 listen to these poems at the Dangers of Poetry podcast |
*RickDanger
Ricardo TavaresPoetry
That First ClickMy balloon was mine in full Until its tune the wind blew. I was alone that afternoon - Its red into the blue flew.That First Click
I walked like children do. Night drew its cloak of gloom Over the trail of my balloon - A forest told me of its doom.
It whispered low without a tune: "Better to fly and, so soon, die Than here to live in rooted plight - For your balloon you should not cry."
A stranger came, did not ask why My little heart was torned in half. He gave to me his winter coat - And gently took this photograph.
by *RickDanger
HysteriaTrembling, you? Telling me you will be "a humble bow" to my "proud brutish arrow"? You, the Helen of countless Trojans who sacrificed their Cupid wings in your cloud-thirsty fire?Hysteria
Are you afraid for me when you yell "Medusa I may be!" and my flesh can face you without becoming stone? Why would I "slay the frigid snakes" when I can move your hair with the breath of my voice?
How would I not steal you from this divine pedestal where, scared of heights, you tremble? Despite your lyric kicks and tears what is the tragedy of human go
by *RickDanger
Morning RitualUnder my rainy smile Spread on the wood floor Living Tarot polaroids Bloom with hidden loreMorning Ritual
Crumbs of cookie fortune Powder my footprints Puzzle pieces broken down To their smallest hints
Sour milky starry nights Trapped in my bed Wait for Mr. Zodiac And me to be wed
The shower Zen frees my hair From my headstrong Tao Made of faithful typhoon curls Longing for a vow
I dress myself in eggshells Leaves of green tea Freshly eaten oranges And a taste of me
Mocking the daily omen Of migrat
by *RickDanger
WetWater is blind But very accurate: My entire Life inside The heartbeat rain Scores seven Cold tear drops. This musical Number beats On every tile, Fitting my whole Loose change and Steady income In its bowl.Wet
Tonight, the game Of greed will have No one to play it. The fingers that shake My hair can count Every thing I need And say goodbye. I walk the splash Of morning dew Behind the big Ears of city walls. I am a small Cloud-spotting-frog Soaking kisses.
by *RickDanger
Prose
PearlThe room expected her to talk. She could feel it not only in the dull white walls standing behind the silence of the security camera, but also in the intimidating metal table and its two office chairs. There was no question what would happen here - she had already given up making sense of monstrous self - surely they could give it a shot. Best case scenario, the poor bastards would shit themselves and kill her quickly. That would be nice.Pearl
"Feeling broody this morning, Miss Gale?"
"Name's Chaineling."
"Chaineling as in «enchained creature»?"
"Chaineling as in «a creature of cha
by *RickDanger
FeedbackBrigadier Holland liked to scream. It was a manly thing. His medals would raise their heads to the golden sun, his neck would throb and burn red, his tongue would snap like a guillotine and his eyes would hop in and out of sanity. Shouting towards recruits was an unique religious experience and Edward Holland knew all about faith - he had read the bible once. It was essentially a matter of volume.Feedback
That morning, the army base at Drumshire was deserted - even the smell of gunpowder had left the air. Its large open square had no movable shadows, except that of the mountainous brigadier. Undisturbed by the complete silence, the old w
by *RickDanger
CandleTalented writer Eliot Heynes was also a former teacher of Egyptology and a hopeless apprentice of hermetic magic. Most of all, he was an addict: a vicious smoker, platonic lover and well on his way to an heroine overdose.Candle
Inspiration gone, he spent frustrating hours looking at his black cat Lovecraft running across the floor and climbing the furniture. Day after day, Eliot dreamt wide awake until he saw himself inside a deserted room. He knew that next to him was his muse and she was exactly like he had imagined her.
At last, Eliot wrote and, surprisingly, his lazy talent could not stop writing. For weeks, that ether
by *RickDanger
Self-Published: Dangers of Poetry
 Within one year, my little poetry podcast has seen itself printed. I'd like to thank not only all of my watchers, but also all the people at the *Writers-Workshop, =Inked-Page, *Writers-Club and =PoetryPlease. A special thank you goes out to my ~LadyEntropy for the cover artwork. I love you all!  The following 35 poems have been published, most of them taken from my dA gallery:  Meanwhile, the podcast continues with its latest recordings. Check it out at this podbean [link] |
News
- 1 A new year for Dangers of Poetry - Jan 1, 2009
Critiques
by *Amy--Louise
For the record, I will start by stating again how much I love your ability to take simple stuff out of our daily lives and put it on su...
Visitors
Fave News
- 43 The Workshop You Never Did! - May 6, 2009
- 17 GaioumonBatou's Workshop: Limericks! - Apr 21, 2009
- 35 `Amberlouie’s workshop: Netting the Vignette - Apr 6, 2009
- 31 Details Week! - Mar 24, 2009
- 36 fllnthblnk's Workshop: It's All In The Details - Mar 8, 2009
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
#WLC
#Musicdom
#MagicCorner
<3<3<3<3
--
Dangers of Poetry:
--
#WLC
#Musicdom
#MagicCorner
<3<3<3<3
Amber Grace
--
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anais Nin
--
Dangers of Poetry:
--
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anais Nin
--
Dangers of Poetry:
Previous Page12345...Next Page