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About Literature / Hobbyist James DavisMale/United States Recent Activity
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Newest Deviations

Literature
Not Fit For A Sunbeam
Jesus wouldn’t want me for a sunbeam,
Rather, he couldn't use me as one.
Perhaps I’d be better service as a raincloud.
As I’ve never been much in favor of the sun.
When I die, I want to come back the way I feel.
I’ve certainly spent enough waking time in one place.
When I die, I want to be reminded that I was real.
And not just the dream of someone else’s God.
Jesus shouldn't use me as a sunbeam.
Although he thinks he should.
Being bright is something I’m no good at.
Never even thought that I could.
And in the end, I guess I’ve always wanted
To live a life of quiet overcast,
Gray and silent and undaunted.
No ray of sun would even waste its time.
It’s possible Jesus doesn’t need me for a sunbeam.
There’s plenty of other people.
Knowing the offer would do nothing but demean,
He’d reclassify me to a better position.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 2 0
Literature
Aging Rockstar
The skyline is like broken teeth
In the mouth of a great big beast.
You struggle just to get out alive.
The streetlights routine
Is from red to green
And if it’s the prettiest thing
That you’ve ever seen
In a long while,
It’s time to leave.
They turn out lights
At the bar for the night
The end was always in sight
And you just want one more
But it’s time to go.
The lines on your face
Betray how you’ve aged
As you stand on the stage
Singing, “Turn The Page”
But no one cheers at all.
You’re getting old.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
I Want To Hold You With Nuclear Arms
I can’t wait to hold you with nuclear arms.
Feel you fall to pieces as heat and light.
Uncountable tiny particles of you.
I want to feel you melt steel.
Beams like candles and roofs like dead leaves.
Twisted and mangled wreckage; useless and irreparable.
I want to watch you implode.
A kiss flash-sealing your mouth shut.
And knock the breath from your lungs.
I want to blow you away with freight train force.
Affection at a thousand miles per hour and devotion unyielding.
Crumble and turn to dust.
And I want to love you over decades.
Lingering pain and illness, a reminder that
Contaminates everything you know and see.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 1 0
Literature
Big Shoulders Blues
I love my hometown, it’s name is Chicago.
Now, you’ve got to love your hometown, girl, and mine’s name is Chicago.
She’s big and bright and beautiful, “Baby, don’t you want to go?”
She’s the home of the blues, Lord, she knows just how I feel.
The home of the blues, Lord, she most definitely knows how I feel.
I love every inch of her, from the lakefront out to Naperville.
She’s got big bad politicians, she’s got gamblers and crooks.
She’s got World Series Champions, sure, she’s got gamblers and crooks.
You don’t need to have me tell you, you can read about it in the books.
Her neighborhoods are bleeding, babe, but she’s still standing tall.
Now, the neighborhoods are bleeding, girl, but she’s still standing tall.
It’s a hard and rough place, you better get tough or lose it all.
From Daley to Emanuel, Lord, everybody loves to blame the mayor.
From Daley to Emanuel, Lord, everybody loves blamin
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Looking For My Baby Blues
I’m looking for my baby, Lord, I’m looking all around.
Yes, I’m looking for my baby, Lord, I’m looking all around.
She up and left me in the night and now she’s nowhere to be found.
I called up the newspaper, had to pay to print your photo.
Lord, I called up that newspaper, they want five dollars for your photo.
But I ain’t got much money, babe, so your face they wouldn’t show.
I asked all over town, girl, checked with all your girlfriends.
Yes, I asked everyone in town, babe, even checked with all your girlfriends.
With my hands coming up empty, Lord, this nightmare never ends.
Now you could be in Kansas, or even as far as New Orleans.
You could be in Kansas, or way down in New Orleans.
I gotta find my baby, I’ll even sail all seven seas.
I’m looking for my baby, Lord, I’m looking all around.
Yes, I’m looking for my baby, best believe I’m looking all around.
