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About Literature / Hobbyist PeribyssMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 2 Years
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The Gargoyle

It hangs upon the ancient Gothic church
and glares in angst below at passersby;
a fanged and wingéd stare atop its perch
as ever watchful as the starry sky.
The gutter water courses through its stone,
that rain that stutters down the orphan's cheeks
and seeps into the ground to parents' bones,
that turns a heart to stone and stone to beast.
The passersby declare it ugly still;
it torrents from above the starry sky
from wedding bells through final rites and will,
so how could it look well? They curse it; why?
Without its monstrous wings, inhuman teeth,
then who's to say that monster isn't me?
The Gargoyle
First time in a while I've used a traditional, rigid structure. 
What was it then, before hanging flowers
and soaring towers, but pining lonely men?
Where the dust runs in the burning sun
is the wanting Babylonian.

One tongue of flame in the air,
and the glare of sunny streaks.
When the gardens reach
that flame in the air
and bear forth fruit
from the branches of trees,
the tongue, now forked,
begins to speak.

Two words flourish and flower
through the halls that gird
a young Babel's tower:
birds are nourished
among its strung cables
like a hallowed, rusty bower,
and the tongues disperse
in a dusty shower.

As the spire starts to rise,
through the fire from dust
to the heart of the sky,
a bust is carved
for admiring eyes
and inspires tongues
to ire, truth, and lies
towards the art on high.

To chase the burning sun, and build along
the dusty run, be spoken of and looked upon,
and flourish like a flower, with something to grow on:
behold the tower of Babylon.
Letter to the Babylonians
More poetry. 

I don't really like the connotation of free verse, but I've come to realize it's probably most accurate for what I'm doing.
Gnawing on the scraps
of the shining ballroom table,
down to the roots, rotting food,
the pining mood for a chunk of maple
from a horde of swarming rats.

Bringing with a haze
of filth to hardwood and marble,
all of the soot, could or should,
with or sans guilt the ripe goods a cart full
of swill for the vermins’ graze.

Hanging on a tree
Like an apple or a ripe fig,
they grapple, inevitably crackle
no matter how wise or big;
the eyes around never let be.

Tow’ring tall, an oak,
poplar or long lasting pine;
up farther small wood carvers,
on all the rats chew and gnash and grind
to dust, caught in their fur coats.

Sprawling beneath,
in the dirty rivers running,
all the critters, they skitter
to cities bigger and more cunning
than they, to sharpen their teeth.

Lasting to the last
of the steel towers of Babel,
such power, many had cowered
before they lowered like dying maples
to a horde of swarming rats.
Another poem. 

I put more effort into this one than I did Bird's, and I feel this is clearly the stronger piece. I'd definitely like some criticism about it. I only have so many people I can show my poetry, and I can't get much helpful criticism from any of them. Not everyone's a poet, which is a blessing and a burden. 

So yeah, tell me what you think. 
A caged bird,
looking down on the stage
with a script, but no words
but chirps, caged bird.

A new face,
lovely scent, curving plumes;
what makes your heart race
caged cockatrice?

A white cloud,
missing the passing flight
behind bars around
you, a caged bird:
losing words, never found
or learned, who has left
you tied and bound?

A caged bird,
looking down on the stage
with a script without words
but a caged bird.
Bird's Eye View
Another poem. 

More of my own structure; pretty easily and quickly made, but I'm going to need some more sets of eyes on it if I'm ever going to make changes. I wonder where I could get those. 

I'm also not sure if it (or most of my other poems, for that matter) belong in Traditional Forms; they're not traditional, but they do use conventional tools like rhyme, internal rhyme, some meter, etc. If anyone who ends up seeing this could say so, that'd be great. 
Well. Here I am.

I like to think I'm a writer, one who writes, though whether or not I'm a good one remains to be seen. Honestly, I don't think I really could be anything else, so let's hope this works out.

I've always wanted to find some way to express myself or use my imagination, and pretty early on I figured out that writing was the way that I wanted to go. I haven't made many attempts to put myself out there, so here goes.

This page used to be devoted to a single project, but I've changed my mind. It's just going to be whatever I decide to put up here now.

I probably won't be using this journal because I'd like this page to be visible to all who view my profile. Besides, I'm not the kind to share my life on the internet anyway.

I hope you enjoy my work if you decide to read it, and happy writing/drawing/photographing/underwater basket weaving to the rest of you.


Peribyss's Profile Picture

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States

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Pianocanival Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2013  Professional General Artist
Hey, welcome to dA. Hope you having a great time. If you need some help, or simply want to chat or discuss ideas, send me a note. Gladly I will try my best to help you.

Cheers. :wave:
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