Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
Group Info Group Founded 8 Years ago Statistics 427 Members
24,251 Pageviews383 Watchers
Last year our group was home to a secret santa for writers. At that time we had 20 amazing participants. This year, however, the secret santa will be hosted on its own group account.

You can find the sign-up journal at this link: writersecretsanta.deviantart.c…

You do NOT have to be a member of the Secret Santa's group in order to participate.

Sign-up ends on November 14th so make sure you get the proper information to me before that date if you would like to participate this year!

~Emily
Mirrorakay
More Journal Entries

Random from Featured

Literature
Punctuating Poetry Part Two
Shifting Gears
The great thing about punctuation is that there is rarely one single, correct, perfect way to punctuate a poem.  Given to a number of different poets, a poem could be punctuated and re-punctuated in as many different ways.  
So let's take a breather from so many rules and look at Leave the Door Open, by KrystalIce:
Crash!
=Thud=
~~Twang~~
*Shatter*
+BOOM+
Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duht
^Pink^
,
^Pink^
,
^Pink^
,
&Clatter&
rollrollroll@
(Ri-i-i-i-i-i---ng)
.STOP.
“…”
“Damn; I should've left the door open.”
At first glance, this could make a grammarian twitch!  It's just a jumble of symbols and shapes and - hey, take a deep breath.  Come back down from Oxford and pay attention.
This poem is an example of using punctuation, not just to punctuate ideas but to illustrate
:iconLaMonaca:LaMonaca
:iconlamonaca:LaMonaca 38 8
Literature
Positive Critique Guide
Welcome to the Emotive-Box's guide to writing Positive Critique. Remember, that these are only guidelines, not necessarily rules and these guidelines do not apply to everyday critique or other groups, just to Emotive-Box.
When giving critique to a piece of poetry, you follow some certain steps. The steps are described below and will be the main body, if not all of your critique.
Step One: Comment on whether you like the poem, or not.
Remember, that liking poems is a personal taste. What one may like, another may not. Don't be afraid to say you don't like it, but remember to state things you think the poet did WELL.
Step Two: Point out something that the poet did well, or several things.
Once pointed out you need to describe why the things he did so well were so effective, or moving, ect... You get the jist. Try to focuse more on this step than the next one.
Step Three: Point out ONE negative thing about the poem.
It's always good to give some negative critique in a poem. Now remember,
:iconemotive-box:emotive-box
:iconemotive-box:emotive-box 9 0
Literature
tips for writing poetry
Definitions
Dramatic poetry
In this particular type of poetry the speaker is a persona. They use the word 'I', however this may not refer to the author, more a character the author has created and who is the voice of the poem. The speaker is a persona, a dramatised voice clearly distinct from the authors. The poem is thus dramatic, and is written for effect; it is a </i>dramatic monologue</i>.
Narrative poetry
The primary voice is not that of a persona (ie. the words 'i' 'me' 'mine' are not used). Rather, this is an impersonal narrator, who present events from the perspective of a third person.
Lyric poetry
The most prevalent genre of poetry is the lyric. This is what most people have in mind when they think of poetry. The term derives from Greek: the lyric was originally a song sung to the accompaniment of a lyre.
Tips for writing poetry
1) Avoid unimaginative personal vents (ie. I hate myself, i want to die, pain is filling my lungs, I
:iconlivingpoetsociety:livingpoetsociety
:iconlivingpoetsociety:livingpoetsociety 40 71
Literature
Story Writing Tips
Tip #1: Write about what you know. If you're writing a love story in which the main female character is dumped by her boyfriend, think about what you have been through in your own personal experience, and think about how she might react. Does your character have a strong personality? Are they normally quite likeable? Do they have a weak personality, and they let people push them around? Or do they have a personality that is mysterious, and unpredictable? Once you have established a main character, only you, the author, can predict how they will react to a certain problem.
Tip #2: When beginning a story, and a chapter, it often helps to start the story/chapter in the middle of an action, because then you immediately grasp the reader's attention.
Tip #3: When writing a summary, you might want to include a very short excerpt from your story. That way, you get the reader intrigued. In a real, published book, the first thing that a person sees is the cover, second the title, and third, the
:iconBeyond-the-Pages:Beyond-the-Pages
:iconbeyond-the-pages:Beyond-the-Pages 153 133
