-remembered dreams.
You, who have torn me with your Being and Time,
my heart is aching. Deep
in the glittering faces of this city
a new kind of clarity
will awaken the slumbering woman
shattering forth
into something greater than herself.
sometimes I miss the sound of heatdrunken cicadas whispering in the trees
when we are inside among the wood and grain and amber blocks
silently our dreams become reflections of our days, the restless minutes
spent in stiffness like a little death, at once both alive and stilled
its august again
sometimes trees bend in the dark under the weight of the wind
sometimes the air sizzles with light and joins with the earth
and then
sometimes I sit on the porch and listen
sleep falling in on the rain
waiting a
the empty medallions by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
the empty medallions
wordless grasses above a silent sea
of night-entangled time
a poem has grown wordless where
a love of stone, old and mute
climbs ledges above a silent doorway
palpable as a maple moon
an empty sea
leaves a mind motionless in history and
a winter of lights releases
globed memory-silent and dumb
and sleeve-worn casements
equal time
for true leaves should light
the empty medallions
and two old trees be as a doorway
Its strange
she said
to think of her now
getting older.
I think of her then
nineteen, and it so cold out.
Time flies, said the boy in the yellow shirt
looking up
and we can only fly with it.
He went back to reading
and she looked out a window.
I wonder if shes changed, she thought
and how.
She Was Always Waiting by SerafimaSeraph, literature
Literature
She Was Always Waiting
The heat was oppressive, even in January. At night I'd wander aimlessly around the house, stripped to my underclothes. The fans were always on, the incessant whirring a familiar background noise. It was cooler outside, of course, but inside it was like the house had been drinking the heat all day, sucking it up as if it stopped, even for a moment, the wood would crumble into dust. It was a Sylvia Plath heat, the hell fire of our discontent.
I remember being attracted to her even then. The heat only seemed to intensify emotions. Lazily I drifted through the days, pulling my consciousness through curtains of humidity and all the while nursing
I'm primarily a musician. I like writing, but I don't do it that often. Same with other kinds of art. Thus this thing doesn't get updated all that often. I'm usually too busy teaching or going to school.
Current Residence: San Antonio, TX Favourite genre of music: Why all the favorites? Favourite photographer: Gah! Favourite style of art: *twitch* Operating System: Huh? What does this have to do with anything? MP3 player of choice: Creative Zen. Apple can kiss my ass. Skin of choice: Mine. Favourite cartoon character: Daria. Or Stewie Griffin. Man, a fight between them would be amazing. Personal Quote: I love the word refresh, it's like you're freshing something only it's re.
Favourite Visual Artist
Lily Hill.
Favourite Movies
Kingdom of Heaven...currently. It changes. A lot.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Sahara Smith
Favourite Writers
Enough with the favorites!
Favourite Games
Cat and mouse. I'm the cat.
Tools of the Trade
Paper. It cuts you before you even know it.
Other Interests
Music, Art, Film, Food, Drink, Prose, Poetry, Soul Caliber II, Half-Life, various forms of science
Dear World,
Anime is not art, stop pretending that it is. You're taking a culture's popular style of cartooning because you can't come up with your own. I was hoping that Deviant Art would be about originality and creative style, but I have seen hardly anything but photoshopped anime on the home screen for the past several weeks. Get up off your ass and create something new. Thank you and come again.
-Ranting Bitch signing off-
It's about that time of year again, folks. Yup. School is coming! w00t.
I'm not so excited about the whole school thing as I am that I will be able to escape from this god-awful town and no longer have to see my parents on a daily basis. We get along fine when we don't have to live together, but ain't that how it always goes?
Good times.