My story here on DeviantArt started about 2 years and 4 months ago. Before coming here I was already writing. I started in school times with creating short fantasy stories. And I have participated at two writing competitions in my home country without greater success except a mention in the winner books for having taken part.
I decided to try it out with an artist page. In the beginning, I was indecisive if I should enrol with DeviantArt or with Elfwood Lysator. Finally, I came to the conclusion to begin here. I visited the artist pages and here I found more of the art I can produce.
My first step here was to submit poems I have already written in English language. I also supplied a German chapter story and a French essay as well as photos from my last visit to France.
This was my very first poem, already written in the times before DeviantArt - but it was my start here:
I always have been a spiritual writer, so I was looking were to find people that was like-minded artists. By using the search function I found some kind German artists. Those were the friends I have found.
Die StreunerinSie ist eine Streunerin.
Halten kann man sie nur mit der Freiheit.
Sie kommt wenn sie es möchte und geht wie es ihr beliebt.
Doch ruft man ihren Namen, kommt sie schnell zurück.
Sie ist da wenn man sie braucht.
Manchmal unsichtbar nur im Hintergrund, manchmal genau neben dir und manchmal auch nur ein bischen abseits an der Seite.
Aber immer da.
Sie kehrt zu jenen zurück die sie so mögen wie sie ist, wo sie sich wohlfühlen und einfach sein darf.
Wo man sie nicht analysiert und immer nur nach den Fehlern sucht.
Bei einigen Wesen wird sie immer mehr daheim sein als bei anderen und manche Wege werden sich trennen.
Denn sie ist und bleibt eine Streunerin.
Wild und frei im Geiste.
Ungebunden und frei.
Demjenigen der sie nimmt wie sie ist, bietet sie immer einen Platz an ihrer Seite, ein Plätzchen in ihrer Höhle und eine Schulter für alles emotionale.
Sie ist die die auch mal über Köpfe schleckt, die Wunden heilt, mal schimpft und mal zwickt,
My first other friends, I have found are those, belonging to one of my first groups, I joined.
By the time, I have founded myself two groups:
I have found a lot of good friends here, supporters, fans and a lot of nice people. The most active still (some have already given up their accounts) are those lovely creatures:
Here are some good friends I have come to know without being in groups, but I like their art:
My first three-month-premium-membership I got from
and my cake was filled by
The beautiful journal skins are either from
Great open-minded discussion friends I have made in the philosophy/religion forum are
Some of their great art:
Whispers From the FieldsIf the moon could talk, she might have some things to tell us
The sun is all bluster out here, where light holds its breath
You may catch a veiled glimpse of things not quite right
A strand of hair, auburn, or perhaps darker
Swaying silently against a chill Texas night
A loon may call in the distance
A person could hear that and nothing else, in these deepest hours
Gone are the innocent
Gone are their songs
Gone are their destinies
Like an excavated, ancient cave
There be bones about
Stains of suffering
Grimy, granulated stories, written in the small pebbles
If shrieks could not fade
If their echo was alive
Surely they would be a chorus out here
Instead, we have all but lost the song
The radio won't pick up the proper station
Merely Whispers from the fields
Entire lives, reduced to 'animals don't wear socks'
Entire universes of experience, reduced to 'dear god in heaven'
There has to be a reckoning
Here among the whispers
There has to be an answer
Here among the dead
There has to be a
I’ve never been closer,
To the permanent entity,
Before in my life,
As I have been now.
This isn’t somethin’ you come to grips with,
Nor is it somethin' you handle,
With a wave of a hand, flick of the wrist,
Or bat of an eye.
You’re more like having a bat’s eyesight,
Near-blind because you can hardly see,
What’s coming to be
Nor what may arise.
It’s so fast,
Unrelenting in its pursuit,
And unwavering in its impact.
Shaking anyone who comes into contact,
With the whiff of death that consumes the air,
And constricts our breathing passages,
As you see someone you love,
Go down in flames and fadin’.
In (and out) the nebula of smoke.
Death isn’t so scary.
Just say goodbye,
(I love you.)
Before you die.
MonolithsIn the land of dreams, I am a tree.
Under my branches, I've grown fruit and shade.
I give, as only I can.
But how do I grow in this forest?
Where I lay at the feet of the colossi,
Blotting out the sun?
Do not take me for a bitter stump,
I do not begrudge the fruits of your labour
Or mock the pains you surely took.
I only ask that you not scorn me.
