[x]

Ocean Captiveplease,
awaken from this
captivity.

you’ve become a servant to the ocean,
obeying its every command –
succumbing to its demanding beauty,
hypnotised by the tranquillity.

waves,
(rising and falling.)
waves,
(falling and rising.)

you fragile, broken thing,
a beautiful golden fool –
your frame filling with
salt-water;
bones stiffening, skin wrinkling
blood turning blue.

you’re visiting the ocean’s depths,
welcoming the cruel world below;
but those lungs of yours are burning,
and those soft eyes are questioning –

so open
(sapphire.)
so hopeful,
(yet wavering.)

please,
you

30 Amazing WritersI would like to present to you 30 of my favourite writers on deviantART. Every single one of these beautiful, friendly and amazing people all deserve to be featured alongside three of my favourite works each of them has produced. I urge you all to add all of them to your watch, add their work to your favourites or give them a comment - you will not be disappointed.
I would also like to add that I have many more favourite deviants on the site, so I may do another one of these later on. So, if you don't see your name here, please remember that you are not forgotten.
Edit: Also, it was brought to my attention that I forgot to give thanks to `LadyLincoln for the inspiration for this journal entry. I'm sorry! Thank-you, lovely

!
[1] =TwilightPoetess

[2] *KaitForest

[3] =meganbreukelman

[4] :devSpr

Isabelleisabelle,
you are nothing but
an injured bird,
losing your way
in a world of uncertainties.

your wings
have been clipped,
by their ignorant words
(not good enough, not good enough)
and you’re grounded:

stuck.

unable to rise
to the light of the sun –
instead you’re alone below,
drowning in the droplets
of their adamant rain.

not good enough,
they whisper once again,
not good enough…

Ghostfog wraps around
bare-naked, skeletal
trees,
and she wanders
aimlessly,
like a lost child
(without him).

he had once told her,
to be fooled by your emptiness
is crazy,
there is so much
more room for
bliss.

but he had ripped
out her heart,
and now she is struggling to survive
in this world, alone –

but there is a difference between
surviving and living,
and without august, oh darling august,
she has simply existed –

she is a ghost of who she was.

Soldiercigarette between his lips,
tar-induced lungs struggling to inflate –
a soldier
(a man)
struggling to make sense
of a war
where men are only equal
when they're dead.

Haiku Ithe birdsong filled her
empty shell with a blissful
verse of harmony.

---

one purple flower
swallowed by the azure sea,
now forever alone.

---

the moon ate the stars,
and carried them far away,
darkening the sky.

---

Sleeplessshe spends those sleepless nights
caught in her little worlds,
cursed by the moonlight, dying in the twilight –

and the darken figure within her dreams
enslaves her,
and the stories she spins of courageous men
end only in tragedies
(melodies are lost).

but the little bird which rests in her hands
awakens her from within,
hope fills her lungs, her heart, her soul –

and maybe,
when the time arrives and her bird sings
the softest tune,
she will become imprisoned

by sleep.

The TravellerA strong, flicker of light, amidst
An unembellished sea of darkness
Where monsters cruelly hunt sailors,
Washing ashore, a bloodied carcass.

He viciously sailed the seas,
Replacing lands with deep depression
Ridding them of innocence, of
Richness, breathless for a succession.

A journey he deeply consumes,
Penetrating skin, blinding his heart
The question stands, is it him or,
Destiny, which will tear him apart?

Discovering his lost birthplace,
A shoreline of mutilation, death
A land from which he was stolen,
Evanesce, from a place of first breath.

The Kingdom had wanted knightship,
They sought a warrior from the south
Ripped from

Finger-Lengththe space between us
becomes further and further,
as you drive your motorcycle
along the coastline -

your body shielded by your
leather jacket;
your unshaven chin caressed by
the wavering hands of the spring.

you pass an empty church,
filling with the stinging, soulless
curse of saltwater
(like my heart filling with despair.)

the deathless gods
attempt to undress my mind of
images of your handsome face,
(it does not work…)
and the mortal men ignore
my pleas and search for you.

once finger-length apart,
lying on the sand,
the sea nibbling at our toes –

now,
the distance increases,

and lying on the cold g

Freedomsurrendering to the summer skies,
she finds solace with the butterflies –
spreading her arms out like wings,
she dances on the clouds and sings.