I’ll keep searching all my days, until my soul is
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
The Abyss
A man stands on the lip of an endless white expanse.
He teeters on the edge of abyss but maintains his balance.
He leans over the cliff and steals a glance.
Thinks maybe he’ll do well to take his chances.
No matter how hard he squints, he can’t see bottom.
The treasures that could be down there, he can’t even fathom.
He wants them all but he’s entitled to none.
Unaware of the fate of those flying too close to the sun.
In this ashen place, his curiosity piques.
The answers are hidden, all he wants is a peek.
Because only in here does he feel complete,
Uncovering demons best left asleep.
He finds it difficult to understand this.
The torment of uncertainty over this precipice.
He leans a bit farther, his position precarious.
When all of a sudden, he feels a slight shove.
Not done out of malice, but rather of love.
As if something in the abyss beckoned him to follow,
He smiles as he plummets to his discovery below.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
In Effect, Ineffectual
You are nothing.
Less than anything.
Part of a process that has no meaning,
A lost cause with no hope.
A fraying strand on the end of a rope.
You were something.
Once a significant thing.
The world danced on a string as your very plaything.
You had promise at once point.
But now it all feels out of joint.
This is hard for you to hear.
It truly is a heavy load to bear.
The realization pains as it rips and tears.
Your life is one of billions.
Likely to leave nothing behind to mark your existence.
Yes, you are small.
In effect, ineffectual.
A drop in the torrential.
But even if this is true, it is no cause to weep.
For only the inconsequential is truly free.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Oh, Misery Mine
Oh, misery mine,
What have you done?
Why do you revel in ruin?
In despair do you find fun?
Oh, heartache mine,
Why are you still here?
The past is gone, lost in time.
Yet you remain, a souvenir
Oh, memory mine,
How long has it been?
The brighter days have lost their shine.
My soul has blackened from within.
Oh, despondency mine,
At your limit; will you grow no more?
Is there truly a low place you can find,
Worth sacrificing sunshine for?
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Decay
I know you hear me.
And I know you can see.
I was once a great machine,
But built of broken parts
And fading forget-me-nots.
Doomed from the start.
Left to rot.
Yes, so much suffering for such a tiny thing!
Like a pin prick, or a bee sting.
I was once a mighty king,
Ruler of this place and, within it, everything.
Now a battered rusted shell.
Bloated flesh, shrink and swell.
Death, decay, and entropy.
A nameless corpse missing its knell.
I know you can hear me.
Listen well, heed my words.
Great things crumble in the wake of her.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 2 2
Literature
The Tavern
The beer in your hand is as cold as her heart.
And you know where to go, just not how to start.
So you sit and listen as lonesome guitars tear you apart.
She sighs and tells you she should go,
But you would rather clutch white-hot coals
Though they burn you so badly they warm the soul,
You never slacken your grip, never let go.
You hang on to the last thing you have of her in the world.
You're not ready to face another girl.
And you always really knew, but never really cared,
That you would have never gotten where you are
If she didn’t take you there.
Like that first night where you sat so timid and unsure.
Trying harder than Olympians to maintain your composure.
But you were anxious like a dealer during a search and seizure.
While the police they go slow, yes, they go at their leisure.
Sifting through you like a fine-toothed comb of unrelenting torture.
It’s not as though she would scream or shout
No, she never had any doubt.
She had figured out what you were all about.
Th
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 1 0
Literature
Complacency
It’s a half step from terrible,
A whole step from unbearable,
There's just nothing comparable
To what you’re doing to me.
I’ve never bent towards the spiritual,
But I’m sitting here hysterical.
Praying for a miracle
To end my misery.
You know, it’s almost adorable,
The way you act so deplorable.
