=Sammur-amat

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The words are the spark.

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Have You?

by =Sammur-amat, 1 day, 2 hours ago
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

Have you ever tasted of a true-to-life tragicomedy so
vacant and bleak, that you are left with a vision as
entangled as your intestines after being bloodied by
your ulcer's streak?

Have you truly ever felt so helpless that all the broken
branches, falling leaves and raindrops make you remember
your invalid limbs and senses, that you pray for the most
wretched tornado to come your way and rip you barbarically
for the world to see?

Have you stood like a drowned cadaver in front of your own
bathroom mirror, cursing the day the universe decided your
conception, and all the hideousness of being that you are
meant to participate in and partake of?

Have you ever numbly stared at at your pale wrists for
hours on end, wondering which direction to try for next
and what word to scar deep inside your mind's eye?

Have you ever bore witness to a beloved's self-destruction as
they regurgitate and meditate while on medication why broken
babes are still breathing and increasing in population, even if
the rule of nature dictates otherwise?

time travel (continued)

by =Sammur-amat, 3 days, 1 hour ago
Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

i. precious moments- featherweight. ii. time heals, remember? iii. burying despair: death. iv. grandfather time, immortal? v. on loving counterclockwise. vi. betrayal- lifetime's scar. vii. sprouting hope: birth. viii. split-second regrets. ix. divorce- a countdown. x. palmistry: singles therapy.

silver-tinged twilight

by =Sammur-amat, 1 week, 1 hour ago
Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

owls nestle, hooting along with the help of lofty, fresh leaves so too, do the summer's evening winds whistle around the empty park bench passing through the pits of my almost bare knees and straight up my spinal canal filling the hollows of each of my busted bones that were once meant for the beauty of nocturnal flight, they say, provides with the views of both artificial and organic bodies of almost endless novas going through the motions of life nevertheless and never, ever the same. oh, but the moon is making love to rose quarts clouds tonight and so, for now, allow me to crunch the fallen, turning leaves under my boots, still resisting all things that relentlessly battle to keep the hairs on my skin standing as i let go of all the dead mice i've been stuffing in my pocket full of the dullest of dreams and approaching the twilight, i will cry.

Newest Deviations

Have You?Have you ever tasted of a true-to-life tragicomedy so
vacant and bleak, that you are left with a vision as
entangled as your intestines after being bloodied by
your ulcer's streak?

Have you truly ever felt so helpless that all the broken
branches, falling leaves and raindrops make you remember
your invalid limbs and senses, that you pray for the most
wretched tornado to come your way and rip you barbarically
for the world to see?

Have you stood like a drowned cadaver in front of your own
bathroom mirror, cursing the day the universe decided your
conception, and all the hideousness of being that you are
meant to participate in and Have You? by =Sammur-amat

3 Comments

time travel (continued)
i.
precious moments-
featherweight.

ii.
time heals, remember?

iii.
burying despair: death.

iv.
grandfather time, immortal?

time travel (continued) by =Sammur-amat

21 Comments

silver-tinged twilight owls

nestle,

hooting

along

with the help of lofty, fresh leaves

so too, do the summer's evening

winds whistle around

the empty park bench passing

through the psilver-tinged twilight by =Sammur-amat

13 Comments

LongingIt is far too lascivious and cruel,
the way the glint in
your unnerving stare commands me to come hither
yet your lips
keep pulsing with isolated, rigid greetings
like you were pushed to a dare of some sort.
But still, I know better
by the sometimes welling that form at
the corners of your eyes
- which you try your best to hide, and
by your ocean-deep sighs that
your longing goes past your matting lashes
and mascara tinted tears.

It is never easy, hiding
everything I desire inside of little words
like "Hello" and "Goodbye" when
all I really want to do is let it out,
set it free, and
chain myself to your everything
with words I shouldn't speaLonging by =Sammur-amat

8 Comments

UntitledThere is a loneliness that can
come to subsistence in man
deeper than the great
submarine sinkhole of Belize;

a crawling phthalo blue sadness
stolen off of a Picasso palette
of familiar numbing pains.

I recall having heard them
as they bid adieu- to me,
another newly extinct species;

some of us are meant for doom
like stellar sea cows, with only
our skeletal frames remaining.

Our squeaks muted all too soon
in the darkness of the shade.

So it goes: life can drag
a few of us blow by blow,
skewing our limbs and broiling
our skins by very heavy venom.Untitled by =Sammur-amat

13 Comments

Growing PainsOur 7th grade classroom is arranged with a teacher's desk front and center along with 16 two-seater student desks arranged 4 by 4- bringing us to a total of 32 students and 33 living human organisms.

Of all these human life forms, why does it have to be him? I can't believe that "he" is my seat mate this year. "He" is Dexter- the boy who's done nothing but bully the living daylights outta me since 4th grade. I've never hurt anyone or done anything to deserve such a punishment from the heavens, geez. I can't think of anyone that would deserve this kind of living hell.

Maybe if I keep to myself he won't notice me...
I'll just keep squished toGrowing Pains by =Sammur-amat

9 Comments

Thank you so much for taking the time to browse through my gallery! Every like and comment is truly appreciated!

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Random Favourites

The Death of VenusIf there lived in the world a man
as rugged and as strong as I,
who could forbear with me yet go against,
who took to the black woods and the silver hills
mostly unafraid--
who savored salt and the lay of fur
with fingertips of dirt and weather,
whose lips rolled words like smoke, like fog-
I would creep into his arms in the prologue of the night,
air sweet with the scent of new-cut hay,
alive with the nightjar's call.The Death of Venus by *riparii

173 Comments

Here's something fun if you have time ^_^Comment and I will:
1    Tell you something I learned about you by looking at your DA page.
2    Tell you a colour you remind me of.
3    Tell you Element I think you belong to.
4    Tell you what comic, manga/anime, or video game character you remind me of.
5    Ask you a question, and you must answer.
6    Tell you something I like about you.
7    Give you a nickname.
8    Tell you the object that is to the left of me.
9    Tell you what food/ flavour/smell you remind me of
10  Tell you to do one in your journal tooHere's something fun if you have time ^_^ by ~ozzla

38 Comments

Come What MayI like grass.

Simple statement, I know. I'm not usually one for keeping things simple, but when I'm here, and you might be, I feel speaking my mind is a little less cluttered.

It's not like anyone hears me, anyway; muttering away to myself under the trees, bathed in the scent of the new daffodils and the low thrum of the bees. You could call it cliché, but a summer for someone who rarely sees sunlight is a commodity as rare as love – almost just as cherished.

A summer with a sprinkle of love, however, is gold. We can eat that peppered steak on the crumbling bench, share a vanilla float in the dusk heat or count the different typeCome What May by =WyvernLetDie

13 Comments

Spring in Magdeburg 3 by ~Dreamnr9

8 Comments

ScaffoldingHe knew she liked the English lounge; it was quiet and she was rarely bothered by any other visitors. Students usually went to the library when they needed a quiet place to work and the professors tended to keep to their offices. The hunch proved him right – he found her staring a hole in the wall from her position on the old couch seating area. She had folded her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them with her chin resting on top. Her eyes flicked over to the doorway when he entered, but promptly moved back to staring at nothing as a barely audible sigh escaped her lips. He gently nudged the door mostly closed and walked oScaffolding by =SilverInkblot

26 Comments

How to Escape a Bad Blind Date by =TwilightPoetess

16 Comments

Amazing displays of talent and artistry! I hope you get to show these works some love!

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Critiques

A Desert Flower

by ~shehrozeameen

First off, wow! If this is your first poem then I really can't wait to see what sort of treasures your gallery holds! There is an ex...

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changeling

by *glossolalias

she lies amidst wildflowers and tall pale grass, unafraid of the rattlers mama warned her about. she hears them dimly, sleeping in thei...

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War Stories

by =doughboycafe

Ohmygod where do I even begin? Jen darling, this piece is just so wonderfully rustic and real and I am just wanting to bow over in prai...

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Dear Despoina

by =Radiant-Intention

(Ignore the stars as this is more of an editing than a critique, really. I'll just copy paste your piece and add/subtract/edit what I t...

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First and foremost, donations will be put to good use as I wish to reward fellow deviants- whether for acts of kindness or victory in competitions or challenges

So please, do help me help others! Thank you so very much for your assistance and generosity, it is truly appreciated!

Again, I also do literature commissions for points

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POST SCRIPT

I am always up for collaborations and will do writing commissions for points, that is

I welcome critique requests. If I ever feel that I am not suitable/comfortable enough to provide you with a decent enough critique on a selected piece, I will be sure to inform you.

I also really appreciate with all my heartstrings each and every single person who takes the time to view, critique, watch, comment and/or fave my work. You guys inspire the heck outta me!

IF YOU GIVE ME A LLAMA, YOU WILL GET A LLAMA IN RETURN

I like pink and blue colored cotton candy

To suggest literature DD's, rememebr to note either ^Beccalicious, ^NicSwaner, or ^neurotype

Humbling DD's and DLD's <3

DD's

Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.

In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of

I wanted to say yes.I wanted to say yes.

I wanted to take your hand in mine and like a couple of idiots, run through the heavy traffic and pouring rain, and keep at it till our feet resign.
We'd find a tree with branches wide enough with leaves broad or plentiful enough to take shelter under, and there, you'd place your head on my lap as I'd sing you my favorite love song. The song I'd always wanted you to sing to me.

If only I hadn't found out the hard way that your feelings for me are but as thin as an onion's skin and that I could never accept and bow down to no matter how suave your courting style may be. If only I was stupider than what I really am- mayb

DLD's

always half-finishedi can tell you how much i loathe anyone or anything that lingers, even when they're beautiful. my anxiety disorder can't handle any of that. yet it's been one year and one month and i'm still stuck in reverse.

nauseated is the prettiest emotion i've felt so far because for once, i can see an actual physical rejection, rather than these invisible strings snapping on the inside, but never showing even a blemish on the outside.

my screams have begun to ferment as they remain bottled up in what i imagine to be gruesome-colored vials within the shelves of my intestines. each vial must be carrying individual, heart-straining yelps, yelling and so

...signaling a beginning.It is much too cold for May.
Morning,
cold iridescence
breaking in.
He hates the cold now, you see.
Although,
He thought he'd always dislike heat
as he had since
six at school.
Fond of hugs and of sun,
being teased as
'sticky Steve'.

I guess
deprivation
is one key to curing
some sorts of incongruities.

It was much too cold that day as well.
Calendar and watch and
lucky compass
all set out.
Wind serenely flouncing,
roads skimpily iced.
Mrs. and son and their Tahoe by
electric barbwire were mutilated-
smokey,
sliver served.
As he sat there
Skewered,
eyes feasting
forcibly,
forcibly
surviving.

He wrappe

17-180 micrometersWhen we say hairline
understood as human hair
and
in the average of our daily lives would indicate
such a minuscule matter
microscopic width
indifferent distance

But when it becomes
the keen remoteness between your heart and mine
and the
almost warmth of your sure touch on my doubtful skin
I'd rather be at the apex
while you at the bottom of the
Himalayan mountains
where the cold and view of horizon
would help
lessen the longing

But I
I digress
and I
remind myself
of the 17-180 micrometer
demarcation bar
hairline fracture-esque in appearance
yet gargantuan in sensation
You are the maxillary 3rd mo

Your Answer: A Ghazal   Will I ever get to touch you again? I'm waiting for an answer
      You pour out your shy love grain by grain while I'm waiting for an answer

   Have your once moist lips begun to crackle? I have become parched patience
      My kisses once made you writhe in pain yet I'm waiting for an answer

   Where our rings were, a mark remains and in shared memories we linger
      Please be true and say you will remain as I'm waiting for an answer

   To what do I compare my love for thee? You sh

Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
Lovelily,
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.

I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
fresh,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.

With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you

Turning Into Ghosts2007

BABYLON- AL HILLAH,

IRAQ.

I have come back. Finally, I am here, standing on the same unwinding road that I was forced to bid goodbye to in what seems to have been eons ago and yet, it feels like I never really left at all. Seventeen years have passed since my nightmares first began to unfold into reality; the summer of 1990 forever haunts me. So full of emotion, my eyes tear up as I am still trying to process my arrival. Truly, I feel as if every time I inhale and my lungs expand, I am instantly pricked with a million needles and, whenever I breathe out and my lungs deflate, it's as if I've lost my soul altogether with the carbon diox

seasons' changesi. last fall

i had my heart torn apart
(by you)
by a boy- one who replaced
his ripped bluish-gray jeans
(that i loved on you)
for brown corduroy pants to keep him safe
from the coming harshness of winter;
even through its irrational number
of hail and rainstorms,
i don't believe i felt
or recalled a thing about that fall
for it was during that fall that not even the howling of the winds
could help shatter my dangling,
crystallizing heart
and our growing, cathartic distance.
i, too, had to adjust as i was forced
to learn
how to make due
without the heat of your arms
over and around my nape
and waist.
i'm

Sravana VarsaI'm broken branches
in forest trenches
keeping you safe throughout war
I'm hidden rain-songs
lyrical diphthong
trembling by the cooling shore

The sky is running
with ghost clouds gunning
at the clueless masked lovebirds
The moist earth swells up
filling leaking cups
with our fruitless crippled words

Candlelight flickers
leave souls to wither
as my bones set in for night
Prevernal daydreams
undone at the seams
tease you and wind you up tight

My hair is guided by the sea's deep sighs
My skin is summoned by the auburn glow
We took a vow to live without goodbyes
My hair is guided by the sea's deep sighs
I hear bells resounding like last

The Saturday Spotlight for July 7th, 2012Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings

Saturday Spotlight for July 7th, 2012
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Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature 33+ MOAR

Journal Entry: Sun May 19, 2013, 11:46 AM

PLEASE

this feature and these wonderful works of art, thank you!

The amount of artistic talent here on dA has always amazed me, and I truly believe it is a privilege to be able to feature such amazing pieces as these. Therefore, without further ado, this Sunday's Specials!

LITERATURE

Poetry

TerminalAssist me with my breathing,
Find the easiest method
And help me make a bond
Out of this reproduction of dependence-
Don't let this revival
Shake the meat from my bones
I need warmth and a discreet cover
For the dark return from the light;
I'll slink back simply to be rekindled
And shuffle the bitter relinquishment
In to the folds of your heart

Between the CreasesFolded in the bathroom
is a note in the shape of a bird.
I’m convinced you’d miss me better
if I up and sailed away;
my body a paper crane.

Hanging from a string
In the bedroom.
Little wings dangling.

Cut me down.

februarywhen i had just turned twelve
it was the summer, a few months
after, there was a daffodil on my
brother's mind. he told me she
was dark skinned, "not too much, though"
like toaster crisp skin on the hottest
day of july, perfectly rye
he showed me a picture of her
she had a golden head, rounded
goose egg beautiful. her smile
was white and her legs were of
the slender wax every girl
craved in their fourth grade
barbie doll
"katie," he told me she was, and he stared at
the computer screen. my brother
was dark, too, cherokee bred
black haired and thick brown
skin, calloused like a man, but
a boy in his cheeks. he was younger
he told me they were going to hang out
he gave me her username for aim
i messaged her
who are you
she wanted to know.
i was waiting for the jaws of junior high to clench me
in four or five weeks. the sun was long and it
was late and i was awake as always, being
an animal of the night. the summer sun stretched
me against the wishes of my father

dark spotshearts are heavier between fingertips,
warmer on icicle tongues,
and the words that spew from the intervals of your incisors
are drops of wax on my sun-burnt skin.
i feel you.
i do.
and you are the bruise on my hip
i keep hitting on the sharp edges of your seethed whispers.
and if your intentions are to keep me
from forgetting the violence of your adoration,
worry not, they're what i fell for in the first place.

CombustionI can smell the smoke from fires
that tease the sky outside,
in suburban gardens
that make up this city;
set around a cathedral
like the centre of a clock face.

From the inhalation
I have ash on my tongue
and on my teeth.
It may whiten the enamel
the way bicarbonate soda does.
My smile reads like a newspaper,
may I replace it daily
as I press the grey into my gums
and try to outwit my reflection.

I have gathered cuttings
from new growths;
the saplings are far too young burn.
They must know the flames.
I hear them scream
from beneath the bark –
it does not burn but blacken.

The blossom is browning
having fallen from the branch
beside

The Fictional Part of ExistenceI paint myself in volumes
And bind back the tendrils
Of meadow sweet
And summer orange.

And every breath
Is the poetry of your addiction
And the fleeting touch
Of illuminated letters.

The fictional part of existence
Is drenched in the sad sound
Of your footprints in the marsh
And the silver full moon.

And every spun thread
By spiders in the morning
Catches the dew
And drapes the faults.

Pages strewn
With the ink of ages
Sit peacefully by the riverbank
Returning to silt.

Star SwallowerShe's
an enigma.
her head, a stadium drowning with applause.
yet its seats are empty like the notebooks
where armies of words should be marching.
instead she dismantles clocks
thinking she can play with time.
behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoning
a twisted labyrinth of rationalizations
hidden from the suns brilliance.

Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent
reading those already dancing in the moonlight.
she is living a literary half-life through them
hiding from the symmetry of the writer.
licking salty rocks of excuses.
saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.
decades of productivity left for moths to chew.
you're throw

this is what's left unsaid.this is what i want to do to you.

push your hair back,

black as the keys you loved

so

so

much-

(this says something

about me but i

don't know-

don't want

to know what)

open up your skull and look into your

cruel

systematic

mind-

(it fascinates me how easily it's broken mine)

i want to break

every

single

precious little finger

at every single joint and

press your useless hands into the ivory keys

(hard)

i want to suffocate you with piano wire

beat you bloody with hate

and slip a

knife

between your ribs

into your unfeeling heart

(does it beat on tempo?)

i'll play a melody with your screams

and compose a symphony

another relationship poemwhen the flowers
started smelling like
cigarette smoke
i knew there was
a problem,

then you started
drinking coffee
without cream
or sugar;

you stopped
dreaming,
you stopped
looking out the
window
and talking about
the places
we were going
to go
one day-

euphoriasummer croons her salts
into your veins

you are her river
and she is your goddess:

(if but a moment
there is song)

the sky reddens
and the parched earth
asks god of rain

(if but a moment
there is prayer)

your bones resound
with the crack
of tsunamis:

your marrow leaks
of water

(if but a moment
there is screaming)

a man asks of you a favor
with years hanging
in his eyes

and a clock bound
to his chest, ringing
of your name in rustic
euphony

syllables,
a ghost of breath
floating up
as neck is seized
and motion halted

(if but a moment
there is silence)

Late for the TrainO' where've you gone
My little one
My sixties child of gold
Roses in your sallow hands
Daisies in your toes

the images still vivid–
even now
she; gaily flowing print skirt and coy smile
slipping a stem into the barrel of
the guardsman’s weapon
cultural icons plying chords
to give peace a chance

O' where've you gone,
My flower child
My sixties child of gold
Your roses lay all withered now
Our daisies wilt and mould

Boulevard of Lost HopeA five dollar bill
Four dimes and a bottle of whiskey
In a crumpled up
Paper sack

Wife beater
Carpenter style Dickies
Ball cap
Turned back

On a road side bench
Watching cars on the fast track
Doing eighty five

As if anywhere
Is better than here
They may very well
Be right

The boulevard of lost hope
Paved in broken glass
And ill repute

I grew up
Not far from here

I came to celebrate
Life changers
And wake up calls

Sold my dreams
For freedom

Now even in the worst of places
The world
Seems brighter
To me

in 12 ways"How do you deal with your heart?"
--M.S.

1.
on bad days i take it out somewhere nice,
i eat for two
while it watches the candles burn.

i do all the drinking. even though it's wine-colored,
and it knows what the evening costs me, it just watches
the tulip of its glass flicker.

2.
sometimes i wrap it up
in dark crepe for an afternoon and let it fall asleep

with the radio buzzing peaceably
between stations,

or i walk it through the park
with it in the crook of my arms,

wandering between bird-sounds,
sitting near the duck-pond.

or i take it to the theater

where it can smell butter
and watch the backs of people's heads
wh

The Sickness That Gives and TakesBetrayal:
The lick of the whip that rips the skin,
And tears the sinew from bone;
Simple and sick, like nails in the quick,
You're dying,
Left all alone.

In Departure:
Nothing is real; the pain that you feel
Is It fighting to keep hold of you.
But as steel turns to rust, and love turns to lust,
You join the Cold,
The lonely Few.

Vivid Memory:
Burns in your chest and breeds your unrest,
As you smother your pain in false pleasure,
But bodies as holes—empty of souls—
Will never feel
As Warm As Her.

A Legacy:
Runs through your veins, binding like chains,
Life to suffering sickness,
And the ill with no cure,
In the body once pure,
K

Sad is such a small word.Sad
is such
a small word.

Pedants try to
expand it. To
puff
up
their
sadness
with crammed letters; lugubrious,
melancholy.

But sad
is such
a small word.
You
could slip it
in your pocket.
You
could slip me
in your pocket too,
something else
to be
forgotten.

WhollyI would hold you,
paper-leaf bound and sweet
against my soul.
Laced together, like
braided rivers
sharing
water, skin, and space.
And sediment, too
because there is no regret
in living.

1919little black boy beat to death on all-white, all-pure beach.
swimming away from segregation he'd got coursing through his veins,
heard the white boys in his Chicago Public School spit his vernacular
like over-chewed gum: dry and shriveled and useless.

little black boy beat to death on all-white, all-pure beach
didn't mean no harm, just wanted to drown himself gone
from lynching parties in his backyard. barely has a house –
home is momma's arms.

little black boy's got the plight of white flight in his melanin-rich skin.
little black boy beat to death on all-white, all-pure beach. water glistened
off his shoulders like blood off gra

butterflies heartbeati want to love
more desperately
than i write

more angrily
than i scream
more passionately
than sun loves skin
more tiredly
than the moon
loves the stars
more delicately
than a butterflies
heartbeat
more unrelenting
than equator's heat
falling on cracked lips

i want to feel the weight
of another's life -
their memories and dreams
and hopes and habits
pressing into my hips
and not shatter
underneath the weight

forestfire exhalationher verses burn silent, in an existence lost in forestfire's exhales
a wildfire waltzing inexorably over her naked forests drowning in untouchable glass.
she crowns me queen in the city of desertfire,
they burn blackholes over scientific studies; (over the skin that wraps me,)
like an empty gift burning in the smoke that rises,
over star-reaching treetops:
wastefull consummation to the greatest.

[ her porcelain hipbone
is my perfect canvas
to ink all the beauty i know ]

we are the earth's nonbiblical scapegoats,
questionmarks tremble over our complexion—
asymmetry and contours of a shadow-city in the comas we l

The swerveI tore my flesh on the corner of the lake & bled in cubes

and my best friend knew the weight of my green eyes and tried to sell them
and the spring left me heavy in my skin and the air she breathed me
tasted of umami and B12 and water. I drank it all in just like water

and began the aviary process of collecting budding groves and early springs.
you came to me with eyes like empty jars begging for sparks

and the hundred scraps of paper of pretty lies in pretty cursives,
the firefly wings and peonies and ocean salts and river rocks
and you were the first one capable of rustling the dead leaves
at the creek floor, so those went in, too.

Prose

Gourmet Novel RecipeRecipe for Writing a Novel
Serves: 1. If you’re J K Rowling, billions.
Ingredients
- 1 Tin standard cat food
- 1 Laptop/Computer
- 250g cat biscuits
- Paper
- 5 Pens, various colours.
- 1 stuffed cat toy with bell
- 1 pouch slightly fussier cat food
- 1 sachet gourmet cat food
- 1 bottle of wine, red or white
- 1 Wine glass (Large)
- 1 300g Tin of tuna
Cooking time: 2-5 years
Preparation
(Preparation time approximately 10-60 minutes depending on condition of desk and computer speed)
1. Clear space on desk. If you do not have respective space for junk, throw on floor. Place paper and pens in clear space.
2. Turn on computer and allow 10 minutes for slow loading time. Add 2-3 sighs as windows update informs to restart computer. Restart computer and allow a further 10 minutes.
3. Once computer is ready, open up new document.

Cooking

1. Begin with your plot. Open internet to several pages, use pens and paper to mix r

old and time-weathered soul.Emily liked to imagine that she was from a different time.

She’d sit on her bed and smooth out the covers, fold the sheets with crisp lines and perfect, symmetrical shapes. She’d place the chipped tea cup on the bookshelf and push back the linen curtains. But she would never open her eyes. No, you see, because if she did, she would have to see the traffic that buzzed like summer bees below her and the water stain dripping down the side of her window. She’d have to admit that outside, reality was not what she wished, and, frankly, she wasn’t ready to stop pretending.

So, instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her fo

lovedrunkshe looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.

the traffic light is glass. not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year. it's also what my blood has become with these words.

we're in my car but i'm scared. i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse. i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk. so am i. i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar. i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave suc

Love and Other Demons     I dreaded going to hospitals when I was little. Of course, that changed after I made working at one my daily career. Even so – as I walked down the eerily quiet hallways and began contemplating what those patients were thinking and feeling, I felt another pang in my throat. I thought about this often, so much to the point where my heart would overflow. I wanted to help them all as best I could, even if I only had my heart to offer towards the majority of them. I wanted to somehow make a significant difference in all of their lives. However, today, I was an unknown visitor.

     All of us in the close-knit family visited with my

Autumn in RetrospectI became a truant in fourth grade; that may seem young, but no one was keeping an eye on me, my 'teacher' was a rotating face, and I didn't think education was all that important, especially the one I was getting. Multiplication and division hadn't been taught, the recently rebound social studies books ended at President Reagan, and while I could read and even liked to read, I didn't learn anything at school I couldn't learn at the library. The librarians were nicer than the subs, anyway, and the real teacher was on an extended pregnancy leave that she wasn't keen to come off of. I'm not sure, but I think she quit the next year.

Papi went to

a love portrait of the old treesthe pressed flowers in your hands fall on the ground where you swallow fair weather, the same ground where you listen to the graves of strangers tell you what it means to decompose, to let the trees become the flesh of you so flowers may grow and tears may fly from the lashes of children.

they fall, fall from trees to crushed flowers and laugh like earth through the crunch of years, petal after petal, until, wet and thorny and dry, they fall back into the earth in that long stretch, through airs of time, from the branches to the roots.

the graves tell you this. the graves tell you that stones don't tell their stories as sweet as the trees t

John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,

I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about John—John who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.

I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you bel

EnoughI'm holding on to secrets so tightly my hands start to burn.

Winter has come full-force, wind sending the windows quivering against their panes and snow blanketing the Earth in an ivory sheen. We're all bundled up inside, pressed together for warmth to maybe give a bit of it to the not-still-living locked up in a metallic casket no bigger than a shoe box. The mix of flowers –yellow roses, her favorite– and the musty smell of the funeral home permeates everything, makes my nose crinkle up and eyes sting, spilling over with tears.

The sea of nameless, faceless acquaintances part as I walk forward, cold hands on my back and muted, g

TRADITIONAL AND DIGITAL ART

NEWSFLASH:

GUYS! I BELIEVE ITS CONTEST TIME AGAIN!!

Yes, you heard correctly; I shall be holding a new Lit Contest, soon!
I hope I can count on you, my dear friends and watchers, for your fervent support!

Once contest theme is finalized, I shall most surely be open for prize donations.

Although I already have a few ideas with regard to what the theme of the contest should be, I would love to hear from you guys first. Maybe you can offer me a suggestion I would like more or one that would please the majority of the participants (which I hope would be even more than last time).

Again, I would love to hear everybody's suggestions on what the theme of this contest should be, so please, do indulge me. It is always so great if again, more people would participate. You guys, nothing beats reading and rereading your wonderful wonderful entries!

OH AND I JUST DID A COUNT OF MY TOTAL POSTED FEATURES AND GUESS WHAT? CHEERS TO Sammur-amat's Sunday Features REACHING NUMBER 33!

I'll be changing the title format from this feature on to keep track of things.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS TAKEN THE TIME TO BROWSE, COMMENT AND FAVE THE FEATURES AS WELL AS THE FEATURED PIECES;

YOU GUYS ARE ALL PRETTY AWESOME CHOCOLATE AND STRAWBERRY SAUCES ON MY SUNDAES AND I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOU ALL

22 Comments

Mood: Excited
Reading: Your Art
Watching: Your Art
Eating: Nutty Ginger Maple Syrup Cookies
Drinking: Apple-Flavored Iced Green Tea

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Journal History

May 19, 2013 Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature 33+ MOAR
May 12, 2013 Special Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature
May 5, 2013 Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature + MOAR
Mar 23, 2013 Sammur-amat's Special Slice of NaPoWriMo Pie
Mar 17, 2013 Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature + MOAR
Mar 10, 2013 Special Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature
Mar 3, 2013 Special Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature
Feb 24, 2013 Special Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature
Feb 21, 2013 Book Meme ^_^
Feb 10, 2013 Special Sundae Treat- Sammur-amat's Sunday Feature

Guys and Gals: Which do you Prefer? X)

28%

19 deviants said I'm a gal and I prefer wearing jeans and slacks over dresses and skirts

15%

10 deviants said I'm a guy and I prefer seeing gals in dresses and skirts over jeans and slacks

15%

10 deviants said I'm a kitty, hear me purr

12%

8 deviants said I'm a gal and I prefer wearing dresses and skirts over jeans and slacks

5 deviants said I'm a guy and I prefer seeing gals in jeans and slacks over dresses and skirts

5 deviants said I'm a gal and I prefer seeing guys with fully or shadow shaven faces

5 deviants said I'm a gal and I prefer seeing guys with with defined mustaches and/ or beards

4 deviants said Obligatory other

1 deviant said I'm a guy and I prefer being with a fully or shadow shaven face

1 deviant said I'm a guy and I prefer being with a defined mustache and/ or beard

38 comments Previous Polls

deviantID

=Sammur-amat

Dee
Artist | Varied

Female.
Twenty Two.
Virgo.
Its always complicated.
Professional substitute grandmother and
Cookie Monster stunt double.

My greatest inspirations come from starry skies and shimmering seas. Nothing in my opinion is more beautiful to paint/write about than the seemingly endless. I fantasize about being an astronaut or a mermaid or better yet, an astronautical mermaid.

If I were to color myself, I'd do so in rose red and iris blue, then I'd spinkle glitter all over.

I am the pervert in the art store who's always copping a feel of the sample papers.

I believe that human souls:
1. are and will always be the most dumbfounded existences in this world and therefore they also;
2. are and will always be on this never-ending search to find themselves.

My heart's an antique that I can never leave home without as I've always worn it on my sleeve.

Chancing upon butterflies fluttering about on sunny days makes me happy beyond measure. Fireflies on cool nights work splendidly too.

The scent of roses, eucalyptus and cinnamon always reminds me of people, places and objects I hold dear.

Someone once told me that I smelled like a walk in the gardens after a drizzle. It is still one of the best (and original) compliments I have ever received.

My loved ones know me as a seriously ill, art-dependent readaholic. I've been caught smoking paint and ink as if they always were my last joint. I also secretly have bottles and bottles of book wine hidden all over my home.

I have cat-shaped sleepy eyes that some people find fascinating. Who knows? Maybe if I have enough chocolate and fluoxetine I could start singing and pooping rainbows like our beloved nyan cat.

Interests

Webcam

Humbling Reviews <3

Created by the marvelous `mirz-alt for the top 10 sweetest deviants to which I am humbled to be part of. You can check the article out over here:

The Sweetest Deviant: ResultsIn March, I asked the wide DeviantART community to nominate a wonderful deviant or two who have impacted them throughout their years here on site. I was very excited by all of the incredible, positive feedback everyone offered. All of the responses I received were uplifting and encouraging, and I could not be prouder of this community. All of you truly showed me the power of love and positivity.
That Was So Sweet…
The Sweetest Deviant project produced a staggering amount of participants and the devious love was shown in full force. Below, you will find a few of the project’s statistics and a compilation of some of my favorite sweet tidbits others shared about our top ten nominees.

I received one hundred and forty-eight notes and two-hundred and thirty nominations! The first seventy of these were sent in the first week of the project!

`Infinite-Heart, :devTheOracle

Thank you so very much to everyone who voted! I am so very blessed to be part of this captivating community!

_{"=Sammur-amat is a writer of inspiring passion and she manages quite skillfully to instill wonder. She has a great sense of flow – her vivid words are strung together so masterfully by the end you are often left speechless. Her writing has a lovely fantastical sense but holds subtly to reality – a combination that allows you to escape into vivid imagery wrapped in real and keenly felt emotions."
-- *0hgravity

"=Sammur-amat is a free verse powerhouse, and an introspective prose writer - a mix between e e cummings, san francisco renaissance and harlem renaissance writers on one side, and "Waltz with Bashir" style of film noir narration on the other, with a tint of time magazine panache added in for good measure."
-- ~shehrozeameen

"Dee's art will heal you. No matter what ails you, no matter that some of her poetry and fiction is harsh and painful in its beauty, her words are a cure. Each piece is so vivid, so imagistic, you will finish in one of two ways: satisfied, sated or with a burning fire to do - something. Her words will infiltrate your spirit, and you will not be able to help reading her poetry aloud. Check out her gallery!!"
-- *travelgirlxx}

Comments

*PrussianPersephone 1 day ago Hobbyist Writer

btw, I've been meaning to mention this, but every time I see your username I keep thinking "Samurott."

...it's a Pokemon.

...this: [link]

_{k I got that out of me I'll just leave now sorry Dee}

=Sammur-amat 1 day ago General Artist

lol, you are just so very adorable, you know that?

*PrussianPersephone 1 day ago Hobbyist Writer

_{I should name mine Dee even though it's a boy.}

~NonsenseQueen 2 days ago Student Writer

i've been kind of reading through your poems over time and slowly favouriting every one, but i've never watched you... weird.

=Sammur-amat 2 days ago General Artist

thank you so much for taking the time to go through my gallery, it really means so much to me!

~NonsenseQueen 1 day ago Student Writer

no problem, haha!

*crossing-ariel 3 days ago

Thank you for the fav!

=Sammur-amat 2 days ago General Artist

always a pleasure, fine lady!

=DrippingWords 3 days ago Student Writer

Thanks so much for the fave!

=Sammur-amat 2 days ago General Artist

you are most welcome, cait darling!

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