Writing Tips Poster by Falcolf Writing Tips Poster :iconfalcolf:Falcolf 370 101
Literature
How to Create Visual Poetry
        “Concrete poetry, also known as Visual Poetry and shape poetry, is a type of poetry in which the arrangement and overall look of the words is just as important at conveying the effect/message as the words and rhymes in poetry do themselves.” 1
        Created in Brazil by Max Bill and Öyving Fahlström – two Eupoean artists - Concrete poetry and “its early methods were described in the Brazilian group Noigandres' manifesto "Pilot Plan for Concrete Poetry."(2)  It is during this period that Concrete Poetry was intended to be abstract and not allude to any specific piece of poetry or identifiable shape.  When the 1960’s came to the forefront of everyone’s mind, concrete poetry became less abstract and was adopted by poets as a specific form rather than simply a combination of literature and visual art.  A few early pioneers of the vi
:iconMattiello:Mattiello
:iconmattiello:Mattiello 38 32
Literature
Poetry Tips
                             Tips on How to Make Poetry
Hi! I’m here to give you some pointers on how to create poetry. HOWEVER, please don’t expect award winning poetry right when you start off nor should you expect many views/faves on your poems because frankly most people on DA don’t look at written deviations all that much. (Which is okay because faves/views do not determine the quality of your writing.)
                                        TIP 1: Getting Inspired
Much like writing a story, one also needs inspiration when writing a poem. ANYTHING can inspire you, even a rock. (No, I am not j
:iconvenusprincess:venusprincess
:iconvenusprincess:venusprincess 10 21
Literature
The Snowball
The snowball gathers its flakes one by one,
Allegiant forces can be harder undone,
A mesh of sleet is all that shall become.
Parting gravity is our utmost fight,
One which provokes an enduring delight,
A shimmering sparkle against the arctic air,
Can a snowflake ever guest appear?
Dissect its ends with a Spartan’s spear?
Or does it become the one that tried,
Crucified and simply tossed aside.
I can see the future now,
Snowball I have made my decision you cow.
:icongodalavita:godalavita
:icongodalavita:godalavita 1 2
Literature
Will Of The Free
I don’t need them to believe in me,
I know I might seem weak but look can deceive.
I guess their rather let me think I am down,
Make me imagine that what I see isn’t real.
And there is nothing in the world I can do or say,
To be the way I am.
Although sometimes their poison bites,
I know that analyzing souls are not their job,
Like they could ever understand more than their ego needs,
They rather lock us all in where we can never see,
Changes that we could make, rules that need to break.
:iconMyArtself:MyArtself
:iconmyartself:MyArtself 7 34
Literature
Lifecycle of a Drone
10 years
on a green street
paved with virgin
concrete. Sheaves
of golden headed
mothers sway in the
wind to the lyrical
drone of a sony walkman.
Chirping too!  Jingling toots
of a film about
dogs.  But there’s
something else there
as well…There’s
a frat-divorce
glint and a
a soft pink
scratch.  There’s
a sense of shifting
like a mangled tape:
Dr. Jekyll…Mr. Hyde…Dr. Jekyll…Mr. Hyde
But there’s more Dr. Jekyll;
the concrete’s still a virgin
10 years
under a bully bridge surrounded
by ash and crystallized semen,
listening to CDs formatted to
fit the brain.  Sly grinners
move in circles like wolves.
Wolves kill rabbits,
Help out other, weaker wolves.
Reasonable, yet so unreasonable
tones of voice, flutter like
fireflies at 11:00.  Clay begins
to settle in dysfunctional
phantasmagoric
shapes
red
raw
but scabby
10 years
melting in a hedonistic
aurora (watercycle etc.)
flashing cameras squirting
fr
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus 7 31
Mature content
Step In :iconartisticatedivy:artisticatedivy 5 20
Literature
Emily Dickinson,Serial Killer
Because you could not stop for Death
I made sure he stopped for thee
The carnage held within ourselves
the immorality
I slowly drove the knife, grim taste
my victim put away
my killer's labor a pleasure too
stole his virility
I passed the fool whose children preyed
on him, wrestling for his ring
I slashed them, red haze of pain
I slashed, watched red blood run
I paused before a man who screamed
a wailing most profound
though it was scarcely audible
'neath his burial mound
Since put in penitentiary, I beseech
for mercy, as draws close the day
I realize I shall lose my head
with the executioner's glee
edit 1/23/10
copywrite 2009
-dave skowronek
:iconbd5000:bd5000
:iconbd5000:bd5000 9 28
Literature
Just Not Today
So much turmoil
and so much pain;
this love is like
walking in the rain.
I dreamt that you
finally looked my way.
You will love me-
just not today.
:iconZiraVinova:ZiraVinova
:iconziravinova:ZiraVinova 2 8
Random works from our poets... be sure to give them a read!

