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About Deviant Artist London RayFemale/United States Groups :iconlit-community: Lit-Community
 
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Deviant for 7 Years
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Newest Deviations

Literature
Matchstick
irreplaceable yet unnecessary
leave me in your retrospect
where you found me, unwanted & with a question mark over my head
or a Matchstick, maybe
I'm the fire you started &
couldn't put out
the one you doused &
the One you'll freeze without.
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 13 4
xx :iconlondonrey:londonrey 4 1 between green and grey :iconlondonrey:londonrey 0 3
Literature
Night Less
your sleeves drip
reflected constellations
into pools on this rooftop garage
yellow lines between
our feet make the
imposter stars whiter
i will the parking spaces to
narrow.
or for this separation to mean less to me
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 16 25
symptomatic of attachment :iconlondonrey:londonrey 4 7
Literature
alexzander
words are shadows. our
sooty followers, b(l)ack
stabbers
willing captives:
we ache for abuse
chest deep in lava & she wades
deeper in hopes
her name will fly
frantic from your lips
enslaved to your inattention
words are wounds, clumsy
self-scars &
you are the penknife in my right hand
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 32 34
Literature
Snare
& she prefered her hind leg caught in those
greedy teeth
her trapp-ed-ness : her happiness
his puncture marks & their bittersweet ooze
to hold her; to let her
in her last moments
belong to him
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 20 18
Literature
Granted
young yellow lines down this, her street
streaked. smudged, maybe.
split. splayed, yet
neon under quivering stars
no el
imination
[a journey, a war, a sickness
a pizza, a joke, a kiss]

hardly shelter
like wishing for longer sleeves
against the bite of the chill
of s p a c e
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 33 32
Literature
Visibility, His Ability
twin forearm saplings
writhe
&
surge
in a Spring frenzy they shatter each metacarpal
one.after.another.
Gunshots.
Gypsy bones won't contain this reckless green fever.
In Realtime let's grow fonder,
no sense in [still] waiting [still] for daylight to move the shade over to us.
This sky doesn't end;
your eyes stop it
Pray tell:
What keeps you rooted
Keeps you from me
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 30 43
Literature
Upon Returning
This is just exactly what I saw
Only it looks better in the inside of my head.
You see, the tracks from my brain to my fingers only run one way & they're bloody things, well worn & under-nourished.
Not unlike the faces of starving children.
There's a vacant teepee.
It reminds me of a used firecracker,
just a shell of something brilliant,
the casing of something that used to be more of a something.
Makes me think- we all need some company on the inside to make us whole.
Anyway, the teepee shrugged in the wind & flapped open,
ashes from the inside flew out & swarmed my gasping mouth like
vultures to the freshly dead.
They tasted just like the air around you,
delicately apprehensive.
I crawled through the mire with no pretence of grace.
I choked out "no" as the ashes cluttered my throat,
as I fell up into oblivion.
Can it really  be considered the past if I'm still sweating from it,
still coughing it up?
The word "tomorrow" summons a chorus of "yesterday's" from the back of the
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 32 57
Literature
Gonna Soar
caught me a birdie&broke
her birdie neck, hollow-boned,
sounded more like a crinkle than a snap
really you'd hardly be sure it were
bro
ken
until you've got its
dead head
in your unregretful hand
gonna braid her wings into my hair,
gonna raise her birdie babies as my own,
gonna jump off this cliff with them in arms,
gonna soar.
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 39 74
London Ray :iconlondonrey:londonrey 3 37
Literature
Seagazing
eres:
fire-pit-pit-of-my-stomach
feeling,
warm champagne for my insides
vos me caes
like
Autumn's daylight sliding down my throat-
seeping in through the holes in my skin until my kidneys glow
white-blue
waves-like-wings to carry me cos
i've dreamt of soaring this underworld
contigo
with heavy limbs &
f o u r  in-this-moment eyes,
keeping "Far" far away
Let's don't quite recall the deep breaths we took, only why we took them.
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 39 65
Literature
Might
lava eyes
&
why you aimed them at me
gaunt-hearted:
grass gone to seed, she
lets Summer's heavy breath slither in through her pores
love's eyes
versus
lover's eyes
he watched her brain melt and seep
through his
w i d e s p r e a d  fingers
& these webs that could not hold held what could not catch hold
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 38 92
Literature
Shelf Life
ghostcrab:
steampunk brains whirring
come west, translucent boy!
your press-on googly eyes will lodge
in my voice boxsee i self-strum with sincerity
sandling:
while your shell is yet a bud
plop off this dock
trust the wise lake
trust me to deal gentlyrecoil not; remember not
no blame to leave to die a thing already dead.
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 22 51
Literature
Unshackled
My Dear Peter,
There is a masterpiece: internal and wicked, laser-scrawled and syllable-heavy. It surfaces slowly, like pond scum. I often scrape at it industriously, collecting pieces and bits in the spaces between periods and capital letters, on the back of receipts, and on the college-ruled lines of composition notebooks.  
Were it set to music we would find it minor-keyed and shocking. Yes. Let's make this happen, if only to say we succeeded in a single thing, together. There is room in my cerebellum for the both of us to grow: crookedly, zigzaggedly. For us each to lean in, your left cheekbone will pin that half of my shrug down. We will no doubt find ourselves swaying in circles as if we were cut out and pasted back onto that overcrowded dance floor. I would hold back motions and words for the first time in my life, letting you lead. Ah, but words are not lyrics when they're left to bleed out on winter's bike paths. I wander worn synaptic trails, wringing my hands and h
:iconlondonrey:londonrey
:iconlondonrey:londonrey 34 71

Random Favourites

Literature
Pathogen
You like to pretend
that it didn't hurt,
when you tore my lungs
with a silver trowel
My pain is so pretty,
iconic, innovative;
my diaphragm
just a pulsing dragonfly
The light in my eyes
just something to squeeze,
pathetically gorgeous,
desperate need of disease
Stretch my vocal cords,
until I cannot utter, mutter,
make a sound, nor blither
but instead erotically wither
:iconPagesOfDreams:PagesOfDreams
:iconpagesofdreams:PagesOfDreams 26 31
Literature
Brittle fingernails
Fingers like to kiss you
with yellow rose petal tips.
Vigorously caressing a song,
lively living death in
a morbid lost cause.
Barely breathing the harmony
of the velvet violet sky;
I inhale the wind,
grasp the sun in my mind's eye
shriek the poet bird requiem.
:iconPagesOfDreams:PagesOfDreams
:iconpagesofdreams:PagesOfDreams 11 23
Literature
Don't Forget
Moonstars are
you remembering
just how
to lip touch me
:iconPagesOfDreams:PagesOfDreams
:iconpagesofdreams:PagesOfDreams 11 2
Literature
Longer lines, falling deeper
Vacancy is the inside of an open ventricle that no longer moves
It stings, the red slime filled internal-
Lifeless
Soundless; melody pending, wasted potential drying
Patience is a talent that I no longer posses
:iconPagesOfDreams:PagesOfDreams
:iconpagesofdreams:PagesOfDreams 3 3
Literature
Tidal waves.
We are alone here in this valley near the sea
and it is almost dark and almost quiet, but I
can hear someone crying just a few rooms away.
She is not so hawk-eyed, not so frighteningly
sharp and I am afraid to make her cry, so I lie,
I lie. She is a small bird with too-high heels
and a nervous laugh; her wings tucked loosely
beside her like the bags beneath her eyes. She
wears too much make-up, but sometimes that's okay.
She compares me to her children and tells me I'm
so bright, but I am greasy hair and yesterday's
makeup, ragged nails gripping the seams in her
worn couch. She is innocent and I am too high
to function, but not high enough to swim.
She thinks that she can save me, you know, so I
tell her of tsunamis, of rising tides, of the
dark flood that hides away until it can drown me
from inside. She says empty overused phrases like
the boy who says he loves me, but really only wants
something to say. It's okay, I'm not looking for an
answer anymore. "Sounds like you have some iss
:iconsirenseranade11:sirenseranade11
:iconsirenseranade11:sirenseranade11 34 24
Literature
stop ruining autumn.
listen:
fall makes me think of leaving and of apple cider, though i never liked apple cider.
but i liked the idea of it.
listen:
two years ago i met a boy as fragile as dead leaves who called me his little spring girl. (i'd always liked autumn the best.) he kissed the two soft dimples on the small of my back and told me helikedme helovedme hewantedme.
and oh, by the way, "everything good must come to an end."
listen:
on our one year anniversary we picked out two pumpkins and i drew elephants on them for us to carve. he cut his out so aggressively that it lost its shape.
lopped off tusks and broken trunks became just a large, jagged hole.
he put a lit candle inside, and we watched it flicker, illuminating the raw edges.
"what is it supposed to be?" i asked him, taking his hand.
"my heart," he said definitively.
like an afterthought.
after that i was too afraid to carve my pumpkin at all.
listen:
the leaves changed, or maybe he changed, or maybe i was b
:iconestallidos:estallidos
:iconestallidos:estallidos 2,009 470
Literature
she's crying in the phone-
it is nice to
bake biscuits with the windows down
and eat them
one by one by one
by eight
alone.
and it is lovely to
stare
from a balcony
at a hospital
blocked by trees
and all their bloody noses
seem like the red sea
(a place you wish to be).
there's no place like
home
and the kittens purr
at her red heels.
:iconDamagedHomewrecker:DamagedHomewrecker
:icondamagedhomewrecker:DamagedHomewrecker 5 8
sailing virginia :iconanenalynne:AnenaLynne 45 11
Literature
the dawn was breaking
i. victor, i think i have forgotten
how to fear
but possibly i am just dying.
ii. last night i saw my father scrape a needle
from his bone to sew together his crooked lips
and let the dripping moon-glass fall stark against his wrists
like closing guillotines
so i could not feel him write or cry or speak. mother
pinned his tongue to his teeth
and beheaded it like a sordid, mutinous beast
revolting against its own self.
it spat syllables from his mouth
as if they were bitter stones.
i called it a lobotomy, but when she stuffed his eyes with wool
and told him to believe the world was a beautiful place
i realized that killing yourself is not the only way to commit suicide.
iii. tomorrow comes. the new day will fall
like a letter to the atmosphere which warns
about the light and how it breaks the sky,
how the clouds are wounded by its blades and breath.
i will put my hand
into your chest and perforate your heart
to take it raw and fresh and wet,
push against the knotting of your spine
until
:iconCyneNoir:CyneNoir
:iconcynenoir:CyneNoir 37 45
Literature
Tribal Gods Passing on Wind
In the forest I built the old man
like a child; a brown and weary god
which swallows the shadows cast by water
and breathes them out across the curling leaves.
I carved his eyes
from horn and ivory. They gleamed warily
as twin stones dark with slumber, the ice
winding its way through their cracks
only by memory. Their pale moss
fell off in patches.
And his skull, shaken by the birthing
of cold worlds in its sockets,
was thrust into the willow trees
to catch vestiges of falling
ghosts
but found only blackbirds
and fistfuls of sleep. I grabbed rivers
by their spines and peeled them gently
from the dirt, wrestled their scarred water
with my naked hands, folded them
like the skeletons of hollow stars. I
thrust their roots into the old man's back
as if the waves would churn into wings
that gave way to bodies of bitter light
with the clouds.
A coming storm frothed against the horizon
like the manes of fire-horses. The thunder broke
as it swept through his heart, leaving footprints
deeper tha
:iconCyneNoir:CyneNoir
:iconcynenoir:CyneNoir 35 42
Journal
My DLD Round-Up Feature Part II
DailyLitDeviations Round-Up Feature
Part II

