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About Literature / Hobbyist Sophia DeadyFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Hello my lovely watchers!!!

I hate to do this, but I have to ask your help. I'm applying to be in an advanced poetry class, and I need help. I need to narrow down this list of  23 down to 5. If you could help, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks so much!

Here are the poems:

Song of Athena

Requests from the Sun



Tiptoes: A Sonnet

Fast Food



Anatomy of a Morning


Too Loud to Listen



Meteor Shower

Prey: A Villanelle





Here's all of the poems together:

Song of Athena

I have broken
through my father's forehead.
I was not born,
instead I erupted
shattering through layers of skull
hungover headaches
worries of the world
and other women.

I did not grow
instead I sprung to life
like electricity
bolts of lightning
a blessing because I am a curse.

But she
is a curse because she is a blessing.
Born of sea-foam
sweet flowing off her mother's back.
She is golden hair
catching his hands
and tangling his thoughts
she is so desired.
I am fast fingers
and heavy armor
the one who desires
I am the sister of love.

Requests from the Sun

Unweave me from the constellations
and step out of the shadows.
Listen as the ocean air
repeats our names.

Fill my eyes with
glistening skyscrapers
red poppies bursting
extinct volcanoes
meadows catching fire-

And when I've had enough
of smiles and songs and tears
the rain that falls over tormented cities
wrap me in stars
and lay me down on a burning bed.


The crown I wear is gold
but misshapen
I hold my head high
The children think I'm beautiful,
braiding me in their hair
who let you decide what's a weed?

You've kicked me out of vases
off backporches
and gardens
you've sanitized your gorged lawns

don't yell
at me for walking in the street
my sidewalks are flooded with
dirty water.
I have to swim through
forgotten snow
turned brown
running and glimmering in this gutter
I don't see stars
I carry the sun on my back.

for you I'm just glimpses through the sunlit leaves
cracks in your nail polish.
But behind this playground
shopping carts mingle with vines
broken furniture is salvation
a home of sworn silence
that found its way to the
back of your mind.

Not all dead flowers get wishes
but we all end up scattered
an endless flurry of white noise.


You smiled over me as I worked
reading a birds-eye view of hieroglyphics
odes of love
mapped out in charcoal cities.

I let your hand guide the ceilings higher, higher
and we sliced diamonds in the sky
so that we could lay back and gaze up into our future
like stars.

We planted our feet in marble columns
and carved quotes up our spines
Wind and rain beat at our sides
But we laughed and watched our nails turn green.

We loved bouquets, you and I
but I took a secret solace in permanence
in monuments
in the wing I'd built in your name
until you used it to fly away.

Tiptoes: A Sonnet

On that morning I said yes to the dew,
And offered up a rose on tiptoes,
Like a soft spring confessional it grew,
Petals no longer pretending to close.

But by midday each dewdrop turns to tears,
My blush of hope lies scattered all around,
Behind lovers a rose did disappear,
But never lost what sprouts beneath the ground.

Pale midnight sings the song of arms outstretched,
Who weave together melodies and sighs,
And when in time the dreams of light lay etched
New loves would stand to meet before dawn skies.

Until you turn the sun to rose I'll wait,
On tiptoes I will rise to kiss my fate.

Fast Food

Skin slips away from my fingertips
and falls in a white froth
like butter melting in a skillet
on a long chrome stove
a few squirts and there's ketchup
lips, hair, gaze
All Glistening.

Thoughts swirl in my head
the way steam rises from a burger
Somehow I can tell that smug smile gives french-fry kisses,
salty and addicting
My eyes are singed by your firecracker freckles
All Sizzling.

The din in my head is matched
by the hollow murmur of this restaurant
gingham tablecloth
(awkward conversation)
It's all I can do to keep from glancing
Tell me, are you noticing?
Following the spiderwebs that crawl up my thighs
the fingers twisting into curls
the autumn leaf imprisoned in my ribcage
All Falling


Concubines spill from fountain pens
the way a drop of blood dances in water
and skirts the truth

You wake up salty-eyed
and find men drowning in a wailing red sea
                   "It's cranberry bogging time," she defends

Slave ruins are called castles


I believe
in little girls in white lace veils shot in black and white
a dusty prayercard hidden next to an ultrasound photo in my dictionary
open-armed angels
Birthday letters scrawled from

A girl
all endless knees and elbows and bruises
who pummeled her pain into sneering girls in white uniforms
Until she found herself
In a little black box that promised to forgive

All the years until she was a woman
Who hid money under sofa cushions
Showing me her vulnerability in the moonlight under a creamy cloud of air
Whose raspy voice, escaping from a telephone,
scolded me for not studying my catechism
Who pretended that shifting portraits were a movie
While the sun streamed in

She could always make the earth stand still
Even when she stopped moving forever

I believe
in the face of innocence
who was afraid that the masks on the wall
might start to look like her

An angel
Who loved fried chicken
and whispered over a candlelight hymn that I had a pretty voice
and thought that I was a saint
but never saw her own perfection

Who covered notebooks with curving "a"s and circled "i"s
Who mixed life with metaphor
Who could hear all the voices but her own
until she grabbed a knife from the kitchen
and silenced them 30 times.

I believe
in the first time I saw my father cry
in a funeral I wasn't allowed to attend
in my mother knowing why
in the howls of midnight trees
in the rock of tears in my stomach
of a letter sent out to sea on a raft of plywood and lilacs
and never seen again

I believe because of them.

Anatomy of a Morning

My shoulder blades are wings
my arms paper the white eye of language
the wheel winds and cracks her ribs of stars.
Dreamy wrists
and brittle hands pour honey
spilling morning light
and it is too thick to move
we are forced to lay here
to watch the moon
from the other way around.


When I asked him about names
They are epiphytes, he said, not parasites
tendrils of stars
sharp and coldly geometric
but bright
gracefully insane
roots digging in like claws
or reaching out like expectant fingers
dangling in the night.
White orchids curling up trees
to kiss the silvery sun
brown thorns crawl up a lampost
piercing a man-made soul.

Too Loud to Listen

I loudly love
the affectionate crawl of slow bones
the gentle curl of a perished mouth
the soft glimmer of fresh tears
the charming angles
of a shattered hope.


I need a reason for dreaming
to ride again in shiny armored cars
to spill gasoline on the asphalt
blur the lines
and slide in slippery rainbows
to breathe in
the color of the atmosphere.

I need a reason for whispering
to close the walls around me
and show a solar system
illuminated in the tiny holes
of a perforated
silver box.


Between your heart and your hand
shapes take form
and faces blur.

Between your lips and your voice
lives a silence
where something died.

Between your iris
and its fringed curtains
a darkness grew
a blue sky crumbled into dirt.
It is here
(in expectation)
where I lay my roots.

You are nothing
because I love you.

Meteor Shower

You drove drove drove
to where I couldn't see anything anymore
I could only hear and smell
the dancing grass and breaking hay.
We laid on top of a cold metal hood
to open our mouths in a cosmic shower.

Since then I have learned
the whites of your eyes are the two moons
that bathe me and beat me
each night
keeping me comfortable
with one grip on the ledge.

Since then I can see
that shooting stars are nothing
but dropped objects
and dissolving.

Prey: A Villanelle

There are no stars here
but flowers glistening with dew
I listen as your steps draw near.

Each rose's petals form a mirror
but when I look in I see you
There are mo stars here.

It's time for dawn to shed a tear
but in darkness I feel my lips fade blue
I listen as your steps draw near.

I remember a time when my memory was clear
but out of shadows monsters grew
There are no stars here.

The knots in wood are eyes that peer
this damp has sealed my lips like glue
I listen as your steps draw near.

My grip like twisting vines knows no fear
Courage's seed has found a bloom
There are no stars here
I listen as your steps draw near.


We are all fully grown
when we learn how to cry
and expect more.

If the rose is draped in brilliant velvet skirts
with enough cracks to peep through and see mystery,
then I am naked

the boy who couldn't afford anything better for Valentine's Day
and the old man who has to save the better blooms
for his wife.

They call us filler flowers
so fill me
with  regrets and doubts and shame.
Stain me
so dye can mix with blood.
Leave me alone in the moonlight
so colors can run up my veins.
In the morning I'll be just
what you wanted.

And kiss me
even if it is with other lips
because I know the hands you've got
could rip me apart.


You came to me all at once
quite unexpectedly
the way you never notice
a single green leaf
or baby bird
but instead the whole neighborhood
the symphony of new spring.

You sprang from the ground
taking root in painted tile
resilient and determined
a girl of daisy petal skirts
amidst the weeds and thistles
of my ignored garden.

The fragrance was overpowering
the smell of possibilities.
When we lay together in early mornings
I caught dew from your leaves in my hands
and treasured every drop.

But before long
the season's molting will
separate us
as we lie wilting on our stems.
The nights grow longer
but I will remember.
With your soul
pressed between the pages of my dictionary
how could I forget?


Trace me
run parallel lines up my legs
then turn them perpendicular
and cross my heart.

Measure the angles
of my hipbones
the degrees of separation
Decode the tangents (and sines and cosines)
where my thoughts meet action.

Me, her, him.
We were always more isosceles
than equilateral.

So hide my eyes in rhombuses
seal my mouth in ellipses
cover my breasts in octagons
protect my feet with rectangles-

Maybe then I can forget that my heart
was always made of triangles.


I couldn't call you my rock
You're more like the ocean
Rolling with the moon
Glistening marine skyscrapers
Beautiful tempests erupting
in swirls of white lace
bubbles of laughter are your baptism
The echoes from a seashell
Rock me to sleep

But I can't bask for long
The salty sweetness that kisses my legs
always retreats
With the wisdom of the tide
Sometimes you're so maddeningly sensible


Sophia Deady
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Minneapolis
MP3 player of choice: Ipod
Personal Quote: "All I want is riotous excursions with priveliged glimpses into the human heart."~F. Scott

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Add a Comment:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I was told to check you out by Ms. ~Flummoxative, and I think I owe her a thank you. :)
moon-electric-lives Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much!
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
flummo Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2013  Student Writer
Happy birthday. :heart:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2012   Writer
Clicked on random deviant and it sent me to you! Just passing by and flipping through other deviant's work, looking for inspiration. I write primarily non-melodramatic free verse poetry, something that I hope even people who aren't lit fanatics can enjoy. Just in case you're interested :)
Pailei Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks so much for the fave on "offerings of a ghost!"
moon-electric-lives Featured By Owner Feb 24, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
No problem ; )
ersatz-moon Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist

thank you for inspiring me for these past few months, and allowed me to develop a passion for writing. [link]
i'd be so happy if you can read it!
moon-electric-lives Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Wow! I'm so glad I you like my work. I just commented on your piece. Very nice : )
The-Virgin-Suicide Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2011  Student Writer
Okay, so I felt pretty good about myself for writing a villanelle at all, even though it wasn't all that good. That is, until I read this:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary darkness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said.
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

--Sylvia Plath

Fucking Sylvia and her blond hair.
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