Haiku Vwinter winds whisper
melodies as they caress
our fragile bodies.

Flightless Birdoh, why aren’t you flying?

amaranthine feathers belong to you, the flightless bird.
wings, calloused and frayed;
your body burning from sunlight, flames bursting from within
little hot-headed creature,
mad at the airborne world above him.

oh, flightless bird – why are you so alone?
once you were the sun, but now you are the moon;
you fell into its craters, came out the other side,
but who are you now?

grounded,
(stuck.)
bruised,
(purple-red, turning azure.)

your bones have stiffened, cracking beneath your skin –
you are held back, lost.
you don’t know who you are.
if you could fly, you

Wintertimewinter bones,
melting like ice;
a vessel of cold, filled to the brim
with crashing waves of snow-white –

captured by wintertime,
veins turning to icicles
as a beating heart pumps
the remainder of summer
into the depths of the frost.

Haiku VIshipwrecked on the shore,
the ocean waving goodbye;
alone once again.

coffee talkthey speak in the
rattle of coffee cups—

sea bent lungs await the press
of the espresso crave lips
as taste fills curling limbs
settling the
stars
in—.

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Without A Kingdoma thousand miles
separates us
and without you, i am
like a king without a kingdom.

bidding farewell in
these winter winds,
you left along the coastline
and disappeared into the mountains –

goodbye, my love.

a thousand miles,
ahead and behind.

you have made me a knight
fighting battles without a sword.

Autumncaptured by the cold
embrace of autumn, the leaves
are swept up to dance.

Starsthe universe spirals out of your hands when you wave good-bye,
and when you write my name in the sky,
the stars within me die.

Soldiercigarette between his lips,
tar-induced lungs struggling to inflate –
a soldier
(a man)
struggling to make sense
of a war
where men are only equal
when they're dead.

Landmarksshe strummed his ribcage
with delicate fingers and
hummed soft melodies
of unknown worlds –

go to sleep, my dearest love
she whispered
as she traced the landmarks
upon his back –

go to sleep.

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Old Sellsword

by *imaginative-lioness, Feb 18, 2013, 6:30:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Traditional Fixed Forms

The rattling of his bones,
Enclosed in timeworn, calloused skin
Reminded him of past youth,
And his senseless exploits of sin.

Before he held a sword, and
The King’s emblem upon his breast
He was a poorly country boy,
Craving opulence to manifest.

Once held up high, now faceless,
Wandering aimlessly alone
Fighting an aging body,
He greets each movement with a groan.

He has become a sellsword,
Consumed by limitless treasures
Turning on several Kingdoms,
To simply engulf life’s pleasures.

Fleeting Kingdoms, far and wide,
Embracing others is no choice
Instead he passes by them,
Until hearing her velvet voice.

Sword-sharp eyelashes, sweeping
Across scars underneath her eyes
Loving her could mean one thing,
The ending, his one true demise.

Years within this land alone,
Longstanding without an embrace
Changed sudden with this woman,
Dressed head-to-toe in white lace.

The sellsword reaches for her,
Grasping her soft, delicate hand
Asking her to come with him,
And venture deep into the land.

‘I will come with you,’ she says,
Placing her hand against his cheek
‘Will you not respond?’ she asks,
He grunts, unable to speak.

Yet, when he opens his mouth,
She is surprised with his response
For he is a closed-off man,
Often with fearless nonchalance.

‘I am a lonely sellsword,
Getting old and becoming grey
But I vow to keep you safe,
From uncertainties of today.’