Random from Featured

Literature
tips for writing poetry
Definitions
Dramatic poetry
In this particular type of poetry the speaker is a persona. They use the word 'I', however this may not refer to the author, more a character the author has created and who is the voice of the poem. The speaker is a persona, a dramatised voice clearly distinct from the authors. The poem is thus dramatic, and is written for effect; it is a </i>dramatic monologue</i>.
Narrative poetry
The primary voice is not that of a persona (ie. the words 'i' 'me' 'mine' are not used). Rather, this is an impersonal narrator, who present events from the perspective of a third person.
Lyric poetry
The most prevalent genre of poetry is the lyric. This is what most people have in mind when they think of poetry. The term derives from Greek: the lyric was originally a song sung to the accompaniment of a lyre.
Tips for writing poetry
1) Avoid unimaginative personal vents (ie. I hate myself, i want to die, pain is filling my lungs, I
:iconlivingpoetsociety:livingpoetsociety
:iconlivingpoetsociety:livingpoetsociety 40 71
Literature
Story Writing Tips
Tip #1: Write about what you know. If you're writing a love story in which the main female character is dumped by her boyfriend, think about what you have been through in your own personal experience, and think about how she might react. Does your character have a strong personality? Are they normally quite likeable? Do they have a weak personality, and they let people push them around? Or do they have a personality that is mysterious, and unpredictable? Once you have established a main character, only you, the author, can predict how they will react to a certain problem.
Tip #2: When beginning a story, and a chapter, it often helps to start the story/chapter in the middle of an action, because then you immediately grasp the reader's attention.
Tip #3: When writing a summary, you might want to include a very short excerpt from your story. That way, you get the reader intrigued. In a real, published book, the first thing that a person sees is the cover, second the title, and third, the
:iconBeyond-the-Pages:Beyond-the-Pages
:iconbeyond-the-pages:Beyond-the-Pages 153 133
Writing Tips Poster by Falcolf Writing Tips Poster :iconfalcolf:Falcolf 370 101
Literature
How to Create Visual Poetry
        “Concrete poetry, also known as Visual Poetry and shape poetry, is a type of poetry in which the arrangement and overall look of the words is just as important at conveying the effect/message as the words and rhymes in poetry do themselves.” 1
        Created in Brazil by Max Bill and Öyving Fahlström – two Eupoean artists - Concrete poetry and “its early methods were described in the Brazilian group Noigandres' manifesto "Pilot Plan for Concrete Poetry."(2)  It is during this period that Concrete Poetry was intended to be abstract and not allude to any specific piece of poetry or identifiable shape.  When the 1960’s came to the forefront of everyone’s mind, concrete poetry became less abstract and was adopted by poets as a specific form rather than simply a combination of literature and visual art.  A few early pioneers of the vi
:iconMattiello:Mattiello
:iconmattiello:Mattiello 38 32
Literature
Poetry Tips
                             Tips on How to Make Poetry
Hi! I’m here to give you some pointers on how to create poetry. HOWEVER, please don’t expect award winning poetry right when you start off nor should you expect many views/faves on your poems because frankly most people on DA don’t look at written deviations all that much. (Which is okay because faves/views do not determine the quality of your writing.)
                                        TIP 1: Getting Inspired
Much like writing a story, one also needs inspiration when writing a poem. ANYTHING can inspire you, even a rock. (No, I am not j
:iconvenusprincess:venusprincess
:iconvenusprincess:venusprincess 10 21
Literature
The Snowball
The snowball gathers its flakes one by one,
Allegiant forces can be harder undone,
A mesh of sleet is all that shall become.
Parting gravity is our utmost fight,
One which provokes an enduring delight,
A shimmering sparkle against the arctic air,
Can a snowflake ever guest appear?
Dissect its ends with a Spartan’s spear?
Or does it become the one that tried,
Crucified and simply tossed aside.
I can see the future now,
Snowball I have made my decision you cow.
:icongodalavita:godalavita
:icongodalavita:godalavita 1 2
Literature
Will Of The Free
I don’t need them to believe in me,
I know I might seem weak but look can deceive.
I guess their rather let me think I am down,
Make me imagine that what I see isn’t real.
And there is nothing in the world I can do or say,
To be the way I am.
Although sometimes their poison bites,
I know that analyzing souls are not their job,
Like they could ever understand more than their ego needs,
They rather lock us all in where we can never see,
Changes that we could make, rules that need to break.
:iconMyArtself:MyArtself
:iconmyartself:MyArtself 7 34
Literature
Lifecycle of a Drone
10 years
on a green street
paved with virgin
concrete. Sheaves
of golden headed
mothers sway in the
wind to the lyrical
drone of a sony walkman.
Chirping too!  Jingling toots
of a film about
dogs.  But there’s
something else there
as well…There’s
a frat-divorce
glint and a
a soft pink
scratch.  There’s
a sense of shifting
like a mangled tape:
Dr. Jekyll…Mr. Hyde…Dr. Jekyll…Mr. Hyde
But there’s more Dr. Jekyll;
the concrete’s still a virgin
10 years
under a bully bridge surrounded
by ash and crystallized semen,
listening to CDs formatted to
fit the brain.  Sly grinners
move in circles like wolves.
Wolves kill rabbits,
Help out other, weaker wolves.
Reasonable, yet so unreasonable
tones of voice, flutter like
fireflies at 11:00.  Clay begins
to settle in dysfunctional
phantasmagoric
shapes
red
raw
but scabby
10 years
melting in a hedonistic
aurora (watercycle etc.)
flashing cameras squirting
fr
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus 7 31
Mature content
Step In :iconartisticatedivy:artisticatedivy 5 20
Literature
Emily Dickinson,Serial Killer
Because you could not stop for Death
I made sure he stopped for thee
The carnage held within ourselves
the immorality
I slowly drove the knife, grim taste
my victim put away
my killer's labor a pleasure too
stole his virility
I passed the fool whose children preyed
on him, wrestling for his ring
I slashed them, red haze of pain
I slashed, watched red blood run
I paused before a man who screamed
a wailing most profound
though it was scarcely audible
'neath his burial mound
Since put in penitentiary, I beseech
for mercy, as draws close the day
I realize I shall lose my head
with the executioner's glee
edit 1/23/10
copywrite 2009
-dave skowronek
:iconbd5000:bd5000
:iconbd5000:bd5000 9 28
Literature
Just Not Today
So much turmoil
and so much pain;
this love is like
walking in the rain.
I dreamt that you
finally looked my way.
You will love me-
just not today.
:iconZiraVinova:ZiraVinova
:iconziravinova:ZiraVinova 2 8
Literature
Strawberry Starlight
The sun rises on a field of green; The air warm but not hot, and cool but not cold.
Smiles and kisses float by on winds of hope.
Doors fly open as lovers and innocent hearts charge the sunbathed expanse.
Hand in hand, they run through the grass, as musicians play ballads and preludes.
A summer shower drenches the flock of happiness in lukewarm water;
They look towards the sky and drink deep from the season’s nectar.
The rain stops and the sun shines through again, and everyone heads to the beach.
White sands and crystal waters run between the toes of all, alone or betrothed.
The sun begins to waltz towards the west; Rears are planted firm and eyes look on as Light kisses the horizon good night.
Giddy laughter and contented sighs sound through the valley lit by the fireflies; A perfect outro to complete this summer symphony.
Yea, though it felt like just a day, summer has now come to an end.
And so, the lovers and innocent hearts once again trek through the field of green as the mo
:iconInKPapeR-AndSoul:InKPapeR-AndSoul
:iconinkpaper-andsoul:InKPapeR-AndSoul 11 17
Literature
no way to fly
Falling fast and hard to see,
Eyes are wide shut.
It’s hard to breath,
I need you here.
Here with me,
But the time is not right.
It cannot yet be.
Spreading my arms,
I slow my decent.
Ground fast and coming,
My life now feels spent.
Did I live?
Did I achieve?
Or was it just wasted on some broken dream?
Nothing is said,
Nothing is done.
A love that’s worth having,
But your song is not sung.
Unsure of my place,
Or what next to try.
A life of regret,
Is no way to fly.
:iconEhVed-Eloah:EhVed-Eloah
:iconehved-eloah:EhVed-Eloah 3 12
Random stories and snippets from our prose-ets (no, that's not a real word). Check them out!