I nearly forget you’re a criminal
And I’m another casualty.
How can you be so inimical
When I was nothing but charitable?
Why must this be so very painful?
Why can’t you just let me be?
Perhaps it was your acts hypocritical.
Or your affairs extramarital.
Or even your enfant terrible
Which made you so lovely.
The experience was visceral.
Every word to me was lyrical.
How was I to know it was all just satirical?
I blame my emotional complacency.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Indian Summer
I woke up and the sky was blue and righteous in all directions.
The sunlight was pure and powerful with no clouds to obscure it.
The trees, still stripped of leaves, got a taste of what it was like to wave in the breeze.
The pavement still wet from the storm.
Wilted, blackened grass shined with defiant green patches today.
The wind was cooling, but not cold, and it’s breeze was calm.
Animals removed themselves from their shelters and ran about.
Inspired, I went for a run.
And I passed open windows and playing children without coats.
In the distance, the hopeful noise of church bells rang.
Convertible tops were lowered, and bicycles freed from garage prisons.
Dogs were walked.
On my travels, I passed a father on a skateboard.
His helmet too small, his wife and small daughter laughing gleefully.
I gave a smile and a greeting and it was returned.
My city is alive today.
I returned home, wet with exertion and exhaustion.
The newspaper rose to meet me, the headlines a saga of yesterda
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Love Is Destructive
Lines of demarcation.
Lines of communication.
Terms of endearment,
And conditions of forfeit.
Everything is negotiable,
Nothing is intangible.
No conviction invariable.
Nor any theory unquestionable.
Actions thus far, claimed strictly benevolent.
When the fires rage, you deny your involvement.
Before a tribunal of your peers, you preach from the pulpit,
You’re as innocent as children, and there sits the culprit.
Perception and reality is often incongruent.
For example, here I was, the monster, and never even knew it.
What once was your fault is now yours to adjudicate,
And your measure of success is how much you can fabricate.
While I’m on the hook for misdeeds uncommitted,
The only path to freedom is false guilt to be admitted.
It’s really a shame, this mockery of justice.
Shattered and functionless, like your moral compass.
Before I can protest, this backwards prosecution reads me the litany.
And prevention becomes triage to salvage my dignity.
Meanwhile, your fires
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Empty Bottle Blues
I do believe I’ve had enough.
Cursed with a love of the Devil’s stuff.
Enamored with that which fosters inebriation,
A harsh mistress which offers no reciprocation.
I’ve soaked my mind in bourbons and gins
Until I can’t speak and the room just spins.
There’s nothing worse to a drunken lout,
Than realizing his mighty whiskey river has dried out.
And I’m just like the dog that’s lost his bone,
Staggering and stumbling around trying to find my home.
I’ve wasted the whole night on liquor and song.
And even if I didn't care, at the back of my mind I knew all along
That eventually I’d have to face the angry dawn
Either passed out in bed or strewn across the lawn.
And it won’t be just the hangover I’m trying to lose,
But these dreadful and vengeful empty bottle blues.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 1 0
Literature
Refutation
Yes, Mr. Young,
I, too, have seen the needle and the damage done.
I have seen it brought to bear against
A many mother’s sons.
I have seen the war won.
I have seen battle done.
I have seen the junkie’s setting sun.
As it falls behind the pinewood forests
I have seen the needle at it’s worst.
I know how it thirsts.
I know the cursed.
I have seen the trembling pain
As drops of boiling rain
On the throne in the black cavern where the Devil sits.
I have seen and fought the fits.
Of rage and hurt and sorrow in the wake of the last fix.
I have seen the dead.
In the cold ground I have lain and the obituary read.
Cried the tears a family shed.
I know the dead.
I know the names.
I feel the shame.
I share the same.
I have walked with them through Hell.
Some, gone below, their tale I will tell.
The lost have given me permission.

