Fave the article if you want to self-promote while promoting others (and not having to feel guilty about it). You can suggest your own work or another deviant’s...as long as it has under 300 faves. If you suggest someone else, I will credit you as the suggester, unless you don't want me to. I especially need literature suggestions!
I seem to have made a mistake copy/pasting some of the notifications about being featured here. If your work doesn't say on here that you were suggested to me, then I either found your art of my own accord or you were suggested by an anonymous source. Sorry about that.
Index of features: fav.me/d4ff2ta
Drawings & Illustrations:
Nearsighted SoulsShe is free
Free to dance about her cage
Freely dancing toe
on never ending grass
Freely flowing hair
on vast winds
Because the edges of the cage
Were too far to see
To far too care
So she believed in freedom
With all the wonder of a nearsighted soul
It was the roaring fire
That swelled in her chest
Ringing sweet songs in her ears
Bittersweet songs that never let her listen
Listen to the evermore joyous songs
Of those who've slipped between the bars
The PathI walk the path of word
That winds through the forest
Where the birds live who think they can fly.
There are signposts on the way.
I don't ignore them;
I pick them up and take them with me.
I put them down and step on them
And the birds hop behind me on my makeshift path
Saying, we think we can fly
But we'd rather not risk it.
CritiqueBad three-line poem:
Syllable count is all wrong.
Learn to write Haiku.
Walking LostWalking Lost
Walking lost, in sungold haze,
My thoughts unravel,
Warm, and welcome,
to accompany, me.
Shaking back hair,
Stretching toward cerulan sky
Golden fans below
(First two suggested by Rainyfirebreather; next three suggested by magpie-poet)
(Remember to check the stock artist’s rules before using their stock!!! )
Creative use of my stock:
UnChienAndalou has a gallery that can't really be summed up: it has an unmistakable style that is somehow eclectic, wither overtones of the charming, the creepy, and the oddly whimsical.
eulalievarenne has a photography style that I usually wouldn’t give a second glance at, but with her work, I have to stare. Each photo seems to have a very strong story behind it, but it’s up to the viewer to decide what that story is and when the photographer walked into it.
I. Stopwatch Jack"I don't want to go home," I tell her.
She cocks her head at me like she's looking at some sad pigeon that just fell down on the sidewalk in front of her, only it's not just any pigeon, it's one she knows and goes to lunch with every afternoon. But she doesn't really care, she just wants to know if it has the plague or not, because she's worried it might be catching.
"And why not, Alex?" she asks calmly. "Are you worried about your father?"
"I mean, of course I'm worried about him. But I don't see how that would stop me from going home. He needs me after Mum's passing and all. Why would that stop me?"
"Maybe you think he'll be distant. That it will be different . . ."
"Of course it's going to be different! But that isn't it." I want to tell her she's being stupid, but I'd also like to stop going to counseling, thank you very much, so perhaps it's best I don't say anything at all.
"What are you really worried about?" she inquires, head tilted so far it looks like her ear is tryin
II. Patty-CakeJack is back, but he doesn't say anything, which is no surprise really, and so very Jack of him. I pretend I'm frosting something, even though this cake already has more peach-colored roses on it than I have flower nails. I sure hope the Patels like sugar comas.orphicfiddler has a wonderful gallery, and those literature pieces are wonderful little gems! (suggested by magpie-poet)
He hauls a bag of onion bagels up to the register, and Maggie rings them up, but he stares at me the entire time with those die-for blue eyes, limbal rings black like an inverse corona. God, he's beautiful.
But a prick. Totally. Always was. I remember when I wrote a sonnet for him at fifteen, and he set fire to it on my front lawn and walked away, smearing mud and ash across the sidewalk with his red and black Doc Martens. I wanted to strangle him, but I couldn't, because I knew we'd be back together in a couple of days, laughing while we spray-painted André the Giant onto shop-sides and pretended someone cool like Shepard Fairey would actually visit our God-forsaken little backwater.
He leaves the bakery without saying hi
If you know someone who deserves or needs a feature, you can suggest your own work or another deviant’s...as long as it has under 300 faves. You will be credited as the suggester, unless you suggest your own work or ask not to be credited. And please, I am especially in need of literature deviations!
Index of features: fav.me/d4ff2ta