Random from Featured

Literature
no way to fly
Falling fast and hard to see,
Eyes are wide shut.
It’s hard to breath,
I need you here.
Here with me,
But the time is not right.
It cannot yet be.
Spreading my arms,
I slow my decent.
Ground fast and coming,
My life now feels spent.
Did I live?
Did I achieve?
Or was it just wasted on some broken dream?
Nothing is said,
Nothing is done.
A love that’s worth having,
But your song is not sung.
Unsure of my place,
Or what next to try.
A life of regret,
Is no way to fly.
:iconEhVed-Eloah:EhVed-Eloah
:iconehved-eloah:EhVed-Eloah 3 12
Literature
Like the Morning's Mist
When you looked at me with tears in your eyes,
a deep, haunting feeling engulfed my existance.
Even in this dream you're leaving me;
will we ever meet again, my beloved?
The sorrow of this dream of a memory is so deep
and the reality of it awakens me with tears;
this life without you can never be justified
just as the pain of this lonely life can never be soothed,
yet when I long to join you,...
Your eyes closed as I touch your face,
and for a moment, my heart forgets to beat.
Am I damned to forever relive this torment?
Your lips quirk a pained smile as I kissed them;
it is the goodbye we were never able to speak
and, somehow, we seemed to be aware of this.
I watched your eyes shed tears of sorrow,*
and while this dream lasts, I want to comfort you.
Let me promise a tomorrow of painlessness,
together and inseperable to the end;
you, who were always the most important to my life,
can I ever console the fears in your heart?
"I am no longer by your side..."
Clinging tightly to the desire
:iconZiraVinova:ZiraVinova
:iconziravinova:ZiraVinova 1 2
Literature
Anesidora
Wisps of inhumanity carve out spiteful words into my earthen insides; carefully clawing to the top of my neck. My seal is mangled and unkempt but it withholds the travesties that lie within and, for that, I am grateful. Her inquisitive eyes pry at my seams then pluck at them like petals; for now she is content to guess. To wonder, to crave of what lies inside--an ill-fated gift placed into cruel and longing palms.
I struggle to cry out to her, as trembling and naïve hands manage to place fragile fingertips upon my surface, “No, Pandora! Don't!”
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 40 108
Literature
'Mares of the Night'
"Mares of the Night"
Underneath closed eyelids, not located too far,
resides a realm of imagination from unique to bizarre.
The sound of a snore, a very irritating quirk,
signifies the dreaming process at work.
Parallel reveries with phantasms amuck,
controlled by realizing what exists using luck.
Using your thoughts, recognizing reality;
the way of escape from your creative mentality.
A vision of the future, fueled by your hopes and goals;
bringing out everything from the depth of our souls.
Terrible anomalies can envelop the space,
clouding your judgement; slowing your pace.
Paralyzing fear in a world that's unreal;
awaking with happiness and breaking terror's seal.
Dreams can guide us to a world in the light.
Beware of the darkness; the "Mares of the Night".
:iconSho-Ku-Ten:Sho-Ku-Ten
:iconsho-ku-ten:Sho-Ku-Ten 10 41
Literature
Brainwash
The way your twisted lips were sewed shut
so that you could throw up no more lies
made me want to save you from yourself.
I brainwashed you with images of death and hunger
followed by stars and rainbows full of glue
to stick to your paper heart. As the sun came and
went I could see the shadows in your eyes changing
drawings and when the sketch of my own reflection
appeared in your eyes I removed your stitches and
brought
                     you
                                    back
                                     