I, too, have seen the needle and the damage done.
Yes, I have, Mr. Young.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0
Literature
Questions
How much does this cost me,
To understand your mind?
Because when you hassle and accost me,
When you batter and assault me,
I just feel as though I’m wasting all my time.
And is there a class I can take,
To comprehend your words?
Because no matter how I try,
I just can’t see through all your lies,
And the stress it gives me’s really for the birds.
And who else can I talk to?
I just don’t know what to do.
It’s just in light of this latest slight
I need professional Insight
On just how it is that I can deal with you.
On what line do I sign?
Who comes to my defense?
Because in your court of law,
Your witness pins me to the wall,
And, alone, I never stand much of a chance.
And how do I find my way
Without the maps and charts?
Because when you act that certain way
Where you don’t do what you say
I just can never seem to navigate those parts.
:iconBigShoulders:BigShoulders
:iconbigshoulders:BigShoulders 0 0

Favourites

Literature
In A Field Of Words (Repost)
Away, far away, grows a flower of the deepest green
With golden flecks along the petals, that shine like stars above
Away, far away, grows a flower of my deepest dreams
My heart forever captivated by the beauty it contains
In a far off distant land, where the sun and moon collide
I was walking through a field of words, unable to find beauty
I could not find the word I wanted, for uninspired I was blind
Until my eyes set gaze upon the flower that has never left my mind
How beautiful it did appear, how beautiful it truly was
A match for this dream turned to reality, there is surely none
What good are words when there exists embodiment of beauty pure
A flower shining as the sun located in a world of shadows
Away, far away, grows a flower after my own heart
I could have plucked it then and there and bore it away, far away
But out of greatest love to see it prosper, and fear of a world without
I left it there, among my words, to brighten the world another day
Away, far away, grows a flower
:iconIShouldntSay:IShouldntSay
:iconishouldntsay:IShouldntSay 3 10
Literature
he's just not that into you
long-legged and twitching
like the spiders
you watch run
down the
drain,
he doesn’t call
you pretty. you remember
his hands tracing the ink
of your veins, but he
doesn’t call you pretty.
he doesn’t hold
the door, and you
think you’re a liar
but the truth is quivering
naked in your voice
(we will name our children after
extinct kingdoms; dead beautiful
things. i will polish the dull spot
in your eye that you developed
after a terminal case of unnoticed
living. i will never be a cure but
damn it if i won’t be a diagnosis)
the static of his vocal chords
brings you back, martyr
without a cause,
he doesn’t call
you pretty and you
don’t question why.
:iconintricately-ordinary:intricately-ordinary
:iconintricately-ordinary:intricately-ordinary 264 145
Literature
A Cup of Coffee (Full)
On the first day I know I saw him, I woke up early in the morning for work. I got out of my bed and folded the sheets at the edge. It is more important than most people realize to make your bed every day. Then, the first task of the day is done. The day is started with accomplishment from real work, even if it is only a small effort. It gives you the right mindset of organization and productivity.
Next, I showered. I used the best soaps and shampoo I can get. Personal presentation is always important. Even if it seems no one notices, your cleanliness will affect how people treat you, and can be the first obstacle to success.
I shaved with a straight razor. Using a straight razor takes a bit more effort. It is a skill that needs to be developed, but leads to better results. Whenever given the opportunity, I always work to develop a skill, rather than take the easier route.
Finally I got dressed. I have an array of suits ready, in a variety of different colors. Each color could mean some
:iconEricAMBM:EricAMBM
:iconericambm:EricAMBM 76 56
Literature
Mind Game
Pick a card from the shuffled deck
Close your eyes and breathe in slow
Floating fingers as wind on grass
Stay very still as the trick unfolds
Shift the lucky handsome devil
Inches closer to Heart’s drumroll
What thrill it brings of great suspense
To choose beyond all fears unknown
Slow racing thoughts burn through the ore
An almost kiss on luscious bliss
Pound the fire on tempest’s froth
Swallow swift delicious sin
Swivel forth the ocean maze
Drifting pops of poison air
Cast the shadows of falling spades
Hide and seek with Joker’s wraith
Draw the lines on sightless traces
Trimming all the truths of queer
Tread far on nightmares cliffless
Count time on Deception’s grin
Ashes bathe the pilfered portrait
Bereft from a start of false
A million frames so duly conjured
In minds of no one’s hold
Lay the aces upon the table
Siren songs in sweet implore
On bloodlust playing secrets
Shall you crown thyself no more
:iconDSteffi:DSteffi
:icondsteffi:DSteffi 16 5
The Silent Machine :iconhaikuo:haikuo 220 11
Literature
Mechanical Man
A mechanical man,
Rusted, stuck, and sulking on his gears and joints
Knees bent solid, and feet planted in the dry concrete
Forever frozen with birdseed in his hands
White feathers and waste adorn his hair
And the only sign of life is his watering eyes
As slow as paint dries
Unblinking in the face of Ra
There's no oil can on the other side of the rainstorm of rays
He tries to twiddle his thumbs
Recalling how they once whirred and cranked
A nonchalant humming against the squawking of his feathered friends
The past is all he has anymore.
Nothing but metal gone hot in the sun
Festering flesh broiling in a tin can
Children roasting marshmallows in the heat
Radiating off his legs
And he sits, grinding his teeth against aluminum foil
Wondering how they can even handle his scent
Blisters on the flesh and paint chipping off the steel
He waits for an oil can and a glass of wine
A sign by his lap with a top-hat of pennies
"Will work for food", the cardboard reads
But all that passerby by seem to
:iconEmerald-Alexandria:Emerald-Alexandria
:iconemerald-alexandria:Emerald-Alexandria 34 17

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Well, it finally happened.  I have officially exhausted all of the poems I have had saved up in my notebook.  From here on out, it will be all new material.  

As always, I encourage those visiting my page who like what I've placed here to please tell me so.  However, I value constructive criticism more.  If you are a more experienced poet who's been around the block a few times and can tell me what I can do to improve or what I'm doing well, I'd appreciate it.  

Thank you kindly for stopping by.
  • Listening to: "Open Mind" - Wilco
  • Reading: The Count of Monte Cristo
  • Watching: Malcolm In The Middle
  • Playing: Destiny
  • Eating: The dust of my peers
  • Drinking: Miller Genuine Draft beer

Comments


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:iconishouldntsay:
IShouldntSay Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the Favourite! appreciate it
Reply
:iconbigshoulders:
BigShoulders Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
But of course! :)
Reply
:iconhaikuo:
haikuo Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017
Hi BigShoulders. Welcome to deviantart! :deviantart:
Reply
:iconbigshoulders:
BigShoulders Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!  I appreciate that! :)
Reply