I only hope I will not tarry.
Or forget those under my canopy.
THE DRIFTERThe darkest blue had caught his eye,
limitless across the sky;
still he walked the quiet streets,
blackened shadows kissed his feet.
A drifter had he been, till now,
for peace his mind would not allow;
tears began to flow from he,
this man who faces destiny.
No wind to cool his burning face,
his sleeping heart began to race;
'City Limits’ read the sign,
walking on, he crossed the line.
The dead were scattered all around,
and from the city came no sound;
that ball of fire in the sky,
all but he had seemed to die.
His family he had hoped to find,
reverence crept into his mind;
finally now his search would end,
standing still as was the wind.
The house was quiet, still as night,
he used a lantern as his light;
his eyes now seeing what he dread,
for there he found his family dead.
T’was here the drifter met his fate,
with no more need to contemplate;
the pistol fired, the drifter fell,
to only see another hell.
Now the sky was red with blood,
Rub'i of Lost LoveA dream, my love, a dream you will remain
For this aching heart lost you, all in vain
I wish - oh, how I wish - for you, moonlight
Sorrow forlorn; for you I accept pain
Ode to the wilted CamelliaIt all began with a smile...
The freshly awaken Camellia, morning's wonder
Highlighted even on a rubies' field
She was her own spring sun ; a mellifluous beauty
The gullible Camellia, tricked by this charming rose
Got stung to the blood, cleaned out of her inner light.
Another victim of this world's rottenness
The saddening outcome of a barbaric act.
The daughter of Nature got fouled
Reeked of the rose's stench
Acid rain poured on this virgin sprout
And lost her blossom forever
She dreams of nightmares, craves forgetfulness
Floods of tears under the bloody moon
Her desperate and heartbreaking screams
shatter the icy silence of the Withering Night.
Eternity may not be long enough
For the Camellia to shed all her sorrow -
Oh ruthless Scythe!
You sent to the skies such a pretty Camellia.
...It all ended with a bullet.
The Dream ~ Prologue
"August, she's having the dream."
Those words greeted him like cold water in his face. Ice froze his veins over as a withering sigh came from his lips.
He could almost picture Odette's worried face as he hung up the phone, his hand shaking as he leaned heavily on his cane. Shuffling towards his study, leaning to his left to balance himself out, August Savage moved into his bedroom, which was very dark and cave like. However his eyes were still as sharp as an eagle's, he didn't need anything but the low light that was coming in from outside the bedroom to see be as he shuffled around the bed and came to his desk on the far side of the room where he stopped to pay his respects to the only picture sitting upon it.
He, as a much younger man stood, with his arms around three others; his wife, daughter, and son. The picture has been taken in 1970, when his children had been twelve and ten, respectively. They were gone now, two out of his life forever. His daughter had been his o
My purpose here is to help people with constructive criticism and commenting their works as well as to read behind the lines or the pictures. I would like to spread love and positivism and give young artists more self-confidence in their art.
In my time here, I also have learned a lot. I have improved my photography techniques (thanks to great advices from artists) and have expanded my range of literature from only spiritual and nature to far more topics. Starting with only free verse, I have experimented with traditional forms.
I know that I could do far more for the community, but now I just have to whisper "thanks". Thanks to DeviantArt and to its people here for their open-mindedness and tolerance (you will not find this always here but the most time)
I am also doing commissions of various kind for points and now holding my first own contest.
Celebration Festival Contest (Sev.Topics/Prizes)Nothing is without a reason:
I have passed examination. Probably you would say that this is nothing impressive, but in my case it is in several regards.
I have taken part at something that is called "quality check" in my country. It says: "If you are older than 45 years and want to become indespensible for your company...." Well, I took part at some kind of further studies. One third was paid by social fonds (of chancellor Mrs. Merkel), one third was raised out of student's fonds and one third I paid myself. Funny thing I absolved that "quality check" and passed my 2 1/2 years further studies as "Logistikmeister/in", I think it can be translated "Warehouse Manager".
The profession of "Logistikmeister" has only been existing since 2004. First trainings started in 2007. So, the job is relative new and it is a men's domain. I am the first Hessian female entering this men's domain with success. (Another point of joy).
So, for me that is a Celeb
In recent times, the greatest honor for me was to become a foreign language admin for DLR. There are so many literary works that did not get enough recognition because of language barriers. I am glad that I can help foreign artists (French and German) to get more reputation.
___________________________________Journal Skin by: HeatherSchoff