The second installment of a series which features the best poetry on deviantArt which has been featured by myself. As a poetry admin of the wonderful group DailyLitDeviations it is my job, and pleasure, to select pieces of the poetry gallery and feature them in the daily news articles brought to you by the whole team.
Part II





The typography of loss by almalobana serenade by breakthatfall
origins to finish by pseudometry -clink- goes the coin by happymegs81
Good Things Come by O-scope Spring Forward by metal-steffi
live/die/breathe/repeat/ by stuff7 :thumb162310394:
Sweet and simple by Noleetida :thumb166563341:
wager of war --first draft-- by passingavery :thumb168623094:
Spoken Rhythms by deadfishheads :thumb169588493:
:thumb154850600: :thumb168904710:
Star-crossed. by vapzii Charms by Scarlettletters
:star: Part I :star:
What is :devdailylitde
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 16 0
this bitch called hope :iconmiyu-chan:miyu-chan 4,126 351 Victorian Dress Journal :iconsilent-petals:Silent-Petals 6 5 i don't do crowds :iconlove-and-some-verses:love-and-some-verses 1 0

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londonrey
London Ray
Artist
United States
Current Residence: The hearts of the hopeless
Favourite genre of music: alt/rock/pop/r&b/rap/indie/punk/emo/techno/folk
MP3 player of choice: Zune
Favourite cartoon character: Jake the dog
Interests
Ello my lovelies.
I will now proceed to feed you a bunch of bullcrap about how I feel the need to create a new account with less baggage associated with it. I'm not a "new person" or anything so ridiculous as that.. I just feel lighter without all these scrawlings.

I've been away, and I've made a promise to myself to stop making promises. That being said, follow me if you want. Read my crap. I love you. (:


saber-toothed


p.s. I'm not deleting this account. It will stay, like a framed picture of me from my childhood.
  • Listening to: helena- nickel creek/my chemical romance
  • Eating: my nails

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconafter-eden:
After-Eden Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello there old friend. How have you been? Just getting back to deviantart and my writing and I'm very happy to see that you're still active!
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
My dear London, I was so very happy to spot that avatar of yours. Thank you for dropping by. :tighthug:
Reply
:iconcality:
cality Featured By Owner May 23, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:hug:
Reply
:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2012
:iconkillplz:
:iconcandycornplz:HAPPY HALLOWEEN!:iconbatsplz:
Reply
:iconswansisters:
swansisters Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the watch! :rose:
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
londonrey Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2012
You're welcome!
Reply
:iconkthecard:
KtheCard Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2012  Student Writer
thank you for the watch, lovely. :heart:
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
londonrey Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2012
Of course!
Reply
:icontoxic-nebulae:
toxic-nebulae Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2011  Student Writer
:hug: how are you, beautiful?
Reply
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