:iconbellatrix-dsn:bellatrix-dsn
:iconbellatrix-dsn:bellatrix-dsn 11 45
Literature
What I've Become
The pressure of the world
Is pounding behind my eyes.
All the tears I held back
Burst through.
Listen to the falling rain of my life.
This cloud thunders,
Waking me up
From my dreamer's sleep.
Around me there are whispers,
Rumors of nothing
I can't seem to get rid of.
They follow me.
Hear my heartbeat in my chest,
Pounding frantically,
Trying to escape its cage.
Don't leave me here alone.
I tried to fade away
Everything that made me sad,
But life kept opening my eyes again,
Trying to show me what's begun.
I'm in the shadow of the sun,
Not trying to evade
The blinding rays
From which I used to run.
Jaded,
I'm running into walls.
The brick hurts worst
When it crumbles in your hand.
This notion that's been proposed
Has yet to be
What it once was.
I accept what's only gray.
My friends surround me,
Only frowns,
To see where this has gone.
Comfort isn't meant to feel so bad.
I hate to say it,
But it must be done.
I look in the mirror
To see what I've become.
:iconjesusroxgirl:jesusroxgirl
:iconjesusroxgirl:jesusroxgirl 8 63
Literature
The Forgotten - Prologue
Prologue – Knowledge
For an uncountable amount of time, hidden away in one of the most isolated corners of space, lived the being. A gargantuan creation, several times larger than any sun, living in complete isolation in its own corner of the galaxy, neither heard nor seen of. For several millennia, the great eldritch being lived entirely by itself, completely oblivious to the rest of the universe. It had never considered the thought of the existence of anything other than itself, and it would have likely remained that way until its complete disappearance with the rest of the universe.
Until chance decided otherwise.
Slowly, lazily, a single electromagnetic spark somehow found its way towards the monstrous creation, fading away merely instants of entering contact with the entity. The abomination, however, was suddenly confronted with a terrifying truth: it was not alone in the universe.
Confused, angry and desperate, the being began to stir after millennia of slumber. One n
:iconTallen-Forandi:Tallen-Forandi
:icontallen-forandi:Tallen-Forandi 5 23
Literature
aftermath
The rosy fingers of dawn push there way through the darkest time of night. The wind battles with the still of new morning, before the birds wake and the day begins. Before the awkward awakenings of those not familiar with the beauty there is to behold. Not when the birds of paradise are singing in the treetops. There is a time before every blistering summers day and after the soft chilly aftermath we call the night, that makes the birds weep, for they know no one may hear there song. The green around me bustles in to my view, as it be moving, but it is I who moves. Not swiftly, nor hustled, but calm in a sense that only I in my mind may understand. The life around me is dangerous and untamed, but I am not afraid. The life is thrumming, pounding away at the boundaries of earth and sky. I listen to thy weeping birds who bear their souls, I bask in the summer glow.
But I am lost in the sea of something bigger then what I can comprehend.
Someone tell me where I am.
:iconmoconator:moconator
:iconmoconator:moconator 2 3
Literature
The Benefits of Love and ...
will you teach me how to divide by horses?
and multiply by elephants
subtracting heffalumps and woozles?
do you know these things,
             these mathematical "terms"
    
                  mean nothing to me,
    except that they are something you enjoy?
i will teach you how to write your way out of situations
and hold sunsets in your hands
i will show you how to let that smile reach your eyes
and how to get your fingers in the paint
         and feel the colours.
do you know these things,
              these artisan "hobbies"
                 are what make me
    
:iconcitysilence:citysilence
:iconcitysilence:citysilence 13 39
Literature
Wanderer
“Days like this really are the best, don't you think, mister?”
Puzzled, the wanderer looked up. He had not noticed someone coming up on him until that someone spoke. In fact, that person must have had a strange taste in weather since it was raining for quite a while now and the water was standing in deep muddy pools along the way. The traveler pushed the hood of his cloak back a little to have a better sight on the one that talked to him. Next to him walked a young girl wearing a bright yellow coat, but she had not pulled her hood over her head, so the drizzle formed little droplets in her dark brown curls.
“Hello there. Well, I would prefer staying a bit drier, but it can't be helped, I still have a long way to go” said the man.
The girl gave him a little grin and started to run about the street joyfully splashing water in all directions while he adjusted the rucksack on his shoulders a little. After a short time, she started to walk besides him again. He looked at
:iconWhitethunder990:Whitethunder990
:iconwhitethunder990:Whitethunder990 3 23
Literature
- Again -
Time has come to a halt
Once again
Within our every fault
Is a place forever sought
But leaded by the blind, we are
Yet we cannot move too far
Crippled by the same mistakes
Time is ticking away,
Once again
Power to the poor is a simple task
When we all hide behind our divine masks
May the prophet show the way
So tear out my eyes, and I’ll surely prove
That I can still see your every move
May the moonlight come in the day
[chorus]
All we can find today
Are the scriptures upon which we pray
Though we cannot find what we truly believe in
It’s no secret that we’re scared
By the things we simply cannot bare
And when our family can never be there
We find our own light, our own day, again
There’s a messiah in every one of us
A messiah in every one of us
Yet the issues we never discuss
Are leading us down the road to “salvation”
Holy war is the only chance
To keep our people in the trance
And in the darkest romance
We shall find our own path to redemption
[chorus]
:iconNecro-Fusion:Necro-Fusion
:iconnecro-fusion:Necro-Fusion 3 23
Literature
Paralyzed
Each inhale and exhale sounded off. A note carried within the life-long rhythm that did not belong, like an off key on a piano. Play the songs around that note but never lay finger on it for fear of breaking something that had once been so beautiful. Carry the tune and allow it to wrap itself around the mind so fully; never let the conscious mind stray from that sour note. However, his reality had smashed into that key at full force. Sour notes filled his body; rapid, shallow breathing, shaking, and his body became a prison cell. Nothing moved.
His amber eyes had even settled down in their sockets like they were ready to watch a horror film. Curl up in the bottom of the seat and keep staring forward no matter what happens. The darkness around the edges begins to curl around as if dancing to that off-key tune that his heart was forming. Watch as the monsters crawl out of nowhere and move forward. Feel that paralyzing dread. Running is not possible. And most of all, let the very tips of
:iconMirrorakay:Mirrorakay
:iconmirrorakay:Mirrorakay 16 56
Literature
Seas Left Unswum
What closet poets are we,
who in moments more sober of thought show a stony face,
but lying alone at night hearing the rain's mourning fancy ourselves martyrs for love,
and epic heroes of romance.
"My lady!
Leander am I, and would take the strait in stroke to be with you!
Orpheus am I, and would venture into Hades to bring you back!"
But count us amateur Leanders as unlikely to swim the sea as the sea is to dry for us.
And perhaps this is best-
for Leander drowned,
and Orpheus lost Eurydice again in the end,
and how much worse should the fate of us imposters be?
Instead let me be the realist romantic,
one who can admit that the stars are simply spheres of flaming helium
(and think them no less enchanting at that!)
For Romeo am I not,
and have no dream of making my marriage bed in the crypt.
Here in the land of the living I will carry dreams to make the lovers of old quake.
:iconFormlessforce:Formlessforce
:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 19 35
These are helpful resources we've hunted down for our members. Resources for you as a writer. Just be sure to USE them :D

