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Deviant for 10 Years
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Literature
A Fresh Face
Coffee's
c
o
  l
   d
    .  
     .
      .
from
conversation,
empty eyes,
wilted words,
flirtation?
A failed attempt.
this silent soliloque
of shaky inhalations
dry lips and
akward glances.
                .
                  .
these minds made up
of bearable infatuation.
               
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 2 5
Literature
My Lady
Inspiration is a frail godly thing:
she's lofty, lifted by strong, golden wings-
she soars between the hot, dazed psyche
and glides on turbulent tides unseen.
Elusive intent in fight, sight, and scent...
she silently crawls between brain cement-
she brings the bright vision of loves sweet faces,
a sunburst of repetitive disgraces.
In my despair she softly calms my tears
and rawly releases forgotten fears...
she pulses in my pen and bends my mind
euphorically moaning each word I scribe:
brought before her divine, relentless whim
with a warm, seductive sigh- I give in.
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Mature content
Sati, Mutilation, God? :iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 5 12
Literature
Indecision
This husk of a heart is rotten.
Maggots fester in lucrative lust:
they swarm within the tender tissue,
spread through each bloodied vein,
spout from every orifice of bodily pleasure
and settle to breed inside my brain.
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Literature
Surface Nova
I
I think we broke it back in Japan-
the cherry blossoms turned to ash
on top of our tongues
and the summer cranes drowned
in thunder water.
II
That scenic sonic boom
shattered Atlantis' ancient skeleton-
the florescent bones of fish maidens floated
up from the kaleidoscopic coral
and wrestled Caribbean waves.
III
Their city kissed the sun-
the ruby rays of radiation
scorched concrete, steel,
and the porcelain skin
of Hiroshima's humanity.
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 6 9
Profile by ClaudiaCasanova Profile :iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 0 0 Profile thing by ClaudiaCasanova Profile thing :iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 1 0
Literature
Chopin
Pink salmon pulsate between black bridges
dancing over the white symphonic spray-
those soft, ignorant hands hold my heart
and woo the will to cacophonic decay.
(c)4/7/11
For D. Lewis.
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:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 3 17
Literature
Mockingbird
I am plagued.
A midnight waterfall distracts my eye
in the corner of the classroom
dotted with Catholics; Christians; and Atheists,
but one Agnostic aqueduct
divinely inspired-perhaps-
chirps a distinctly melancholic song
of silent wisdom.
(c) 4/8/11
For D.B.
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 4 4
Mature content
Strangers :iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 1 4
Literature
Mallanaise?
Mystery substance:
beaten butter divided between virgin eggs
and liquid lemon equals
mutilated mayonnaise?
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 0 2
Mature content
Pursuit of Comfort :iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 0 6
Literature
Like Obama
I can taste insanity
in your kiss-
it swirls between taste buds,
hides behind coffee stained teeth,
and buries itself in the gum line.
Your golden tongue slips words
deep down my throat-
and I choke on Schizophrenia.
© 4/27/11
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Literature
Seedling
My tongues a snapdragon
burning in the sun,
dry petals pulsating
pregnant regret.
© 4/20/11
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
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Literature
Evidence of Truth
Oh Newman, I have faith in your Reason.
Equally, there is Reason in your Faith,
but in the great divisions, a decisions
'visioned between the senses questioned wake.
And if the senses are but instruments
we have lost past and forgotten future-
treason's in the Reason of Light sight's bent
and memory breaks reality's back door:
Courage comes from chance, not calculation
and honor dons the sash of sacrifice
bearing Truth's torch- burnt by superstition-
humanity's eternal avarice…
Faith opens the front door for Providence
and Reason is what dictates how life is spent.
© 4/19/11
:iconClaudiaCasanova:ClaudiaCasanova
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Literature
Fairy Ring
The dew had barely kissed the Earth
when twilights whisper wooed our hearts.
The stars lanterned our lucid path-
our eyes piercing the wild, cold dark.
The fresh, soft green of damp forests
flew fast under our quickened feet-
and lightning struck between our breasts
rekindling ancient, naked heat.
We frolicked in the mushroom ring
the red teeth circling round the ground;
our bodies burned, and bloomed, and glowed-
it was the fairae we had found!
Their wings were white and ruby red
with neon veins butterfly blew-
their little hearts cried with delight
just from the sight of me and you!
They laughed and kissed our soft bare flesh
and told us of their favorite game-
to swim beneath the lily pads
and ride the frogs till they were tamed.
We watched with awe as they dove down
and broke the bright amphibians-
they brought us pearls that they had found
and dropped them in our open hands!
But Dawn rolled over in her bed,
her yawn lit up the twinkling sky-
so all the fairy's kissed our lips
and
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:iconclaudiacasanova:ClaudiaCasanova 2 6

