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The Dream Girl "The Dream Girl" is a cardboard sculpture installed at Figment D.C., a noncommercial art festival in Washington, D.C.'s Anacostia Park. Figment D.C. takes place today and tomorrow. Learn more here.
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The Isle Like an enraged wind of the tempest she resides in, she has blown all away. Isolated, they lay in her wake, sinking in the sea, reborn from the sanded floor. She stands alone—an isle. Her shores are silent and still, have been so for quite a while, ever since they stopped arriving. But one lonely sailor wanders aimlessly, lost and disconcerted, with no desire to escape. #Unreal #Poetry #ChariceCejas #Photography #ToureWeaver #Love #ProtectYourSolitude #Nature Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Projected LivesProjection is usually a misstep—an assumption too far from reality that we are chastened to avoid. In this collaboration between siblings, we embrace projection to see a fleeting sense of a life. The person constructed between the drawing and poem is thus burdened—those poor models!—with an imagined, hybrid life. Needful Thing
We slather the paint a hair thick, let the snowstorm in for air and fall on the bed where I lodge a condom under its leg. I can see none of it —where your mother’s bedpans hid, hair spilled and blood seeped from diapers, which knife in the drawer you clutched as haulers ran too late and you cut the bed into reeking squares, sundered as milkweed silk. The sheets are fresh and old, and our bodies we count on —the nape, the sacrum to unlock just enough-- for what? Give us death in digestible stories, give us the real that clears away our bodies and reveals what is behind them, but give us now our bodies. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Quill Dip me into your pool of black, into the depths of your well. I'll tap once on the rim, and let this landscape begin. The page before me waits, white and dry, as I think of what line to draw. A curve, a squiggle, or even a dot, is how I'll paint your pain, your fight. Another dip, another tap, the rhythm is all mine and the well runs dry and the black cracks on the page that is your map. Let me take your pain and sketch deep rivers with no end. For your eyes fill too quickly, my love. I'll catch each drop and paint. I'll catch each drop and paint. #Unreal #Poetry #DenizZeynep #Love #Savior #Sacrificial #NegativeSpace Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Choices Matter Something Significant
9:10 AM and here I am At a desk of wood in a class of stone The board is black and walls are white Dark red purple vomit colored carpet Designed to hide unwanted stains Yellow wire still hanging Dangling near fluorescent lights Humming under the drumming ventilation Then there’s me The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Thunder I invited thunder willingly to my boat. It had been a long dry summer, And the boat needed some gentle rocking. Even the waves complained of boredom, Coming and going effortlessly, Mildly touching the skin of it. The thunder came strong. The boat turned its womb into the sea, Like a flower closing on, early in maturation of the light-- A darkness it accepts rather than one it fears, For the sea is a better trusted friend. The thunder came strong. Indifferent to the awaited spring To the long hated summer, The thunder came strong; hungry and empty. And left even more Hungry. #Unreal #Poetry #JessicaMalo #ToureWeave #Nature #Imagery #Thunder #Emotions #EbbandFlow #Depth Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Playground We embrace now, beneath orange midnight pollution. Our concrete shadows have merged, as we anchor between convoluted plastic. To you I am a plaything? Lounging among swings and slides. Pressed for warmth and spread for appeal. But if that’s true, What am I doing here? Basking in your silence as an excuse for my own? I sulk with you, your pretty play thing, skinny in tights, Velcro shoes, your baby doll blue. Until this place seems familiar. Branches of entities unknown, cover the sky in a loose knit, melding into flighty ideals. Sex. Love. Maybe comfort? Last time I was here, I did not know of these. Nor do I now. Breaking plastic ties, I jump down and flee your mold, I swing. #Unreal #Poetry #Photography #EleniKanakis #TylerRosado #Caged #ToxicRomance Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Devil Wears Suspenders Words + Image: Courtney Barron QuailBellMagazine.com The devil wears suspenders He wants to be my friend. A voice like knives beckoning, He wants to play pretend The devil wears suspenders And he has a wonky eye. He tells me its okay now To kiss the world goodbye. The devil wears suspenders Standing close beside me. He reaches out with needle hands And finds the soul inside me. The devil wears suspenders He's taken now with anger. Because in my soul is only love, And evil stays a stranger. #Unreal #Poetry #CourtneyBarron #Devil #Imagery #Love #DontHate #Appreciate Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Multi-Talent 2Ties Down the Rabbit Hole. Photography was like a gateway drug into the creative side of my mind. I first got into photography when I was doing T-shirt screen printing. Somewhere in that process, I found that I enjoyed photography much more than screen printing. Something Borrowed into Something New. My photo alias is 2Ties, which comes from Ty-Ty, the nickname that my little sister gave me when she was first learning to talk. When I took up photography, I just took pictures. I didn't know the technical side of it. I couldn't even name a well-known photographer. I didn't even own my own camera. My step-dad let me borrow one of his older cameras, and a handful of lenses that he never used. He was into wedding and portrait photography. He was the only photographer I knew. I remember him explaining to me how to use a DSLR. It was like a foreign language. There were too many settings. I just wanted to put it in "take a picture" mode and roll with it.
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Leyla's LamentMama, how do you make the pain go? Do I wear my veil and tuck my tears in for sweet dreams? Mama, do I cover my skin? Will the thick, black cloak hug my scars the way you hug me? Mama, do I sit behind latticed windows? Are those lacy shadows just whispers of your lullabies? And, Mama, will my scars shine? Shine like the sun through my window, where wind parades past the bars and twirls my eyelashes into a curtsy? Wait, Mama, what about my eyes? Will they crystalize when tears flow? Like gems in a dark cave? Will they still shine? #Unreal #Poetry #DenizZeynep #Veiled #Feminism #Caged #Scars #MamaDaughter #Womanhood Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. |