More Features Update - New Name Poll

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******June 29, UPDATE*****
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I posted a poll for my new name.  We'll see what happens.  The words that seem odd mean "poet" or "writer" or "singer" etc.  Just fyi.  Look them up.  Anyway, let me know what you think would be the best name for me!

Thanks for the previous suggestions, by the way.
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More features of recent favs!
the appleto my creators i smile
for hiding my apple to bite.
for in years to come
never will a full night
be a sin. so goes
this gift i live captive in.
soon, ill be begging
to get the same adrenaline.
for now,
wet suburban streets and
hungry faces eating
smoke rings.
a Korean angel sings
and every girl wishes
he played her guitar.
like he played,
not to me,
but my guitar.
because my songs are
the hardwood etchings
my heels bleed and
the black music
a guilty conscience leaves.
i swear, for suffocating
i sure know how to breathe.:thumb287373777: :thumb283575232::thumb283450937: Funeral TomorrowWaiting rooms ,
With crepe-paper spiders
And flipping mindlessly through vending machines
Became quite dull.
Doctor?
Several weeks spun by slowly.
So tangled up in her.
Intensive care;
She's startlingly fragile.
Travel by jet planes,
But it's only temporary,
She says
Like an limp and empty glove.
Pressed trousers
Dressed in full black
Except for the tie peeking out;
Red,
Her favorite.
My only conscious memory
Of her cheekbones,
So romantic.    The Clandestine CollabMy partner in crime -
  He is but a name to me,
  locked up tight
  on a private page.
I take him to bed each night,
  his mind
  stretching my insides
  to bursting.
This page smells like him -
I visit when I'm cold.
  He pens the prettiest things
  from mere moondust
  and the softest touch
I can almost feel him
Reaching...
  he takes my icy hand,
  encloses it,
between his ink-stained fingers
    'Come say Hello,' he beckons.
        'I'm way more interesting than any damn cat.'
My mouth opens
- our words collide -
It's then I realize
we both hold secrets
that if unleashed
would destroy the world.
         -
This page smells like us.
It's alive and warm
Suddenly,
I can breathe again.
Yet
if I sneak away now,
          :thumb276418289::thumb255428887: I won't meet your expectations.I will never be your girl with the china doll skin,
Mine feels much closer to crocodile hide.
I will never be your girl with the gorgeous face,
but I was taught to value what's inside.
I will never be the girl who learns not to make mistakes,
Still I'll get up from a fall at every turn.
I will never be the girl who stops playing with fire,
but I've learned how not to get a burn.
I will never be society's girl, soft and demure,
my voice demands justice by the score.
If you can respect me despite all of this,
I'll love you all the more.:thumb272295788: fairgroundon a fairground
the orange trees
are paper-cut
in the lamplight
like a movie set
with no director
and so many writers
not in the shot
so life is a whole lot
like a carnival game
shooting for prizes you'd
never thought you'd want
then the nursing home hallways
smell like piss and you
always choose talk
over card games but
it's another day
of the woman next door
screaming in pain
which is hard
since you're screaming with her
every moment you are both
living and dying
which is all of them
all the paychecks broke and
borrowed. all the jobs
you kept and didn't keep.
all the epiphanies when
you suddenly realise you
only need to be
rich enough for coffee.
all the newspapers
soaked in the street and
the benches on which
you'd read. all the restrooms
you'd cry in or
throw up in or
stumble out of on your knees
until you fall asleep.
every diet you'd read
in all the magazines and
stick to religiously
for two and a half
weeks.
all of them
       screams.
all the :thumb21365509: thymemy mother and i got high.
it was Easter and if God's house
can be Holy- so can mine.
we burned
sage, thyme, rosemary
fumigating drawers, doorways
the darkest corner of the guestroom
that made the flame play;
"bad energy", we'd say, "we
need
more thyme"
i need more time
before i become the
precarious stack of paper-person
college asks of me.
i already dream
i'm a prostitute because
instead of making love
to the words inside of me
i find i'm
whoring out my poetry.
the next night i'm dreaming
my bathtub is leaking
through the bottom like
a boat sinking. in the morning-
i'm smoking.
okay, i'll admit
i'm jumpy in the springtime
when tulips wake up
before my lids do.
i'm just a kid still
and as much as I want
to crawl through dorm rooms
drunk, lovesick
howling at the moon
like that one singer
who got the last note in
just before the shipwreck.
i need…
i need thyme I think
feeling the easy breath
of this light house;
the only life raft
that's always
been Holy.

I know this feature is MASSIVE! And because of this, it hardly does everyone justice.  But seriously, my watchbox is now at ZERO!
So I had a lot of catching up to do and I feel like my activity won't be waning so much in the near future.    That's cause for celebration.


Notice my recent mirror shot series called Hold Me?
Other fantastic mirror shots:


Look closer in full view ->

And I know this is adding to the massive feature before you, but I had to say thank you in a feature for all the favorites I've continued to receive even in my absence.

