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Great work by fellow dA artists!

DLR's, DD's and DLD's

Old Boys
Riding down country roads
to local farms on a Saturday
with my granddad
to see equipment auctions
as the old boys cashed in
Standing there in bib overalls or Dickies
with their dark glasses on
smoking pipes and cigars
they'd talk politics or crops
their deep voices rumbling quietly
I was enthralled...listening to the auctioneer
rattle off prices at breakneck speed
for a Farmall tractor going once
going twice
Sold to the man in front...
Or grandpa would take me with him
to the local VFW Post 6464
on Thursday evenings
to play Euchre with his friends
I'd bring along a few dog-eared
Reader's Digest magazines to read
as they played
Every so often I would walk over and
say hi, see how grandpa was faring
Usually he was cleaning house
winning almost every hand he played in
The ladies would bring a cake
and we'd have that with coffee
It felt...comfortable in a way
I find hard to explain
Sitting there surrounded by veterans
men who still wore those black-rimmed glasses
and their hair was

Rhapsody In Zero GravityIs deep space silent?
Amid the revolving spheres.
In perpetual night.
Or does God whisper?
Echoing across light-years vast.
Filling the void with song.

The Guardian Wraith of Starlit SmokeOur sitting here by lantern-light together                
In the thick of a teeming snowfall;
The final golden glow,
Against the ancient sovereignty of night,
Like the last petal off a flower.                        
It is turning three hundred years
He never let the lantern drop.
The illimitable dark and cold and storm,
Whose work is to find out God;
And when they came it seemed with a will  
To carry me with them to death.                                                
                                 
What comes over a man, is it soul or mind-
(The Devil enters like a sapphire wasp)
Twixt what to love and what to hate                  
To find out how to get away from God?
         
No one has seen him stumble looking back                
From having died
Inaudibly in thought;
The sorrow of having been left behind.
         
The land was ours before we were the land's
And having it all made over new                          
From force to matter and back to force,
The alrea

Black-Hand SpadeOld green sedan
Rusting away in the tall grass.
Far from prying eyes she was
Took a lifetime to find her.
Saddle-tramp leather chaps
Hang from a rawboned frame.
Weathered jawline
Comfortable with smiling
Peers out beneath the sun.
Skeletons are friends we never found
Dreaming of lush riverbanks
So far from home.
Dust on the horizon
Blacksmith's heart slicing the hardpan.
A tremble, a tremble
Gallops that engine
Of war.
(She looked at me across the veranda
Sitting there at Scarsdale Plantation
While the ladies played croquet on the south lawn
And she smiled...)

So long ago.
Collins and I
We ride out under that western sky
Rolling 'tween the purple sage and tumbleweeds
No one to ask us why
Green sedan
You purr for me.
Hula girl dancing on the dash
Beckons sweetly...promising everything.
Sundown in the distance falling
Sunglasses reflecting;
Radio is singing lullabies
Of lost hearts and moonlit gardens...
And Collins just smiles that reaper's grin
Men call him Black-Hand Spade.

All Seasons PromenadeAll outside is dreary and grey
Jack Frost is preparing his speech
In his sharp baritone
Of icy points and dusty stars of white
From the northlands comes a hollow roar
Old Man Winter is striding about
Preparing to descend in a week or two
In all his glorious, furious might
In another year
You'll see Autumn at his dapper best
Arrayed in top hat, tails and spats
Till then he's in the Old Dominion
Sipping a mint julep with young Summertime
They discuss the Farmer's Almanac
While playing croquet or pinochle for laughs
Yet none of these compare
To that effervescent princess known as
Spring
Adorned in lilacs and cherry blossoms
Eyes that sparkle with morning dew
The forest glades now rendered in
Charcoal silhouette
To them she'll bring
Tender buds of kelly green
And the seasons will promenade
In their wondrous, ancient ways
Set in motion by almighty God
To Whom they render praise and laud.