Favourites

Literature
I dance in clown shoes.
You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the stairs preceding my statement,
trying to catch up before the page break.
Now I capitalize a W, and follow with an a, i, t.
And you pause, spin, speak, gesture, spin, continue.
A waltz to counter my four-four.
You don't dance your words-
you speak a dance.
You speak a dance Baryshnikov couldn't follow.
You rapidly reverse the rhythm,
changing tempo in a blur of sound
:iconzephyrkinetic:zephyrkinetic
:iconzephyrkinetic:zephyrkinetic 318 314
Literature
clever
They say a mind is
a terrible thing to waste,
but I can’t think
of anything more delightful
then to float away
on a cool breeze of gibberish-
leave the mongoloids
and the suits with their cruel whips
and second hand mockery
one day I’ll hold the whip
and redefine clever
:iconpoet77:poet77
:iconpoet77:poet77 12 7
Literature
pistol priest
i want a dance that destroys the dancer
as if he is wrapped in barbed wire and as he spins
he is gently shredded, unraveled like a piece of
yarn or a piece of clothe or a young smile
stopped at the corners of a mouth
as a bud. cut as he dances
i want air like a razor, a song like a knife
an imagination that limits heaven to a smile
imagine that as i dance my legs unravel
around you. around this silence
and religion people, like so many
beings i know. i want this dance.
i want it in me like a mountain
down by the roadway railway
in my churches vestibule
i place my hands on your head
and you fall down a foot
and your hair is smooth as silver
the shaft of a gun.
imagine that this flower peels me
each time i see you are older
and i am more and more gone
each time i see you my mouth is heavy
with my dissipation and the dance in me
is a spiral, the hand on me pushes me in
a circle rasping, be healed! be healed
but you are but a broken creature
telling me about healing?
i feel your pistol wel
:iconbrokenheartsbleeding:brokenheartsbleeding
:iconbrokenheartsbleeding:brokenheartsbleeding 29 39
Literature
Slay The Sun
One by one
When all's said and done
I laugh into fear
And slay the setting sun
:iconsilverchaucer:silverchaucer
:iconsilverchaucer:silverchaucer 13 32
Literature
Just Dance
Here's to a moment of nostalgia. I'm skimming through pages of ballet terminology and admiring the pictures associated with the movements. I find myself drawn to the faces of each ballerina. Some seem to be in no pain, as though the movement they are captured creating is second nature. Others don't hide the pain quite so well, and my heart reaches out to them. I long to tell them that it's okay not to be prefect, and that all that matters is the beauty of the art they create and the story they portray. But they know better. I know better.
My brain is suddenly racked with invading memories I've kept stashed away and hidden for so long. As painful as they are, I succumb to the invasion. I've returned to that day in the hospital. I still vividly remember my conversation with a ballerina from the San Francisco Ballet. She spoke of her once-successful ballet career, and as I listened with much intensity I could not grasp why she didn't miss it. She didn't miss dance. She stated without hesi
:iconskyeconnelly:skyeconnelly
:iconskyeconnelly:skyeconnelly 54 159
Literature
Dark Knight
Dark night grasping at my soul
Drowning in despair, suffocation on dead air
Clouded visions of a faceless pursuer, falling into shallow graves
Fear penetrating to my very core, ripping out my life, leaving a shell of the living, the breathing
Breaking the spirit
Pushing me further into a dark unknown
Whispers fill my empty head, taunting, haunting......inviting
I peer up, stare into the depths of the faceless, realizing the evil emanating from this dark abyss
The smell of decay flooding all senses
He leans down, enveloping my corpse-like body
A face appears, blood red eyes, chill inducing sneer, translucent skin
Man like features for an animal like creature
His claws, sharp like daggers, skim the side of my throat
His breath quickens
My eyes widen
Thumping of a heart, my heart
Pain no longer available
A crimson cloak covers me, yet brings no warmth
Thoughts and images fleeting as the pumping through my veins struggle
Numbness takes over, forcing me to let go, allowing him to feast
I am
:iconamby0511:amby0511
:iconamby0511:amby0511 2 3
Literature
Society
I'm living in a world I cannot stand the sight
Your materialist voices are all I hear at night.
Sycophantic lies are all you represent
The truth you despise, my life you lament.
I'm living in a world I cannot stand the sight
What is right is wrong and wrong is right.
You are all possessive nonetheless
A superficial mentality I strongly detest.
I'm living in a world I cannot stand the sight
Your dishonest facades show no contrite.
But I live in harmony in an idealistic way
Philosophically driven I feel no dismay.
I'm living in a world I cannot stand the sight
The scarcity of moral fiber is an unholy fright.
I think I need to search for a better place
Because when you think more than you have
You need more space.
:iconBebopboy:Bebopboy
:iconbebopboy:Bebopboy 43 13
Literature
Because it's fun
Lucia fears for her life, the man had started to attack other people without any reason, simply pulled out a gun and pull out a knife and began attacking people indiscriminately.
Everything had happened in a normal way that night, the night shift was running  and she with several of her colleagues were preparing to leave the building. When they were leaving a strange man entered through the front door, they all thought it was strange but did not look menacing or dangerous, wearing a stripped shirt and expensive pants. Carlos, one of her companions approach the stranger to ask him go out, when the first shot is heard, Carlos struck the ground, after that everything became a mess full of confusion.
Lucia had escaped the main hall and had run desperately to one office and hide under a desk, her heart beats so hard that she can clearly hear it, her fast and irregular breathing is noisy, she can't avoid it and covers her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater to silence the sound. S
:iconSeigner:Seigner
:iconseigner:Seigner 3 12
Literature
Lance and Evangeline
