~ArgustheLast

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About Me Member General Writer ArgustheLastMale/United States

Recent Activity Deviant for 4 Years
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Statistics 18 Deviations
344 Comments
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PlanetWho plays in the night? Who passes unseen, covert feathers covering their ears?
She came from our desert dark. I, sitting on my stump of wood hoped for her, and in the gathering calm, she appeared, brushing night off her shoulders
that fell like raven’s feathers, painting between her toes.
In the dark, you are less sure,
in the dark, you can forge something to hurt you, something worth fearing when day forces too many answers,
too much comfort. Firelight asks you to stand closer to the one who shares your fire. Her eyes gat Planet
by ~ArgustheLast

SavagesIn Hell Roaring canyon,
there is quiet desolation.
At first you can only chew
horrent thistle for water.
The harshness of the beauty turns your head against your will,
like a black fly crawling on the back on your sunburned neck.
Canyons listen,
but they only speak in echo, or once, in a splitting boulder.
Rocks press on one another,
dust only between them and sand,
caught forever in desperate embrace with all around them, singing grit waves of heat-tortured air.

Is this the voice of the desert that speaks? “All beauty Savages
by ~ArgustheLast

Cat, in Her Far DesertThe desert wets slowly.
From the canyons of your ears, your labyrinth bluffs, sand still strictly flows,
tickle torrents from red fuse curves,
burned by the plodding sun. Still it washes from your hair,
tiny shrubs of the scalp.
In our world of solid anti-stars that do not trickle, the desert leaves slowly,
and still you look west,
even as your burned shoulders,
itchy with inwoven dust
cool in the east glamouring shade, for she is still of the West, of her far desert. Your paws massage the cinnamon sands. Lonely looking, quiet Cat, in Her Far Desert
by ~ArgustheLast

SailsBats flitter and click in the bringing night,
taught wings cupping wind played musical
by rust-brown organ stones uplifted from the earth, worn down by the earth.
Clouds shoo pink,
and the voices of my friends scatter softly over the sagen
lands flush with rubber rabbit bush, thin flat leaves of green waving from olive skin.
Their tents glow with warm and lifting light, domes of bending broad fabric billowing with finery inflections on laughter and lust, like illumining mushrooms sprouting from broken dry-sunken mud flats. & Sails
by ~ArgustheLast

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Jug Of Slug
by ~gaetano125

EasterI wanted to curve your cheeks
inside my hands,
count sunflower spirals
in patterns
down your collarbones.
You were going to wear a yellow dress
that defined the arcs of your hips like a violin. I wanted to bring you flowers graced by mythological goddesses; I wanted to learn your middle name.
I planned for picnics and parks and front steps and back porches, piano chords and typewriter keys, postcards and poetry graffiti,
I wanted to write sonnets on your skin in permanent ink so you would find traces of me in the shower, still stainin Easter
by ~Fermina

I met her in daylight.
I met her in daylight, when I was still a young man. She was nine years of drought; nine years of strawberries the size of dimes.
A kitten was slumped over her shoulder and she wore him like a mink stole, she wore him out like a blue collar in the yard. I saw the patience of her church steeple brow; the way she stretched honey across our
fence for the ants.
        They would have found their way home          anyways; ants always do.  They don’t leave the hill          with carpetbags and hope someday the place their parents turn &nb I met her in daylight
by ~WhoKilledKirov

Pagoda IV - CurtainBelow the lines of Celsius When zero is more powerful Than any plus, In need to stare down the droplets, transforming them in snow, with the power of my mind and Breath.

It's one of them sensations, when you are all tucked up and warm, all of a sudden emerges the Wish, Powerful, beyond any doubt, To free yourself of the clothes, walking in the cold, On snow.
Tip-toed among the flakes, Leaving a trail of human spirit behind, A butterfly with no wings, whose skin is turning, from pink to blue, Then shine. Pagoda IV - Curtain
by ~Silvarith

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!Monique17	~gaetano125
~RedRedValentine	~HowToBeDead05
~Silvarith	~amethest

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Email: argusthelast@hotmail.com

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Comments

~Pinocchio-Liez Apr 9, 2006, 9:06:47 AM

Thanks so much for adding me as a friend...that's so very gnarly of you

!!

--
May God help me if I ever have to use my art...

~AlmostAThreat Mar 28, 2006, 11:05:47 PM

"Isn't what a poem is "about" about not what it is about, that is, what is not said about what it should be about? "- You

Im sorry.
What is it that you were trying to ask?
Were you commenting on, the poem, or were you commenting on, the description?
Be a little more specific, only, use less words, or use less of the same word.

--
::kara::

~drop125 Mar 13, 2006, 11:27:18 AM

Randomly wandering about meeting new deviants

....
Excuse me while I make a mess and leave rings on the coffe table cuz I dont use coasters....

--
98% of the teenage population does or has tried smoking pot. If you're one of the 98% who has, copy & paste this in your signature.

~gaetano125 Feb 22, 2006, 12:19:34 AM

Hah hah hah. I must say, man. I find it amusing that you claim to have no idea 'whether or not your work is any good', considering the comments you consistently get on them.

--
If you're gonna criticize someone, first you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you've got their shoes.