AntarcticaSnowlands lost and frozen
Beneath the northern lights
Wind shrieks on dark shores
Here at the end of the world.
Beneath the northern lights
We gaze in silent reverie
Bank the coals and whisper
Ethereal dreams await.
Wind shrieks on dark shores
Icebergs glow ghostly blue
Forbidding desert vast
Wasteland of snow.
Here at the end of the world
Truth has been distilled
Amid the crushing roar
Of silence and renown.

The Hard ManIrish laddy with a lavender bent
The darling of society with zero propriety
Your wit is flamboyant, this is true
Though I doubt a Vermonter
Should trust a lech like you.
I've wandered the lanes of hardy New England
Learning the rhythms of their stoic band
Perchance to describe a snowy wood or
The sweat and toil of the reaping man.
You reveled in infamy
Flouting conventions with your blithe tongue a-stir
Sashaying with the ladies and lads, partying till dawn
Remarking that your "blue china" outstripped even you.
We both were born of a rare generation, I'll allow
The 19th Century in all her Victorian charms and strait-laced graces
Yet in your folly you bucked the prevailing winds
To your immediate detriment and eventual ruin.
As for me, I was nearly hailed a National Treasure
Having received a Congressional Medal of Honor
Not s'bad for a surly old codger
Whose fame was attributed to the common man.
Tis' sad that you were forced to break rocks
Laboring under an iron hand
If only you'd bee

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Blacksand459
Stan
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Hi folks! I'm a hobbyist photographer and writer. I love doing both...the sense of elation I feel when I find a great scene to shoot, or when the words flow onto the page seemingly of their own accord.

The best part of DA is the wonderful people! I've made some great friends here, and I urge you to look through my friends and watch list...my friends are truly gifted.

Current Residence: Michigan, USA :iconspeedycatplz::iconspeedycatplz2::iconspeedycatplz3:

Favourite photographer: William Eggleston/Lewis Hine/Margaret Bourke-White
Favourite style of art: Ash Can School/Art Deco/Surrealism/Industrial
Personal Quote: Those days are gone forever. ~ Pretzel Logic by Steely Dan
Interests

Welcome to Spring 2015

Journal Entry: Fri Mar 20, 2015, 7:59 AM
Blacksand459 l Gallery l dA Portfolio l

Hi folks! Finally we are here; Spring has come!  :)

And in honor of this annual renewal, here is a feature of some excellent artwork and writing. 

Enjoy!!



shadowlands by TanjaMaria


titans.they don’t tell you that
one day,
sisyphus just let the rock roll down
and collect his body
like dust.
they don’t tell you that you can still walk
with holes in your legs
and you can still love
when your heart has already been ripped open.
they don’t tell you that
you are 75% of an ocean
that is six miles deep
and eats ships alive,
75% of the water that shapes canyons,
75% of the rain that drowned the earth
for forty days and nights.
they don’t tell you that
your body is made of the same carbon
as stars
and diamonds.
they don’t tell you that
there is a fire burning inside of you
or that your bones are stronger than steel
or that the things that fuel you
fuel tigers, too.
the greeks and romans wrote stories about
how strong you were
and you are icarus,
and you died laughing
because they didn’t tell you
how beautiful the world really was
even as it was swallowed
by the waves.
    Cloud in the Night, and Ascending Lights by Johnny-Aza    green path by Chari-ot    Broken EnglishI know you'll see me across the room. I'm in disguise; curls swept back under a trucker hat pulled low enough to hide most of my face and dark sunglasses doing a good job of helping. I have a camera and a fake press pass. A pair of low slung jeans and an ACDC hoodie and I'm blending in with the crowd so well that no one else even notices me. Ah. You've spotted me. You know I'm here. I can see it in the wicked grin promising a long night for a certain "someone". They all assume they know, but they think of the wrong one and it's almost funny.
Stuffy press conferences are always such a bore. You've told me a thousand times and you're completely right. I can't wait until we can get out of here. Ordinarily I hide in plain sight for your interviews, a thousand different looks keeping anyone from seeing me but you. It's a game we love playing. One day we'll get caught, but not today. Today we'll enjoy the game. You keep using my favorite word, "lovely." You know what you're doing to me. It's
   Happyness by 6kart


Calm by liquidclouds   Trailer Park by Metal-Bender    Irn BruGlistening amber,
Scottish cherry-
sherry of the North Sea.
Sunset-oil
in the veins of Scotland.
    Sands and TideThe tide is pulling, pulling away,
I have no way to make it stay;
The sand is falling, falling through time,
I have no way to make it mine.
The gulls are flying, flying away
Chanting music day by day;
The waves are pounding, pounding on,
And so they shall when I have gone.
But here I am with a sky above,
A mind of dreams and a heart of love;
Forget the sand, forget the tide,
The water's vast and shoreline wide.
I'm scooping sea-foam, catching shells,
Wading depths to feel waves swell,
Building castles in the spray
And laughing when they're swept away.
Yes, taunt me, time, go right ahead!
Strive to buffet me with dread;
You know where I may be found:
Dancing 'til the sun goes down.
 


 0584 by Marvmitty


Fragonard reproduction by ChastityANGEL   Partial Pressure by FalseMaria   dream within a dream by sth22art   The Eye of Skadi by Einsilbig   Relax by Virgo1 


AuschwitzI 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.
    The SirenGiven half the chance, she'd rather sleep
Alone, half-frozen on the ocean floor
And picked apart by eels like so much seaweed,
Than undertake the chore of your affections.
Understand that you are not the first:
So many so-called "well-intentioned" men
Have thrown themselves upon her reef declaring
"Rescue!" she needn't even cast a net
To catch her keep. Yet still you come ashore
With vows to make your world your gift to her
As though her own were somehow wanting.
You claim the siren's singing lured you here?
You listened to that hoarse, rampageous scream,
"Away! Get back!" and called it music? No,
Though you and she may share a mother tongue,
Do not presume you'll ever speak her language.
She calls you "Fumblemouth" behind your back.
She does not want you; she will never want you,
And she is neither yours to catch nor conquer.
But before you cut your tongue against her honour,
Know that she has gorged her lungs on oceans
Of furious indoctrination, drowned
In countless sailors' self-ent
    sometimesthe rocks speak
to my bones like
long lost friends
and i wonder what
i missed while my eyes
were clamped shut.
   


.1131. by polgaroid



   Tema 2 - Shock by ytuquike


Lichthof by thebrokenview   Washed Ashore by jojo22   sky. by Elwig    Daddy's GoneSummer
Ice cream, pavement
Melting dreams down the grille
Blue eyes crying, a hug from Mom
Better
But still leaving a sense of loss
No kind words can comfort
Nor ease the pain
Lost love
    cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
with falter-handed
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
to overwhelm.
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
ocean slivers.
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
before retreating,
as tides so often do.
she wa



The Cry by BritaSeifert   Industrial-iris by ZerberuZ   


The Before Life by F-For-Fake



AcidI stopped writing when I turned 20
degrees Celsius, and the acid
evaporated from my veins.
No more stormy seas or dreams that
I can feel the erythrocytes crashing
against my eyelids and fists—now
My heartbeat is like the hollow
canals of Venice drowning in air,
drains overflowing into drains,
Like abandoned gardens hanging
between bricked up dreams, built
six stories higher than I would ever need.
    Relic of the PastI am long-forgotten in this technological craze
I wonder if I'm living out the end of my days
I hear the beeps and blips of electronic games
I see a thousand dust mites dancing in the haze
I want to feel your fingers tracing down my spine
I am what drove scribblers straight into the wine
I pretend that someone might care for my old lines
I am bound in a sorrow I cannot quite define
I wish to pass on the knowledge hidden inside
I hope for someone to find the words that I hide
I can tell you stories that past generations decried
I am the friend who will always be your guide
    Dirge I- The Sun Said to ChicagoThe Sun said to Chicago,
      "Oh land of sad, sad stone-"
That is all I heard, as the radiance
Was devoured by the continuingcloud
The sun does not shine in Chicago.
I saw many faces here
Who would've been sad,
But they were empty instead.
I saw two silvery ghosts, deer,
Convene in an empty lot.
They conversed, in Silvan tongues,
          "Shall we leave then?"
        "Yes- the grass is losing here.
The trees are dead, the stones are
Slaves
            To the hands of the empty."
The city's metro wurms squirm;
They are infesting the ground.
  They scream, unlike the silent dying
Of Novum Eboracum, Screaming
They are emerging, speeding toward
  The stable of the planes and back.
Oh Deus,
                
    TransientThe once sanguine walls—
          broken and collapsed into wings
—have become grey, pinned still, within a desolate birdcage.
Migratory birdsong hatched from our birth place, from
scuff marks and peeled paint, where cross-legged lovers once sat,
where lips fed souls, and fingers clasped time tightly.
Time escaped on the winds we breathed;
its cold chill upon our cheeks,
our eyes closed to the changing seasons.
But lights shine through to eyes pressed closed,
and hearts know what we wish they didn't.
I carved your name along my rib, an epitaph,
and whispered safe journeys to you, weeping
your departure from winter grounds.
--
5/1/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved.
    To the Ghosts of Glen CoeSleep, you brave, you innocent,
you warriors and women strong.
Dread William's days are now all spent,
and memory is long.
On the glen, the snow lies deep,
as once it lay those years ago,
the night it witnessed traitors creep
on sleeping Invercoe.
Great MacIain ope'd his doors
to Campbells shiv'ring in the night.
He had grown tired of English wars
and looked not for a fight.
Sleep, you brave, you innocent,
you warriors and women strong.
Dread William's days are now all spent,
and memory is long.
Screams of children drowned the storm
when Campbell blades came slicing down
on bloody tartan, rent and torn,
all for a foreign crown.
Donald blood can turn to ice,
though noble hearts beat hot and fierce –
a man, a frozen sacrifice –
a mother's dying tears.
Sleep, you brave, you innocent,
you warriors and women strong.
Dread William's days are now all spent,
and memory is long.
Under trust you met your ends;
within your walls they laid you low.
The men you welcomed as your friends
le



time robbers by gyurka   Rimerunner by A-D-McGowan   Verano: El crecimiento by metalromantica   it's over there by LizCohn   II by pho-tt-ography


Rise Above It by bcr8tive

CSS made by TwiggyTeeluck
Brushes by gvalkyrie

Webcam

Favorite Quotes

"I can make a lord, but only God can make a gentleman."
~ King James I of England 1566-1625

"If you think it's expensive to hire a professional to do the job, wait until you hire an amateur."
~ Red Adair 1915-2004


"A Steely Dan concert is akin to witnessing the passage of a single multiplex vehicle the size of a motorcade or convoy, its various segments comprising limousines, ice-cream wagons, hearses, lunch-carts, ambulances, black marias, and motorcycle outriders, all of it Rolls-grade and lacquered like a tropical beetle. The horns glint, as it rolls majestically past, splendid, a thing of legend, and utterly peculiar unto itself."
~ William Gibson, Festival International de Jazz de Montreal 2008: July 2.


"I unconsciously decided that, even if it wasn't an ideal world, it should be. So I painted only the ideal aspects of it - pictures in which there are no drunken slatterns or self-centered mothers... only foxy grandpas who played baseball with the kids and boys who fished from logs and got up circuses in the backyard." ~ Norman Rockwell 1894-1978

"Let us upon new thoughts write antique verses."
~ Andre Chenier 1762-1794

"One must do coolly the things which are most fiery."
~ Hector Berlioz 1803-1869

Art is a force which frees the soul and through which one can grasp "certain rhythms of life and breath" which compel one "to fall in with it, like passerby who join in a dance; these rhythms compel us to set in motion, in the depth of our being, some secret chord which was only waiting to thrill."
~ Henri Bergson 1859-1941

"Hug and kiss whoever helped get you - financially, mentally, morally, emotionally - to this day. Parents, mentors, friends, teachers. If you're too uptight to do that, at least do the old handshake thing, but I recommend a hug and a kiss. Don't let the sun go down without saying thank you to someone, and without admitting to yourself that absolutely no one gets this far alone."
~Stephen King, Commencement Address, U. of Maine, 5-07-05


"And what guarantee, pray, have you that your life will last longer? Who will suffer your course to be just as you plan it? Are you not ashamed to reserve for yourself only the remnant of life, and to set apart for wisdom only that time which cannot be devoted to any business?

How late it is to begin to live just when we must cease to live! What foolish forgetfulness of mortality to postpone wholesome plans to the fiftieth and sixtieth year, and to intend to begin life at a point to which few have attained!"

~ Lucius Annaeus Seneca 4 BC- AD 65, on 'The Shortness of Life.'

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Comments


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:iconcreativesam:
creativesam Featured By Owner 1 day ago
Thanks for the fav :+fav:!
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:iconjad-images:
JAD-Images Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the watch!
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:iconhaifischfutter:
haifischfutter Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you very much for the watch and the favs! :)
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:iconmikeschwarz:
mIkeschwaRz Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2015
Thx 4 the :+fav:
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:iconab39z:
ab39z Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the +fave!
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:iconeltonturkey:
EltonTurkey Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the :+fav:! :wave:
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:iconcalleighblack:
CalleighBlack Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hey. I just "came by" to say hello and check on you. I felt kind of compelled.

Don't worry. I'll be leaving you alone soon. Still, you okay?
Reply
:iconblacksand459:
Blacksand459 Featured By Owner Edited Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Wha, what? Where are you going? Leaving for good?

I'm always glad to hear from you, Calleigh. If I have made you think otherwise, I am sorry. 

I always meant to resume our conversation, but there has been the death of a friend last week and illness and just a lot of junk lately. :(
Reply
:iconcalleighblack:
CalleighBlack Featured By Owner Edited Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Oh no. Hon, I'm going on a trip. I'm standing in for a friend and doing an interview. I'll still be around. I just meant that I've inundated you and I was gonna be gone, so you'd catch a break. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry.

You're good. Really. I know you're busy. Not everybody is sittin' around bein' useless all day like me. It's all good. :hug:

I'm so, so sorry to hear about your friend. My heart goes out to you. Truly, you have my deepest sympathy. I just, okay this will sound weird, I just felt like you needed checkin' on. That's all. And see, you did. :tighthug: I was just concerned about you. 
I just had a "feeling" about you. I am so sorry about the illness and all. And so sorry that I sounded like I meant anything but that I wanted to check on you.
Reply
:iconblacksand459:
Blacksand459 Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh, that's a relief! I was SO worried you were leaving. Listen...listen to me: you are NOT a bother. OK? I love to read your comments on my poems...they're busy collecting digital dust in my gallery. And what I like most about your comments, is that:

1. I know they are heartfelt and truthful.

2. They aren't...focused on critique, but on how you responded to the poem. What thoughts or memories or connections they triggered in your mind. That is priceless, Calleigh. Really. :hug:  

Thank you for the condolences. I appreciate it. He was 50 years old; passed in his sleep. His funeral was simple, but the attendance was huge...several hundred people at least, standing room only. He was a believer in Christ though, and therefore I know he is in Heaven, with the Lord. :)

Thanks for checking in on me. I'm alone most of the time, so, it's nice...really thoughtful of you to remember me. :huggle:
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