Favourites

Literature
Ache
It was an old ache -
a rough reminder
she was not perfect,
a notch in his backbone
that creased his shirt
when he moved the wrong way.
There was a certain charm
about her face
and he liked how she could climb
when she had to
and how her spine lined up
perfectly
with his bookcase.
(But he wondered why
her jokes
bled into his flaws)
Still, he had to admit
she could
lean across a table
with a grace
that bordered on
godliness
and he could learn to believe
coincidence was
just a dying art.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 118 59
Literature
Milk Carton
They found you
on a milk carton,
a stone's throw
from the tarp left
mildewing on the pool.
Your face was sleepy
and they did not recognize
your shirt.
Who dressed you that morning?
Who gently combed out your hair
and zipped up
your yellow boots
so you could squash puddles
in the garden?
Mother will tell stories
to the empty bed
and pretend it is your shadow
playing on the wall
And father will wait
on the porch,
praying the light
will come back to the sky.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 104 69
Literature
Girl as Poem
She was once a verse by Baudelaire
something about flowers
that were loyal to none
and I kissed her
when no one was watching.
She was a stanza by Byron
who stood on
the white cliffs of somewhere
and praised her eyebrows.
She is nothing like summer
or a lost continent;
her landscape
is too bold for that.
Her shoulders are not
a country
or a battle to be won.
I thought she was a poem -
Cynara,
or maybe an ode
or sonnet -
words teased and woven
that beat and bled
upon my humble pen,
not the flesh and blood
of thighs and hips
ripening beneath my gaze,
waiting to be written.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 169 93
Literature
beauty
and beauty just happens
if you will wait
long enough -
the sound of plants
breathing under the snow,
of red petals
and green leaves
bursting on the vine
and climbing up over the roof,
the sight of rain
washing the hillside -
a mosaic
on the window
and the scent
that buries the laundry,
fresh picked
from the line
on a june morning
and how it feels
on your skin
when you first wake up
lazy with the last dream
and how she tastes -
she tastes
supple and fragile,
something blooming
just for you.
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Literature
Undone
I cannot remember
what she wore that night,
or the smell of the moon
at her wrist,
or the blur of her cheek
grazing the pillow.
I cannot recall details
of her voice -
what was said
or promised
once the heat of July
nested in the curve
of my tongue
and pressed back
her hesitation.
But I remember the shock -
the last tremor
of bricks and skin
carving an arc
into our breathing,
shaking the walls of her room
and the sound of the world
coming undone.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
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Literature
Auschwitz
I saw you in the ghetto -
with your yellow star,
pulling teeth
and collecting shoes.
And then on the last train
to Birkenau
(or maybe it was Belsen),
hunched in a boxcar
like cows to market,
our shadows old
and unspeakable
as the wheels
broke us down to the floor.
We drank our urine
and told the children
the train was an adventure
that did not need
their tears.
Survival is a funny thing-
not always for the fittest,
and conscience can be
a silent sniper.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
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Literature
Girl as Building
i fell in love with your architecture
the cross beams of your cartilage
how your tendons knotted over nerves
like girders, holding up your arms
and the supple curve of neck
a room unto itself
the doors and windows of you
opening
and each brick a voice
that resonates my mortar
the simple stairs of your legs
leading me skyward
where shoulders meet like corridors
and I find myself
taking up residence.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 338 93
Literature
Ageless
When we are older,
I will again tangle our fingers
and kiss the sweat off your back,
walk naked from room to room,
sprawl out in a pool of sunlight,
and burrow into your breasts
and crack open your ribcage
with a kiss
to wallow deep inside of you
and nestle into every crevice
until the times we were apart
will mean nothing,
and we will be young together.
:iconKita-and-Bre:Kita-and-Bre
:iconkita-and-bre:Kita-and-Bre 37 5
Literature
Mad Man
I think I lost us
in a glass of scotch -
softly drowning,
going down like
every mad man
I ever envied.
Why did I believe
your lips tasted
so good,
sweet and heathen
like the heather
I laid you in
that last night
I came home?
I had a thing
for damaged women,
and you could drink
your mother's last words
in everything
we wasted.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 119 64
Literature
Saviour
Hang your wings up
for me tonight
and tremble, frail
and pale as winter's skin
within my arms.
Be my stranger,
an undone deed
I can carry like a candle
or a verse
whose words are simple
and let me feel it flame
like a soft bandage on my wounds.
Be my damage,
an unhealed skirmish
so sore that sorrow wanders
like a buried child
and banish me to yesterday
and fill my cup
with all I've ruined.
Hang your wings up
for me tonight
and tumble, silent
and fragile as summer sin
within my arms
and be my savior -
one long last shudder
behind my eyes
where you never thought
to look.
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
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Literature
September
September's but a whisper,
a curl of autumn
on your cheek
or a wanton leaf
left lazing
in the tawny gold
of dusk;
and the amber scent
of pears,
succulent and slumbering,
slips idly
off your skin
and sends my restless senses
yearning...
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 289 170
Literature
Calypso
Her smile rises
with the tide's rapid breath
against the shore
for she knows
the sea will claim its own -
tall ships and turrets
spun out of sand
and the pearl twist of moon
caught upon a basslet's back
when conch's dulcet tune
lulls manna from the waves.
And what sirens claim for treasure,
men can only dream of....
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 118 53
Lush Worlds by Poetrymann Lush Worlds :iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 363 137
Literature
Paradise Lost
I watched the taste of Shangri-La
bring strong men to their knees
and felt the wasting warm grow thick
like sylphs among the trees.
A languid poison, rich and sweet
filled each and every glass
it kissed their lips with want and left
its bruise upon the grass.
It moved like lovers, so wanton soft
in heavy, tangled sighs
and held them willing prisoners
betrayed with whispered lies.
Desire, like a living thing
crept forth to steal their breath;
it stilled the blood within their veins
in shadowed blooms of death.
They slipped into a coil of dreams,
pale visions brushing skin
that plucked the hearts from in their chests
and broke them from within.
And now, deep lost in lethargy,
they wait with stricken sighs,
to know their world has now become
the ruin of paradise...
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Activity


  • Listening to: the work phone ring and ring and ring
  • Reading: Shantaram
  • Watching: The sunset settle on my heart
  • Playing: my own game
  • Eating: specs of rainbow dust and eggshells
  • Drinking: peach juice...healthiness? Dear lord! Going crazy
Perhaps I am pissing in the wind again, but I would like to endeavor to become more active on DA again.

deviantID

ClaudiaCasanova
Claudia
United States
I'm a poet by nature. I desire adventure, to tackle the unknown and risk my sanity drinking the heady wine of Romance. I want to make love with the wind and kiss my ancestors clay lips.

I desire to live and I make it my mission to soak up every second of absurd beauty and regurgitate it poetically.

Current Residence: bumfuck Maryland
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium
Favourite genre of music: Everything
Favourite photographer: hard to say
Favourite style of art: Unaware
Operating System: The one inside my mind. I do believe it is semi- functual.
MP3 player of choice: Ipod
Shell of choice: Conk Shell
Wallpaper of choice: something black
Skin of choice: A wolf's
Favourite cartoon character: Tohru Honda.... manga.
Personal Quote: This game of Love is all too easy.
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconpoetrymann:
Poetrymann Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2012  Professional Writer
:iconthankyouscript1::iconthankyouscript2::iconthankyouscript3::iconla-plz:
Reply
:iconpoetrymann:
Poetrymann Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2012  Professional Writer
:icon555plz: THANKS!! :icon555plz:
Reply
:iconlovespoon:
Lovespoon Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Professional Writer
or a note. lol I have launch IM from somewhere. :giggle:

:teddy:
Reply
:iconclaudiacasanova:
ClaudiaCasanova Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2012
i have a new job so i'm on alot
Reply
:iconlovespoon:
Lovespoon Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2012  Professional Writer
Great. Work is important.
Do you like it? Or is it a summer gig.

:love:
:teddy:
Reply
:iconclaudiacasanova:
ClaudiaCasanova Featured By Owner May 4, 2012
I love it, its full time. for the rest of my life... haha jk
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconlovespoon:
Lovespoon Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Professional Writer
Hey we're online at the same time. What's going on?
Claudia?

Send me an IM

:love:
:teddy:
Reply
:iconclaudiacasanova:
ClaudiaCasanova Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2012
lol still online?
Reply
:iconlovespoon:
Lovespoon Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2012  Professional Writer
lol missed ya.

:love:
:teddy:
Reply
:iconpuzzledheartbox:
PuzzledHeartBox Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2011
PuzzledHeartBox - Happy New Year, and thank you for watching me and entertaining me with your kind comments and remarks, they are appreciated. And I hope I can write more poems to your likings in 2012.</i>
Sincerely,
~PuzzledHeartBox
Reply
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