Old Sellswordby *imaginative-lioness

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Traditional Fixed Forms

My second attempt at poetry, this time about a lonely old sellsword (once a knight fighting for a Kingdom) finally opening up and falling in love with a woman.

---

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~starell May 8, 2013

These epic poems are really your forte! So beautiful and transient! For some reason they all sort of remind me of Game of Thrones XD probably because I'm just in that mood right now. Lovely work!

*imaginative-lioness May 8, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I absolutely love epic poems, I really need to start writing more. I'm so glad that you like this piece. And yeah, this piece was kind of inspired by Bronn from Game of Thrones, kind of. I love him. Thank-you again, your comment made me smile

~starell May 10, 2013

Well I'll read them if you wish! haha Knew it! I am always happy to bring smiles to people

you are most welcome!

=andrewpom Apr 4, 2013 Student Writer

this is a pretty well-done beauty-and-the-beast type story. making each verse a four line sentence is perhaps restrictive but it also gives it a sort of traditional, cheerful feel, like a nursery rhyme. i like it!

i will say i think maybe the female character is lacking in depth. it's obviously hard to create a 'character' within a poem but, to be honest, their love seems shallow because i see no reason for the old man to love her other than she's pretty. unless i'm over thinking things.

*imaginative-lioness Apr 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Firstly, I love the fact that you have categorised this as a 'beauty-and-the-beast' type poem, I never realised that, but I guess it can be!

The structure of this poem is like an epic poem, though they are much longer, and each stanza has four lines (I believe this is called a quatrain, I think, haha) with the second and forth one rhyming. It does sound kind of like a nursery rhyme though, doesn't it? Haha.

I think because it is such a short piece that it was hard to develop her character beyond appearance. I can picture her beyond that, only because I know what she is like in my head, but because this is a short piece I focused mainly on the 'Old Sellsword'. But I would love to write another part to see (perhaps a sequel?) or maybe the poem from the point of view of the girl. But I understand what you mean about their love portrayed kind of 'shallow'.

Thank-you so much for taking the time to read this piece and give it a critique, you are absolutely wonderful ♥!

=andrewpom Apr 4, 2013 Student Writer

awh

i usually write blank verse, i'm not an expert on poetic structure. in my opinion it limits creativity - although a 'wise' man (some french guy) once said that free verse is like playing tennis without a net. bugger him, though.

and yeah, perhaps if you wrote this as an actual epic poem you could develop the character? other than writing a sequel, i mean. but tbh, i think it works great as a sort of nursery rhyme. is it actually intended for children? i think i see the potential for a witty and colourful children's poet in you. if i were to be honest i think your style/opinions/subject matter are not really appealing to an older audience (at least from what i can derive from this poem only). i dont really read much Byron but from what i hear, he may be of some influence to you? what do i know. peace

*imaginative-lioness Apr 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I would love to write an actual epic poem some day, perhaps I could continue on and edit this piece... Haha, 'a witty and colourful children's poet', that would actually be quite an awesome thing to do.

I don't really intend on writing for a specific audience, if people like what I write then that's fine by me. But yeah, I guess some of my work isn't really for 'older audiences' but I guess it just comes down to personal preference.

Byron? I don't know who that is.

Thank-you ♥

=andrewpom Apr 5, 2013 Student Writer

lord Byron is best known for his long narrative poems. he's a bit of a saucy bastard. quite an interesting character, too - a bisexual with a limp (take that how you will). he is adored by many.

and i'm not sure how to take that second paragraph. on the one hand, we all write towards an audience, and that is important to understand. but on the other, we shouldn't let our work be dictated by someone else's wants. creativity is not a business even though it is... just experiment and find yourself and then people will like you no matter how hard you try.

*imaginative-lioness Apr 5, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I am going to have to look him up and read some of his work then

Oh, what I meant was that I don't really write for a specific audience, I don't really keep that in mind when I write, if it comes out a specific way then it just does. That's what I meant.

=andrewpom Apr 5, 2013 Student Writer

oh! well in that case i agree with you entirely c:

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