Everyone knew Evangeline and Lance were gone, killed in the fire; even I did. On February 8th, it would be a year since. Everyone in this small town also knew that they were my friends. All of us were good students, each of us honors, and we were all very happy.
Then why does no one act like they're gone?
No one seems to notice their absence, no one even mourns their death. It drives me mad that no one cares!
At first I thought people were just too upset to say anything, but it's been a while now. Still nothing. It's so upsetting to see that all my classmates don't care. Especially when my friends were such good people.
On a very cold February 3rd, I went up to a teacher and asked, "Don't you miss Lance Gray?" But when she replied with a strange look and a shake of the head, I ran down the hallway.
I slowly walked up to a classmate of mine and started small-talk.
"I can't believe that only on Friday it's going to be an entire year since the fire," I explained.
"Oh I know! It's a good t
:iconbeastiebrat:beastiebrat
:iconbeastiebrat:beastiebrat 1 0
Literature
The Snow Globe
I hope against hope that noone ever reads this letter.
Where to start… My name is Felix, Felix Bryant. My job… is not important. Actually, all that matters, at least for you, is my name and the name of my wife, Deanna.
Writing this… is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. It all started a a few days or so ago (only a few days? It feels like so much longer…). My wife came home with a snow globe she had bought from the market…
***
"Isn't it pretty?"
I looked at the snow globe sitting on top of the piano. It really did look pretty, to be completely honest. It showed a small village sitting around a snowy mountain. Little pieces of colored paper represented the snow, that would fall down slowly when the decorative object was stirred. All in all, a typical snow globe. Yet still, there was something strange about it. Alluring, even. I slowly inched myself forward to observe the impossibly-detailed little town sitting by the mountainside…
"Fel
:iconTallen-Forandi:Tallen-Forandi
:icontallen-forandi:Tallen-Forandi 5 4
Literature
For DLD's Contest Halloween
Walk forward and see the flames
After following fireflies
Blue and yellow lights
Like fire
Twitch and expire
Wood dies as it's burned in the pyre
Those who sit turn
Because they know you're there.
Red, bloodthirsty eyes
Green, mostly dead ones
Blue, so alive it's frightening
Orange, just like the agitated fire
Black, deep and abysmal.
They all look at you
You can feel their eyes as you run
Climb up a tree--no, takes too long
Run, run, try to slice through the night
Like a knife
Then disappear into nothing.
But they're much faster
And soon they have you by the throat
You can't see as the hallucinations take you
--they have powers, what?--wait,
No, you're seeing clear again
Leap out of bed and hit the wall.
Gasp, gasp
Sigh
It's okay
It's just Halloween night.
Look around into the rainbow eyes
Realize they were more than dreams
You'd finally walked into the flames
And as they took your life
All you said was
"Stupid fireflies."
:iconFelka-wolf:Felka-wolf
:iconfelka-wolf:Felka-wolf 5 0
Literature
A String Uncut
This is one of those stories of someone, that were written by someone, read by someone, but yet never occurred to someone. Atleast, that's what you'd wish for because now you will hear this story, told by one of those someones who also is one of those such events were not supposed to be happening to. In other words, my story.
It all began on a somewhat mild autumn day. The trees looked like a lunatic painter had gone down the avenue, lush green, happy yellow, rotting brown and blood-red leaves sitting next to each other. It was Saturday (and Halloween, by the way) and Thomas Henneth (that's me) left his family's mansion to take the family dog for a walk to town. Crossing the yard aiming for the gate, his gaze wandered right towards the tree that  marked the family graveyard. He noticed the leaves of the old elm had already nearly completely fallen down. Only a sorry five still clung to the branches. Once he stepped through the gate and continued on the road to town he had his
:iconWhitethunder990:Whitethunder990
:iconwhitethunder990:Whitethunder990 1 2
Literature
Second Death
The shock of solitude had finally begun to sink in. Earlier I had looked upon my furniture with no thoughts but "we often sat and talked at that table," or "that was her favorite chair," as though in some way she still lingered in this house, though she had taken her leave of it, and of me. For a time I could not even sleep in my bedroom, knowing my wife and I had lain there, full of joy, and what I'd thought was love. As my mind settled, I moved back in to my room, but a different thought plagued me- "this bed is unutterably empty." At first there was a feeling of haunting togetherness, now, an almost palpable separation. My house was a vacuum, a void, and utterly still, save for the motion I forced myself to bring to it.
Despair seemed the most natural reaction, but I by no means let myself indulge in it, though it crept in through every defense I left unwatched. Often a ray of sun would shimmer through my windows, revealing that I had forgotten my house was dark, and immediately I w
:iconFormlessforce:Formlessforce
:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 2 4
Literature
please PLEASE please
please, please
help
i care and i cant hide
screaming sounds tortured
maybe i am
cant you see?
im here
accept me
im tired of being
left out
just please realize
im here
i WANT to be here
screams
like crows, black ghosts of nightmares
fly on wings of dreams, of fears
the dreams arent theirs
the dreams yield to no master
the crows own nothing
thier cries are still the inspiration
for our own.
we command, we control
now if only the same could be said
for my life
if i could see where it led
amazing possibilities
i dont want to burn
feel the flame, lick, crack, taunt
your face appears
laughs, walks away
as everything peels away
the layers vanishing
i become nothing
just the same as i always have been
gates close, golden chimes receede
the flames claim ownership
i burn, you watch, and do nothing
but nothing
my screams take the form of the crow
nightmares of mazes
screams, crows, mine, yours, intermingle
i run, but get farther away
not running away, but not running backwards
just deeper into re
:iconfeintidea:feintidea
:iconfeintidea:feintidea 2 0

