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 Welcome to The Grooviest Lit in Town, where some of deviantART's very own writers are featured for their all radical, all gas, and all hangin' works and projects. From prose and poetry, to the depths of novels, soliloquies and articles - it's all here! So hang loose, get jazzed, and keep on being right outta sight. Love

THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-SIX

groov·y

 ['ɡro͞ovē]
adjective,informal
1.enjoyable and excellent.

GROOVIN' LIT...


underworldhe dreamt of trees
with yellow-moon bark 
and leaves of silver
dripping with stars 
amid luminous mists
Violets Are BlackRoses are blood red
violets are black
she lost herself
and cant get her back
she held her breath
to look in the mirror
but she cant do it
she doesn't want to see her
the one who was broken down
into tiny little pieces
around her friends she tried not to frown
but it was harder than some made it out to be.
the pain in her wrist was almost too much to bear
she screamed and cried but no one could hear
it was useless and pathetic but she wouldn't bite
she just wanted someone to hug her
and tell her it will be alright.
5th Orchestra ViolinistSlowly the strings ache out that soft sound that lulls us into a comfortable place. Then a build, quick and haunting; throwing everything you just felt away and replacing it with fear and suspense. You wait for the finish for it to hit you, you brace for the worst and then it stops. Suddenly without warning you are brought to a place of sheer light and atmosphere. It is pure and you feel at ease, like you have arrived in heaven or a place similar. You walk down the halls of white and it becomes brighter and brighter until the door opens and you step out and fall. The thought vanishes and your hope breaks. You fall from the perched white and your heart fades. You realize you are back in your seat and no longer in your dream. You stare down at the fifth chair violinist,  who is slowly pulling his bow across his strings in an attempt to lull you back into your dream. You can not go back for you know the lie, and can never see the white again. The violinist glances up and you swear it
Clip ClopThe train sleepily pulls into the train station at 10.30pm. I close my book and slide it into my bag before standing up and walking towards the train doors. I stifle a yawn as I step onto the platform and make my way to the station’s exit. “I need to stop putting in so much overtime”, I think to myself. I can barely stand up I feel so tired. The station is deserted except for one or two other commuters waiting on the various train platforms.
As I reach the exit and begin my walk down the main road, I coerce my earphones into my ears and select ‘shuffle’ on my ipod. ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Garfunkel begins to play. The only sounds I can hear outside of my earphones are the noises of impatient traffic, my shoes hitting the pavement and the rhythmic movement of my crisp suit swishing as I walk.
The autumnal air is unpleasant against the nakedness of my face and brings a chill to my spine. I skip the song on my ipod, in need of a song m
Letter of a French muslim woman
Salam aleikum wa rahmatullah,
As a French and Muslim artist, committed for a message of Faith and Peace, I join myself with all the "humanity" to condemn the slaughter of Paris and to offer my sincere condolences to the saddened families.
I am profoundly sad because France that welcomed my parents 50 years ago, today, has been meanly assaulted and bruised. When I hear that one of these barbarians shouted "ALLAHOU AKBAR", I have even more pain because my religion is again soiled...
Let us remain united, quiet, and do not mix haters and innocent people.
A/ To those fools of ISIS:
You are not warriors!!!
You are not soldiers!!!
You are not even men!!!
You are cowards...
You are weak...
You do not have ANYTHING in common with our Beloved Prophet صلى الله عليه و سلم ...
You are inequitable...
You are pitiful...
You are manipulated...
You kill and dream to kill innocents, at moments they do not
Schmetterling, du boeses DingEs begab einst vor langer Zeit, eine höchst seltsame Begebenheit. Ein frommer Mann im Garten saß und ganz gemütlich Zeitung las. Sein Aug' erblickte ein gar komisch' Ding - ich schwör's, es war ein Schmetterling. Mannshoch, man glaubt es kaum. Dreist flog er über'n Gartenzaun. Was dann geschah zwischen Mann und Wesen, ist wie folgt nachzulesen:

Der Mann betrachtete das Wesen, dass vor ihm stand. So etwas hatte er noch nie zuvor gesehen. Er fragte sich, was sein merkwürdiger Gast wohl von ihm wollte. Schließlich wohnte er so weit abgeschieden, dass er nie Besuch bekam. Was ihm nur recht war. So war er nicht sehr erfreut, dass nun jemand seine Ruhe störte.
[Mann]
Schmetterling, du fremdes Ding!
Was führt dich in meinen Garten?

[Schmetterling]
Die Neugier führte mich zu dir,
in dein abgeschiedenes Domizil.
Bei diesen Worten vollführte der Fremde eine Drehung, die in einer eleganten Verbeugung endete. Die schwarz
Ghosts of My Father 
     Sunlight streams into my room from the open curtain, reminding me that my room is a cell. I try to close my eyes and go back to bed, but it is too late, they saw me. I throw my cover over my head but the blanket cannot drown them out, I am surprised they ever let me go to sleep in the first place. I slam the blanket back onto the bed, and sigh as I sit up. There they are, all of them, trying to talk at the same time.
    
    “Please get a message to my son.” One shouts out, and another is whaling, she always cries. There is one whispering, “Hey, look over at me. Don’t listen to these lunatics, I need you more than they do.”
    
    I manage to ignore all of them, if the staff here knew I still see them they would never let me leave. Ten years is too long to stay in a septic white room with white walls. The white curtains are not really curtains
Blue HeavenIt’s smog I wrap around me when I sleep.
In this city I suck down the vapor when I dream and pretend it’s sugar water. I see blue, glowing spots when I blink. It’s a symptom from this city’s pollution. The doctor says I may eventually go blind. For now, I watch the phantoms fade in and out of my vision like floating fireflies. I think maybe they drift away into the atmosphere when I sleep.
And when I wake, it’s always raining; it’s always raining in this futurescape. (My oblivion of technology and memories.) Today isn’t any different. I face the half-open window and twist my jaw around. The outside explodes my inside world with color. When it rains this neon city glows, and we all melt together like we’re part of some deep, coral, underwater symphony.
I pretend not to notice the cars whizzing past my unit, or the buzzing of whatever new device the holographic ads are trying to sell. Instead, I strain to listen to the rain and something fa
Humans of New YorkThey call it the city that never sleeps—it's true, you know.
Sarah and I stretched our tired legs after spending ten hours lulled by the gentle rocking of the rail car—jostled awake just before sleep took us, every time. We emerged from the mechanical echoes of Penn Station and were greeted by the vibrant city streets. It was past one, but the air was alive with traffic, neon reflecting off of the wet pavement, and indistinct porch-step conversations. A cool, after-rain breeze blew Sarah's hair across her face as we both looked upwards in awe of the buildings towering above.
After a good night's rest, we spent the next few days walking the New York streets under clear summer skies. Times Square, MOMA, all the tourist spots. My favorite was the observation deck of Rockefeller Center. There's something inspiring about seeing the city from above, watching cars pump through avenues and one-way streets like blood in steel and concrete veins. Sarah fell in love with Central Park.

THE GROOVIEST LIT CONTINUES...


BloodlustStephi




FROM THE BRILLIANT IDIOTS AT Where-God-Went-Wrong


How far do you have to go in the afterlife to simply sit for a nice, quiet cup of tea? 
Our hero's not having any luck with that, no thanks to a growing entourage of "helpful" 
characters, who lead him to Grand Central Station, it's doors to different worlds, and, 
eventually, to the Shrine of the Book of cheats.


It's a family-friendly comedy in the flavour of Douglas Adams' "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". 

Tune in and support the show!

GOT ART?


If you would like to be featured, or know a rad piece of art that you love, send it my way! I'm always
open to suggestions for anything that I do on deviantART and I would love to hear back from all of you.

Happy writing,

NAKTARRA




Skin by SimplySilent
 Welcome to The Grooviest Lit in Town, where some of deviantART's very own writers are featured for their all radical, all gas, and all hangin' works and projects. From prose and poetry, to the depths of novels, soliloquies and articles - it's all here! So hang loose, get jazzed, and keep on being right outta sight. Love

THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-FIVE

groov·y

 ['ɡro͞ovē]
adjective,informal
1.enjoyable and excellent.

GROOVIN' LIT...


Power Over You - Labyrinth -Jareth~ Power Over You ~
There's a silence.
It's hanging in the air.
Say your right words,
Oh, clearly, if you dare.
I have the power
To make your dreams come true.
Yes, I have power
Over you.
And I will take from you
That which you claim
To wish to lack.
What would you go through
To make your way
To get it back?
Here is the moment
In which the choice is made.
Such a sweet tremble...
That your voice betrayed.
Turn back, Sarah.
Turn back, before it's too late.
There is no winning in this.
I, too, am resigned to that fate.
Oh, you cower.
I was frightening. Yes, it's true.
I have such power
Over you.
Such a pity...
It's further than you think.
Time is short,
And things can change each time you blink.
What would you give?
What do you say?
Do you have what it takes?
How can I live
This every day?
How about upping the stakes?
Bravado?
Don't try me.
Sarah,
Don't defy me.
Deny my power,
But you know it's true...
That I have power
Over you.
It's not fair?
You say that so often.
I wonder wha
The trees spokeLong time ago, trees could move on purpose.
Trees never walked the way  humans do. Since the birth of the world and the first tree their roots were numb.
No, trees never had real legs... But they had hands-branches. Right now, trees‘ branches are branches; back then, they were more like hands than branches. During those old times, even the shortest tree had a thousand of hands-branches, and they talked to each other by waving. Every tiny branch moved to its on direction, and one tree at the same time spoke a thousand thoughts.
One day, in the lively forest humans found a new home. Soon they learned the language of trees. Trees grew full of joy for finding new friends, and since then their branches danced talking ceaselessly.
For a long time, humans and trees were happy together. Humans‘ children played together with the small saplings. Trees gave pleasurable shadows to humans in hot days, and humans protected trees from wild animals so they wouldn‘t rip off the r
.:Only You, Me And The Rain:.The pair of hazel eyes glanced out of the bus window, watching the rain drops rolling down against the glass. She couldn’t remember how long they had been sitting there by now, but it was slowly getting dark. Visiting outside the state to meet Felicity’s parents was probably one of the longest trips that Lumi remembered ever making, and she was one who had gotten down from Heaven, so that was a pretty high estimate.
    She had to admit to herself, she liked the rain, more than she did like the sunshine. While warm days allowed her a chance to dress up whoever she wanted and just enjoy feeling as light as an angel ever could, rain was always something that just made her feel so calm and relaxed. Knowing that she could just roll into a ball under a blanket and not have a care in the world, to just sit back and relax and not bother herself with a thought of going outside with or without the excuse that she didn’t own and umbrella…
  &
Lullaby For A Stormy NightI woke with a soft scream as thunder boomed and lightning flashed outside my window, sitting up quickly as I wrapped my blanket around me tightly. I trembled, staring at the window with wide eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks. I used to like thunderstorm, but ever since my anxiety started getting harder to deal with everyday any loud noise startled me and thunderstorms certainly scared the living hell out of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, before I suddenly heard my bedroom door creak open. I jumped so high into the air I was surprised I didn't hit the damn ceiling, screaming when I saw the tall, dark figure standing in my bedroom door.
I fell off my bed and tried to dart underneath it before I heard; "Whoa, whoa! Its just me! Its me!" I froze before I let out a relieved sob. Jin.
"Y-You scared the SHIT out of me!" I screamed at him angrily, and he winced as he turned on my light. He stood there, wearing pajama pants and a black t-shirt. His silver hair was ruffled from sleep, an
Self Esteem"So... Just off of here, right?" My dad asked, pointing towards a street on our right.
I replied with a bit of confidence, though I still wasn't entirely sure, "Yeah, that's what he said."
He turned the wheel, and my body went along with the same force as the car turned. Not a minute later, he pulled up to the building, and set the car in park, "All right. I'll still be in town, probably just exploring. If anything, I'll be at the library until we're ready to pick up your mom."
"Thanks, dad." I got out, and shut the door behind me, already half way into the building.
"Be careful!" He called, waving at me while I slipped passed the glass doors.
   The building I was in was... Hard to explain. I didn't know what to call it; lounge, arcade, mall? I think mall might have been the best way to describe it, since it pretty much had everything and anything. I mean, it was right along the beach, and spanned on for a good while. The place wasn't too crowded; it looked like a fair amoun
Not So Heavenly Keep getting stronger and persevere, if you are to survive in this world. Oh! Are you waking up? Do you remember your dream? It's fine if you don't. Just go back to sleep... Close your eyes, and forget everything... I will watch over you... after all, I gave you your name. But a warning, one day, Death will be knocking at your door. Like last time... like that time... at Zero Hour.
    Hearing this voice, you awoke with a fright, gasping and breathing for air. You have no idea why you were having a nightmare... you had awoke to your bedroom in Aethra, the vast Kingdom which spread over the entire world known to you as Gaia. You awoke in the middle of night, looking over at the clean transparent autumn red drapes of the curtain, and the old-fashioned clock sitting on the wall above the dresser which read half-past three, The walls were supposed to have change colors in accordance with how you were feeling. Today, they were gray, for you felt confused. "My
DarknessFumbling in darkness
and waiting for the light.
Hoping against hope
that everything will be alright.
Clinging onto anything
that helps you make it through,
contented in the knowledge
that there's nothing you can do.
Just the Way You AreTo the girl down the hall,
you're wonderful
even with all your flaws.
You don't need to change
for it pains me to see
a horse imitating sheep.
To the boy at my right,
I know you're in the dark,
but you'll see light.
Even though it hurts to be in your body,
nothing people will say will stop me
from telling you this.
Just 'cause a gal never you gave you a chance,
it doesn't mean you gotta hide behind a pillar
in the never ending dance.
To the writer over there,
stop beating yourself down
when you try to be fair.
Balancing between two worlds,
you can't help but let your fingers curl
away from the man-made reality.
Don't let another world waste away
on fading paper.
The characters wouldn't have survived
without you.
To the poet in the house
who helps you laugh,
it wouldn't be too bad
if you showed some sad.
Happiness gets overrated.
You're so happy all the time,
where's the release in that.
Post something sad every now and then,
and when you write something again,
won't you fe
The EnvelopeThat envelope. Opening that envelope changed my life. Changed it for the worst.
I was in my office. My bookcase was lined with various books on psychology, to help ease the nerves of my patients, to show that I was quite professional, though I had hardly read any of them. The bottom shelf held a few books of varying genres to read in my spare time, mainly horror. I looked to my desk, with my notes neatly stacked in one corner, the top left to be exact, and my pens, pencils and notepad in the bottom right. All perfectly in line with my Victorian, oak desk. Only one item was horribly out of place, just casually thrown onto my desk by some Buffon who was in my office before me. I could almost feel the vein burst in my head, as the brown envelope just lay there, out of place.
Rubbing the sides of my head to calm myself, I finally took into consideration that the envelope must contain the file on my next patient. Closing the door behind me, I walked across my brown carpet, towards my desk.

