~Quemaqua

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About Me Literature / Professional Member Michael RiserMale/United States

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#transliterations
from one world to another

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Deviant for 8 Years

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The Deviant Apparatus

Aug 3, 2005, 9:34:11 PM by ~Quemaqua
Literature / Poetry / Family Life / Traditional Fixed Forms



   ye

Dreaming children, come in masses

   we

Errant artists grow like grasses

   find

Verity in our invention

   our

Interred art, our loved detention



Are we now become a force

Nature of a deferred course

To paths less chosen, grander still

Always for those who wander will?



   we are

Reborn with each ingredient

   we are

The soul of every deviant

76 Comments

Newest Deviations

sunlit philosophy flowers sprout from dead
men. the women don't
weep.
the hollow head of Horus shouts (
with joyful mouth
) vaults of twisted images
in heads salt-spun.

and my love holds a candle
up to the sun, crying
out Look, this is yesterday, the beautiful
thing,
but I say
It's sandwiched between evils,
crushed and flush with it
Self gone
broken
between bits of bitter chuff
once sweet
salvation.

we can do no
better, not any
better than this thing where the earth
goes dark, back to the bush and the nipple,
the lush and silent song
we suck as we fill ourselves
with grain and sin.
she loves us
and in love
feeds us plots
whersunlit philosophy by ~Quemaqua

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bringing out no Mona, no
Mary, just the memory of the dark
hammering on the door
to get in, saying Come on man,
the sun's almost up and I'm
dying out here.

thump
tha-thump, now the knocking
is a beating in my chest that keeps on
going though I'm yelling
at it to stop, but it goes on anyway
pleasing itself with things, the way
the necks of kings do on
chopping blocks, reaching down into
that heart-hell irregularity,
thump tha-
thump

shit, we expect too much.
it's just a wad of gristle too
long out, too hard and full of dirt
so even the dogs won't chew it,
a kickball on beach sand,
going along from
foot to foot, wet and sinking
past bringing out by ~Quemaqua

2 Comments

Dog Training Her head lowers, neck rigid, pointed toward the dark hole in the earth. There she smells the foul breezes that blow from the corners beneath the world we walk. They're alive in the air, sentient things that move and settle into the spaces where so few find pleasure. She hears the footsteps of animals in them. She feels their scents like playthings thick enough to take into the mouth. She closes her eyes as she inches forward, nose tunneling between the bright colors of fallen leaves. She strains toward the dark.

"That's enough," I tell her, and with a glance of reticence she pushes up and walks away.

I suppose she might believe me, or underDog Training by ~Quemaqua

12 Comments

Hell It was somewhere around 3 in the morning, just under the 30 overpass heading south, the kind of crossing of time and place where you evaporate from the world, winding your way into the recesses of your mind that have projected themselves beneath the road. You just stare and drive and watch the headlights flash across all the yellow bits on the asphalt without ever seeing any of them. They go past like sleeping fireflies, as uninterested in you as you are in them.

Your mind needs these intervals. There are things to be moved, sorted, and misplaced. Meanings to be discerned. Tender spaces to be wounded.

I was asleep inside myself as the overpHell by ~Quemaqua

9 Comments

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Critiques

The Crow

by `Halatia

This is somewhat dry, and I didn't find it at all scary, but I do think the minimalism is used to wonderful effect. It highlights the l...

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This deviation was deleted

This poem is both brilliant and lovely, and there's so much that I like! Yet there's a lot that I seem to hit like a speedbump at 65. ...

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She and the music Dreams in low definition.
Deadeye night.
Red pulsar company, blink blink.
Left eye splinter, can't get it out.
Sharp bit compression breaths
and the cold, gut-wrenching beat.
I would reach out if I knew where my arms began,
I fear that all you get are hands
tipping the scales.

She ticks, she ticks, nebula pioneer
in her twin star kicks.
I sleep with pores open to exude
what soul belongs to her.
She is also inside me.
Spike digging deep, heart seeker.
Long way coming, long way gone.
Don't remember the sting,
can't get it out.
Such a beautiful way
to slowly, slowly, slowly die.