Affiliates

:iconthewrittenrevolution::iconlarevolucionescrita::iconwriterart:
:iconauthorsescape:

Join our shared chat with TheWrittenRevolution : chat.deviantart.com/chat/theWr…

Welcome to the Strike.

Assuming you're reading this (which you are) one of three things has happened. Possibly all. :aww:

1. You've heard about the Strike.
2. You were referred here by someone.
3. Or you're just browsing.

Either way, we're happy to have you. :D
Here you'll find dedicated Writers, poets and prose-ets, and their work. Please be sure to check out their work in The Poetry and Prose gallery, or, more recently, in the Featured galley.

If you are at all interest in joining the Strike, we'd love to have you. Get involved. Read our writers' work, submit a piece, join the chat.

Our aim is to get writing and literature, both Poetry and Prose, the attention it deserves, along with the writers themselves. Not only this but also be able to appreciate others writing, with feedback.

If that's something that you want, well then here is where you belong. :nod:

If you have any questions, comments or even suggestions just be sure to note us.

Thanks!

Admins

Founder


:iconformlessforce:

Co-Founders


:iconanelle::iconjesusroxgirl::icontallen-forandi:

Deviants

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconthecoming2014:
Thecoming2014 Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2017   Writer
Thank you for accepting me in your group. I can not wait to meet more members and mangers have. Till then i hopefully you have a wonderful day. Hopefully we can stay together for years and days so i may help in anyway i can.
Reply
:iconbrodskales:
brodskales Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
You could always make me founder, but you don't have to.
Reply
:iconnorrolith:
Norrolith Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I am glancing around for decent writing group. Room for somebody with a lot of  big ideas?
also, how much critiquing goes on around here?
Reply
:iconjesusroxgirl:
jesusroxgirl Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hey lovely ppl! I thought I'd poke my head in and let everyone know that I have a new acct ThiranosTales

:hug:
Reply
:iconlostsiren111:
LostSiren111 Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Is there a limit on submissions?
Reply
:iconchriswillar:
CHRISwillar Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
If you have time, dear writers, why not do this self-interview: [link]
Reply
:iconthefs:
TheFS Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hey, my name is Ed. I've been writing my book, The Fallen Star. I've recently finished posting the entire book! I would love if a few people could read through it and tell me what they think; I would love to get it published one day =D

Siale was no longer safe for the Watchers; they were forced to flee from the city. Little did Rantil know that his life was going to change forever. He was about to be caught in an age-old battle between the Chalders of Ciameth and the Demons of Dremnor. He was Truaine's only hope.

Join him on his journey across Truaine; through the memories he'd rather forget, over vast mountain ranges and eventually beneath the Phayorian Mountains in ancient tunnels - created when the world was so much more than it has become.

The Fallen Star would change everything.

Visit the Map of Truaine

<<< The Fallen Star <<< --|||-- >>> Chapter 1 >>>
Reply
:iconwanaca:
Wanaca Featured By Owner Jun 25, 2012
hello, I'm looking for a writer for a project I'll work on

>> [link] <<

it will be a otome visual novel (when the main char is a girl and has to choose between some handsome guys, romance stuff) right now we don't have any plot or setting.

that would be great if you know someone that could work with us!! :heart:
Reply
:iconkaonashi-nanashi:
Kaonashi-Nanashi Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
OMG! A club for what I've been saying for years! Nobody gives a damn about writing on DA!
Reply
:iconmike-the-dabbler:
Mike-the-dabbler Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2011
Would anyone like to collaborate on a fanfic with me?
Reply
Add a Comment: