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

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


2013 AND A TIME MACHINE WINNERS


Poetry         1st place                            2nd place                                3rd place

:thumb344434258:         he stole all my thyme awayNEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS
1. new year, new you.
   a. be unrecognisable. when if he passes you in the street, he shouldn't know who you are.
   b. learn to recognize your new self in the mirror.
2. be optimistic.
   a. he might join the army.
   b. he might get cancer.
   c. he might be hit by a tru
3. stop wishing bad things on good people.
4. start wishing good things on bad people.
   a. maybe he'll get a promotion and move far away.
   b. maybe he'll get married and move far away.
   c. maybe he'll
4. stop saying he's a bad person.
5. be good to yourself.
   a. there are better men. find them.
   b. there are better vices distractions ways to spend your time. find them.
   c. start doing things just because you want to.
   d. stop doing things because he would approve.
6. stop being so damn dependent on other's approval. new year, new you.
7. learn to recognize yourself in the mirror.


Prose          1st place                            2nd place                                3rd place

:thumb347782499:     :thumb346921891:     resolutethis year, my resolutions won't be stuffed into my bedside drawer. i'm not going to roll them up like a cigarette, small and deadly, and tuck them into my pocket. i won't let them rot there, and remember them only when they're small, pilly pieces on my favorite sweater when it comes out from the dryer, forgotten by the time i pull each piece off, letter by letter.
because i've never realized until now, but my resolutions are the outline for a book that's always misplaced or miswritten, so coffee stained and battered that by the time the winds of december come to turn its pages, there isn't a single word to touch. because, instead of my novel or a chapter, i write myself an anthology. i title it regrets and feed it to the fire, burn away the past year and my chance at every single thing i could have learned.
but this year, before i sliced open the spine and tore out each and every syllable, i stopped. i read.
and, for once, these aren't regrets, but things i know i need to change




LITERATURE


Poetry

:thumb335989298:     [ ][Happy]
is as fragile a thought as
[Chaos]
is my milk and blood, and nothing but a
[Word]
alone, no flesh or dance, falls through to a
[Void]
of senses and shifts, all I live is
[ ]
is the breath on which I am
[Happy]
never enticed me like
[Chaos]
is the beautiful start, the end to every
[Void]
is the silence that has no
[ ]
is so much more than a
[Word]   deep space.i imagine
that there are galaxies in the folds of his skin
that crinkle around his lips as he gives the crooked smile
and hides the words of celestial spaces within.
with tangles and messy hair that is
composed
of threads of time cut short and paradoxes
of emeraldblue nebulas in place of eyes.
infinity
is too short of a word
to explain what we are in eight letters that strewn
together
have no real meaning but of the void
and of the void above
i imagine a place
where people do not judge on
two pale eyes, dirty hair, or a face
but on the curves of wrists that make up
a person.
a place with rocket ship people
with intercosmic wishes and galaxies
in the folds of their skin.
:thumb294576982:   :thumb314392758:   I'll never tell you -- you already know.I remember in the beginning
there was just you and me
and heartbeats--
small intervals where the air would leap from my chest,
saying you leave me breathless will always be an understatement.
I wanted to kiss you before
I even knew you or knew the real you
but your untied purple chucks
had me even before your hello--
months later I realized that meant to be's aren't always
as silly as they used to be.
I've fallen in love with how
the palms of our hands match
the planes of our souls and
every time I loop my fingers
between yours we fall deeper--
If there was ever a time I should explain myself,
it's be right now, but I think you know--
I mean you should know--
How irreversibly far I've fallen
for you.   :thumb337165607:
:thumb337594834:   :thumb325172088:   i could be nothingsome days you look at me as if i am
worth remembering,
glances studying my face like a road map.
 but mostly, i find your eyes stuck in the static
 of the pavement, or lost
 in the clouds
 gathering before lightning.
and we never promise anything, just share the air like strangers
when we don't know what to say.
(it always ends with a silence more desolate
than broken trust.)
you said this is the calm before the storm
but what if
it never slows down
enough for me to notice
that there are days when we can exist
 without doubting every second. you have a tendency to whisper
 too quietly, leaving room for me to imagine
  that you
         feel.   Kill the GodsForgotten gods cluster together like constellations of post-mortem scars forming,
crystallised ocean remnants,
salt pressed and tattooed on the skin of human history
composing salt crystals and fingerprints and decomposing like dying cells and skeleton leaves.
The tides of us, washed and blurred at the edges,
smoothed like fossilised wood and glass pebbles littering waves of resurrections
reborn and torn asunder
the thunder of their hearts silenced as they
sleep (if gods sleep at all)
in infinity with the fishes on the ocean bed
(the quiet ocean death) of humanity’s collective
consciousness.
I wonder where the ghosts of gods go
where the scales of those sleeping fishes lie on that soft sea bed
without a priest or saint to exorcise the remains
of prayers whispered in those uneasy heads.
In ruined churches or over the mouths of graves
kissed into temple walls that crumble before these dying lords
and ladies.
We kill them in still mornings
when our faith fades under the sunlight, ev
:thumb328195182:   :thumb344651090:   Quake the EarthYou were
drinking
from the rust-rim
galaxy
in quick sips and swallowed stars,
like those remembered
at the bottom of the glass.
I slept
drunk
from the orogeny
of your subduction,
dreaming
of your skin sliding to a fit
against mine
and the tremors we could make.   i ammissing the days when
you used to read my
poetry
and wondering,
shaking in my boots, if
you'd ever figure it out -
how everything i wrote
was consistently about you,
your name scribbled
in on the back
like a photograph
and hints to your secret
identity hidden in the
folds of the pages
how everything was true,
every last word that i
claimed was fiction
the gruesome lines
on which you commented,
worried,
is everything
okay?
i mean, this stuff
is
kind of depressing,
you know?
i am just
missing your
cold hands
and i don't
care how much
i have to burn
to get them back


Prose

promisethey're unspoken promises: need he exhales into my lungs and want that was woven into the tapestry of my psyche before i could speak—rumors of stability when his hands brush through my hair, when his calluses catch on skin softer than he says he's known. that's his favorite thing to say to me; you're soft, and he means i'm ethereal. i am not the warmth beside him in bed so much as the dreams he still has. when he whispers my name in slumber, he clasps around nothing, and that is how he knows me: an unspoken promise.   Whale Songs of the PacificListen, the girls swallowed by whales are the ones that grow up lucky.
Listen, no one will warn you about the little boys with the magpie eyes and the fists swinging splinters of glass. No one will warn you that their smiles are sweeter than their words are sweeter than their souls are sweeter than their intentions. No one will warn you of the sheer weight of the world.
Listen, sometimes girls are fragile. Sometimes girls are frothy. Sometimes girls let boys nuzzle "I love you"s into their necks and sometimes girls drink the wine of believing them.
Listen, sometimes the boys really are sweet, and little girls' tart puckered mouths can't taste the difference.
Listen, writers are the ones that drip fishhooks down their throats to coax out their hearts. Writers are the ones who fling those heart-hooks into the sea even if they have a message but not a bottle. Listen, sometimes fish swallow them. Some of those fish sink to the bottom of the ocean with the weight of the world in those heart     TributeGail was born on the first of August 1942, the elder of two. She grew up in New York City, marrying by age 22 and producing three children of her own.
She'd tried her first cigarette when she was eleven. That shouldn't surprise you; in those days there wasn't a Surgeon General's warning — or for that matter, any other public service messages.
While she enjoyed motherhood well enough, Gail also had a restless spirit; she was happiest when she was working, helping others, or driving her car. Accordingly, just before her 53rd birthday (and with her children grown and flown) she lost forty pounds and fulfilled a lifelong dream: qualifying as first an ambulance driver, then an EMT, for the local fire department.
She threw herself into her responsibilities with newfound purpose, losing even more weight and finally finding the strength to quit smoking. One young woman credited Gail with saving her life when she'd had a seizure at work. And she once made the local papers as one of several

Mature Content

  She Bites Bullets     Her teeth are chipped and broken. She wears lipstick in a shade called "Pow!" a bright red to make up for her smile. In her mind, it works because no one ever asks questions. Between her jealous, button down guard dog and her own reputation the world tends to keep its distance.
     An untouchable beauty with dark hair and wild eyes, she moves like a dancer and a jungle cat and is a casing for a spirit darkened by secrets, sometimes bright and energetic and randomly explosive.
     She was not made for capture or confinement.
     He lives with her in a claustrophobic studio apartment, paid for by a shitty job that covers rent and ramen. Young and ambitious, the stress is eating at his insides and he feels the acidic bile rising, falling, and crashing like predatory waves against a stony shore - the pressure of being a provider.
     Once a Colossus,   The Song of the CrowPrelude - The Forgetting
Out here, far away from our origins, where the stars beat their drums of light across the clear blackness, here in the outer regions of things, where the world pushes into new found spaces, leaving behind unexplained traces of wonder, out here matter vibrates and thickens. Here, the taught web of magic stretches and the miracle of Being becomes thin, so thin it’s almost invisible to us. Almost.
Out here, we forget ourselves.
Inside the noise of the world, we forget that we stood together in different forms at the endless beginning. We lose track of the tiny changes that eons and ages have brought, the minute alterations that infinite orbits have sought. All the endless atoms we are, the molecules that build us and then quickly fall apart, written and posted letters of change. All of this weight, this carbon slated universe, it fogs out our history, mists the memories of our minds.
We have dropped veils across our eyes like confused sai   The Three SongsThe First Song
        The first song is easy; it is the song of magic and love. It is a song for the world and, therefore, it is the sort of thing you hear murmuring through the streets late at night or in the hum of young people dancing. I first heard it long ago; I was travelling deep into the recesses of my mind, and I discovered the image of myself. It was like a mirror, but one that was thousands of years old. Rather than bother him, the image that is, I decided to just watch. And to just see where he might be going.
        The image of myself was walking in the garden.
        He was wandering, clearly unaware of where he was going: lost and lonely. Through the canyons and forests, across the desert. The images flashed by, but I knew he'd been travelling for a long time. While I watched, he met a girl in the forest, and she took his hand and g