She walks on thought paths
and the wilderness

She and the music

by *neonxaos

My issues with this poem are entirely a flow thing, but I can't quite decide about it. I feel like you have way too many hard stops and...

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This deviation was deleted

This is good. It took a little while to get going, but I think it found its legs around "someone is coming". It—if you'll pardon...

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Deathcircus

5 Comments

Insert Title

Jan 16, 2012, 10:39:25 PM by ~Quemaqua
Journals / Personal

Mood: Anguish
Listening to: How to Destroy Angels
Reading: PKD
Watching: Scrubs
Playing: Skyrim
Eating: food, at intervals
Drinking: Cutty Sark

There are corpse-shaped holes in my heart. I miss the dead; the ones that passed and the ones that never lived.

I'm tired of turning round only to face this void again.

5 Comments

More Journal Entries

deviantID

~Quemaqua

Michael Riser
Artist | Professional | Literature

United States

To rest is easy. To work, there's the thing that mangles jaws in gritting teeth, raises hackles against the dam, against the block of water that heckles sleep, hassles the moving of the grass. I am the letter Q, all for quintessence and disreputable qualities. I am Quemaqua, a meaningless word awash in definition. Give me comments, tell me I'm your favorite, sing me the sums of songless tunes. Pass the llamas, the subscriptions, and let's stay to salt the ego's wounds.

Current Residence: Fort Worth, TX
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Large
Favourite genre of music: Jazz, blues, classical, heavy metal (order subject to change)
Operating System: Win7
MP3 player of choice: Cowon D2 and an iPod Touch
Shell of choice: Bombshells (ordnance or beautiful woman, your choice)
Favourite cartoon character: Gatsu
Personal Quote: What reality proves and the heart believes are often at odds.

www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com

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Comments

~OrchidAngel Apr 23, 2012

Hello. I came to tell the whole world that I love you. You're the most beautiful part of every day. <3

--
"The winter prepares the earth for the spring, so do afflictions sanctified prepare the soul for glory." --Richard Sibbes

~Quemaqua Apr 24, 2012 Professional Writer

Aww. I love you too, babe.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.

*beeinthebottle Apr 7, 2012 Writer

Thank you -- and it's so great to see you.

--
My muse has returned. I think I'll kill her.

~Quemaqua Apr 7, 2012 Professional Writer

Likewise! I'm trying to be good and come on more often. Really trying! My inbox is ridiculous, though. Seems half the people I watch post a poem every day. That's like... hundreds of items in just a few weeks. I may need to prune things a bit.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.

*beeinthebottle Apr 7, 2012 Writer

It's National Poetry Month, NaPoWriMo. The whole point is to post a poem a month.

Maybe things will slow down in May.

--
My muse has returned. I think I'll kill her.

~Quemaqua Apr 7, 2012 Professional Writer

Yeah. I used to kind of like all those things (I did NaNoWriMo twice), and then suddenly I grew to dislike them. It's good if it gets you to work, but I think I came to find the "community spirit" sort of artificial and a little nauseating, not to mention just how many spinoffs there are.

Though I did like the people. I was in SF when I did it and got to eat/chat with Chris Baty and some of the folks who put it all together, help set things up/tear them down. It was a cool experience. For whatever reason the rest of it grew tiresome.

Either way, lots of people on my list have been posting a poem a day for several months now, so this isn't just a recent thing. Many of them are great, but I just plain don't have the time to read that much stuff.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.

*PinkamenaVargas Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

--
I do pony commissions (= ヮ= )৩

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This comment reminds me of a puzzle~!

~Quemaqua Apr 7, 2012 Professional Writer

Back atcha!

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.

*beeinthebottle Mar 29, 2012 Writer

Sending "happy birthday!!" wishes your way.

--
My muse has returned. I think I'll kill her.

~Quemaqua Mar 29, 2012 Professional Writer

Thanks, love.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.

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