rober2

If you walk away, I walk away

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To my lover, that she might escape by rober2, literature

Literature

To my lover, that she might escape

I've held you here, close in-between my knuckles, so bruised with mute mutiny, they beat at the thighs and the ribs of me we can pretend that we're lovers, not drowning together to gather love scraped from under nails or concrete halls, from painted walls beneath high-way-gray ships of the sea, that are skies that are meant to be burning with passion and purity but wreck the horizon with infantile agony and sails to the endless, oh, anywhere at all I'm sorry, this place will get the best of us yet

Beach Poem by rober2, literature

a night between us by rober2, literature

Foreplay by rober2, literature

On forgetting by rober2, literature

A meditation by rober2, literature

Letter to a former lover by rober2, literature

Literature

Letter to a former lover

I wrote you letters of these hollow woods, perhaps your tongue was tied or planing out your teeth with supple motion licking forth a better smile a brighter future, at least you never answered or gave word that you had seen the fog riding from beneath the trees on grey stallions or that the woods themselves were leaning out and giving way and turning grey, mist breeding hollow spines on brittle branches.

On farewells by rober2, literature

Dead air by rober2, literature

on relationships by rober2, literature

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To my lover, that she might escape by rober2, literature

Literature

To my lover, that she might escape

Beach Poem by rober2, literature

a night between us by rober2, literature

Foreplay by rober2, literature

On forgetting by rober2, literature

A meditation by rober2, literature

Letter to a former lover by rober2, literature

Literature

Letter to a former lover

On farewells by rober2, literature

Dead air by rober2, literature

on relationships by rober2, literature

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A lion among sheep. by DearPoetry, literature

Literature

A lion among sheep.

There are ghosts in my bloodstream kissing concrete cells & the bedroom eyes of nerve endings. ( foreign words engraved into my marrow, birds in my chest & wars not yet fought between my hips. ) I've taken myself apart every night since I learned how to swallow a pen without gagging; limb by steady limb. Passed around by grabby hands, a sold, & borrowed daughter; I am a lion among sheep, drunk on life & ink.

Perpetuity by Sssorry, literature

Literature

Perpetuity

Mother, I want to come home to see familiar faces and places, wooded trails my bare feet would know by feel, even now. I do not wish to be here so ill prepared, with my sad collection of wares, my teenage son, running from monsters we invited no matter how unknowingly. I've done nothing but that which I thought best though I confess, emotion takes its toll on intelligence for if it didn't, I wouldn't be here pleading with your cold dead bones. I am the mother now- sins committed by my son are sins I also own, and so it goes, and so it goes.

leaving the nest by anyimacielgray, literature

Marie by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Marie

The revolution started with a lean hunger, an empty purse, and a mail order bride (who thought a crown was just a rich girl's hat), eating cake off her lover's belly, growing plump and soft while the crowd grew thin and hard with sticks and stones. The city no longer smiled, just tossed in its sleep and dreamed of angry beasts, swollen and shameless, flat on their backs while the gutters ran with stars.

Icarus by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Icarus

All he left you was the fear of flying - the accidental tilt of gravity against the air and pull of atmosphere that cracked the ceiling of your bedroom. You thought he must be Icarus from the scent that tattered the sheets and the soft, white down you mistook for rapture - a sweet tryst of love and friction. But the sun was cruel that day - abrupt and lethal, beckoning you to the window to study how he wore the April morning and watch as ecstacy made criminals of his words.

He Idles At the Break of Day by cwedmart, literature

Literature

He Idles At the Break of Day

He idles at the break of day with a hum-song from his engine, winds careening along windows cracked, and the copious chirps of an April bird. "Is it music?" He wonders - that ordered-chaos-well-from-the-soul - an ostinato engine to the stringing of windly breezes - and the singing, oh how the singer sings her sun-dust melody, like angels from tree-lined shadows on a horizon of blazing light.

Shift by Sssorry, literature

Midnight Ride by Sssorry, literature

Literature

Midnight Ride

Tonight no strings affix my wings to anything- my bones become wind chimes to Chopin's notes as I'm flown high and blindly blinking through the milky way, a water-light shimmer on a glassy lake, brilliant, awake as spring's first bobbing robin, twice as hungry. I always thought the stars were dot-to-dots, and still the challenge lies in making all the right connections.

Deviation Spotlight

Ocean's Song by rober2, literature

Literature

Ocean's Song

Forgive my weakness, woman, and my albatross-hands that roam from island to island, in search of rest. Forgive me also for my fish-school eyes, they dart from side to side in search of something that glitters - prey or the great white Kraken, or both: "I have wrecked too many ships, and seen them scream, I have held them like a lover; come, my children," it tempts, and lies softly at the bottom of the sea, singing. Forgive my oceanic absence, and the lapping and the lapses of my tongue; it writhes in my mouth like the Kraken - a treacherous, twisted creature is love, and I do, make no mistake.

Ocean's Song

rober2

About rober2

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Artist // Professional // Literature

Oct 22, 1986
Denmark
Deviant for 21 years
He / Him

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My Bio

I write stuff, you read it, sometimes the other way around.

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Bright Eyes, Joanna Newsom

Favourite Writers

LeGuin, Gaiman

Other Interests

Writing

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rober2

Jun 17, 2012

This is what a scam looks like on dA:

0 min read

https://realartizt.deviantart.com/journal/Write-One-Poem-308149460 So I stumbled over this journal earlier, and it's a deviant asking other deviants to send him pictures or poems which he will then use in a fucking commercial newsletter. Well, nothing wrong with that, except this particular deviant is supposed to be doing this himself, and he hasn't been doing his job and now he expects the others to do it for him. For free. But in return, he'll like totally put in a good word for them and maybe someone will buy their prints (sure they will). What a fucking scumbag. "Hey, why don't you come by my office sometime this week and do my job f

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rober2

Aug 23, 2011

I have sunk to this:

0 min read

Writing articles on choosing the best high chairs for babies.

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rober2

Jul 4, 2011

Came back from a festival

0 min read

Relaxing, listening to techno (which is not my usual type of music, but boy can partying be infectuous) and reading "also spracht zaratustra" - life is good.

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Profile Comments 411

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AggerholmMichael

Apr 13, 2014

Hey, Minauko from GW here.

I stumbled upon your profile while browsing.

Håber det går godt!

JadeHater

May 30, 2013

Wow! Your really good!

TheKreggorian

Jan 8, 2013

Your name came up today at the forum and I realized I hadn't said hi in a long time. I saw that you were active here recently so figured it was a good place to leave my greetings. Hope all is well. Happy new year.