Thank you to my friends who's continued to show me love!
Moon BeamMoon Beam
You lighten up the road.
As the night flowers begin to unfold.
Like an incandescent rose.
All the little crease of life,
Begin to show.
The rought edges, they glow.
This helps me stay on the road.
Moon Beam...
You cradle the night,
For so many creatures.
The road that I travel on,
The one I have to survive on.
There is need for you.
You must hide, if the clouds come out.
Moon Beam,
Where did you go?
The clouds come and hang so low.
Although you don't see,
I faintly see your glow,
Guiding me on the darken,
Depressing road of life.
Moon Beam,
You glow is a haze that flows.
It's like the blush of a rose.
Your light still glistens on the road,
But it's faint.
Moon Beam...
Please do your best to get out of the clouds.
I did your light to brighten my life,
I can't stay in the dark any longer.:thumb281328966: :thumb280504768:


____________earlier feature, I couldn't delete_______________

I've been less then active for quite some time now.  But today I threw all my cares to the wind and stayed on dA for a few hours to indulge on my love for your art and words.  Results so far?  Here is a feature of the treasures I've found.  And I'm not even close to being done yet, no.

Moonlit EnchantmentsFaeries alight upon the 'shrooms
Gossamer wings glow under the moon
Delicate laughter tickles the ear
Creatures of magic start to draw near
Hush watch the fairytales of old come alive
Who on children's imaginations they've thrived
The moon is full they start to dance
Enchantments lull you into a trance
The sun gives the horizon a gentle kiss
As they disperse, you know you'll miss
The faeries alight upon the 'shrooms
With gossamer wings that glow under the moon A ClicheI wish I could sing you a love song
about roses and stars and the rain
but I couldn't sing like the blackbird in spring
so I think I will simply refrain.
I wish I could tell you a story
about beauty and trust and my heart
but all I could say's what they say every day
So I don't even know where to start.
I wish I could write you a poem
'bout the birds and the bees and my bed
but all I would write's being said every night
So I wrote you a cliche instead. My Story In Colors       Color me red, like the sound of dreams and blood pounding in my ears. Like the color that is beauty, and ugly pain. Color me red, like your heart, the source of not just love, but also misery. Red smells like Christmas, and aftershave.
       Color me orange, like ex- boyfriends and traffic cones. Color me like the vibrating strings on a stolen guitar. The orange of the island, and summer solstices naked riders. Orange is the color of confusion, of gypsies and candlelight.
       Color me yellow, like the driving- with- the- top- down, no seat belt yellow. Paint splatter and swivel chairs. Yellow is the color of math, and Verona and American cheese.
       Color me green, like hard rain sheeting down on a typical Seattle sunrise. The green of bare feet smacking pavement. Color me for hempfest and football games, or the fir tree whose limbs I :thumb307614131: :thumb307744824: :thumb307626061: :thumb288839115: :thumb298472819: :thumb291103793: :thumb303314965: Read and Be MightyThe sign of truly good writing is that it is a vessel of transportation. When you are reading, you are no longer in your bedroom/library/coffeeshop/wherever you happen to be sitting, but you've been sucked into the world of the story. You hear the characters as if they were around you, in you. You feel your heart's tides rise and fall with them as they pull emotions from you, sometimes emotions that you're not even sure you've experienced in real life. You're drawn to them in strange ways, and for a moment, you can forget that you're not the character's friend or lover or enemy or even their mind. That's the magic of a good book.
It doesn't have to be fiction. Perhaps today you've found yourself in a room with Winston Churchill, feeling your heart hammering at the power of his speeches. Perhaps you are sitting, as I tend to do, crying over Beethoven, mourning his hearing loss, or over Michaelangelo for his eyesight. Perhaps your heart has soared with the stories of Mother Teresa's kind :thumb302337232: Moonlit EnchantmentsFaeries alight upon the 'shrooms
Gossamer wings glow under the moon
Delicate laughter tickles the ear
Creatures of magic start to draw near
Hush watch the fairytales of old come alive
Who on children's imaginations they've thrived
The moon is full they start to dance
Enchantments lull you into a trance
The sun gives the horizon a gentle kiss
As they disperse, you know you'll miss
The faeries alight upon the 'shrooms
With gossamer wings that glow under the moon
Take time to read these two and comment on which version you like best for my friend here.  I feel that they could potentially become two completely separate pieces, but they are two versions.  I'm sure she would love the feedback!---> -- Winter 2011We are dwarves
tunneling endlessly through gray streets
and gray skies
from home to school to work and
home again,
no precious stones to find--
no trace of tin, crystals, fossils, or geodes
anywhere--
until today
when a ray of light
peeked through the tracery of an old oak
with branches like leading
around colored glass,
sunbeams tumbling down the steep shaft
to fall in a puddle at my feet
and bloom,
rubies and gold at last. Absent Winter SunWe are dwarves, goblins,
marching through the twilight tunnels
of our own hand-crafted towns,
hunch-backed like old men
staring only at the cracked pavement beneath our feet,
but not seeing.
Our minds whirl and tick
as our industry expands
covering our domain with economic demands
as with an umbrella that keeps
our brains and soil tied down fast
while warding off sun and rain.
But long halls have skylights, vents,
sunburst windows, trees,
whose branches are spokes
for the bright wheel in the sky
that brings dawn to our dusky cheeks.
The vitamins revitalize us like hope
and the chill breeze fills our
imaginations as well as our lungs.
We trade our self-centered nihilism
for the faith of summer days to come
or at least prepare to drop our years
and dance as pagan leprechauns and sprites
when our ice and cloud cocoon melts into dew.
I also found in my absense that a couple friends of mine got DDs!   And so well deserved, too!  Check these out!
-> 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 single flawless line remained
between the cloak of poetry, her and me,
so we spoke the words in unison,
revealing everything and setting her verse free. <-


I'm going to try to be a bit more active again.  So get ready to hear more from me lately.  I don't think I'm in shape to host that contest anytime soon, though.  I just don't know if I can do it.

All my love!