THE GROOVIEST LIT CONTINUES...


Milk-and-Pie

To you who write until you bleed and cry and diei. You aren't the ruins of Greece.
You don't combust into fascination when the black
rose you planted years ago finally bloom and poison
your veins and stop your heart beat in  black splotches
and dirty grenade. The Earth won't mould trees or
ocean or clouds into your image when rust seeps into
your wrist, turning you into a sculpture of grey hands
and silver blood. You won't smile knowing a spider is
creeping up your throat, spider webbing your tongue and robbing your voice away.
ii. You can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails.
You don't have to get why your wounds rot like
the speed of a full-on hail storm and why others
have bowstring  smile and pretty eyes all the
damn time.  You don't have to  know why your
musical box blasts in gunfires and thunderbolts
while other have rose tattoos exploding in fierce
fireworks and adrenaline-rushing stage fire. You
can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails and
scraped metallic heart. You can't love yourse
To you with glass shard heart and paper skin               You will climb and mount his lips and taste every syllable of his words just to find a space where you could fit in; you will press your fingers onto symphonies of black and white cacophonous outrage just because your mind is a cosmic explosion and a catastrophic cyclop. You're a shipwreck that crushes yourself into graveyards and you cry yourself into a smudged mascara and glassy eyed mess just to hope for one day you'll justify your existence without hurting yourself anymore. And when your tornado eyes come gushing down in watershed tears at every nightfall, you will climb behind brick walls and tear stained diaries and cry and blame the world and demand an ocean of apologies.
               Even so, the world will only give you silence. I'm sorry the war had not ended for you. I'm sorry you had to cry in asphalt dust and gun fire smoke. I'm sorry you're suffocated in liquor fumes because n

Because Writing Keeps Me Human               Just because it is burning my mind, and it holds a grenade that blasts everything I have into remnants of his musky scent; because I feel like I'm gagging, except that I'm coughing poems and vomiting metaphors; because words can be a crumpled piece of paper drowned in tears, and every poem written can be blended into fiction; and because my limbs feel like they had been devoured by the lava in the words and the music notes I play sink deep between the piano keys, and apparently banging the keys does not help silencing the empty screams at night.
               Because the clock seems to slow down whenever I am planting your name in ink and paper; and because nobody ever listens to me the way poetry do; because poetry sees the "warning: fragile, handle with care" sign on me and knows that I break easily; because I can sculpt him into dreams and heavens and he will never know he exists in poems
I saw the tornado in your eyesSo you learnt to hide your hurricanes,
You hushed your storms silent,
And hid the seams in your bruised heart,
You found cracks beneath your gentle smile.
(G.L)
-I saw the tornado in your eyes


ElvenrangerBri

Memories of a German SunriseMemories of a German sunrise
Beautiful and glistening
Like a summer once known
Warm and calm
Happy and bright
Cheerful like a young child
But wise like an elder
This sunrise has been dimmed
Extinguished by the horrors of life
Holding on to a memory of what once was
Knowing that for a new sunrise to occur
That sun will have to set
Silent screaming from the nightmares seen by the American moon
Praying that the German sunrise will come again
Not wanting to see the light gone
But knowing that the night is just as beautiful as the day
Praying that she can protect that German sun
Praying that this isn’t the end
Knowing that eventually the German sunrise will show again
Memories of a German sunrise
Bright and glimmering like gold
And just as rich
Warmth emanates from the memories
Like the sun is smiling down on the earth
While the American moon shines quietly and waits for her moment to shine
But enjoys the memories she has of the German sunrise
Right now the German sun moves towards a
Go To the Trees Go to the trees
The trees will hold you close
The trees will show you how to listen
The trees...
The trees.
Go to the trees
The trees will comfort you
The trees will listen to what you have to say without interruption.
The trees...
The trees.
Go to the trees, that's what they cried out to me!
Go to the trees, they will be your protectors!
The trees...
I can't go to the trees.

Too Late"No!" I shouted, gripping the once-lustrous strands of my light auburn-looking hair on the temples of my head, the hairs twisting around my fingers and falling into my hands from the sheer force of my grip and the fact that it had long since started to fall out from my poor care.  "I won't give in! You don't control me!"
"Oh, but I do."  A breathy voice whispered, somewhat close to my own, but different in a way I couldn't describe.  It was dark and twisted, evil in a way I could never imagine.  "Let me just show you, my dear."  It was smooth and sweet like poisonous honey now.  It disgusted and disturbed me beyond belief.
"I won't let you!" But I knew I was growing weaker as the struggle went on, making its way to its last throes.  The voice chuckled bitterly.
"Stop resisting me, I am the part of you that you hide.  You acknowledge my presence all the same, though!"
"No," I shouted again.
"I could give you the power to save your friends."  
Unjust LifeForever in an unjust life
I live alone
No one to lean on
No one to love
No one to call my own in any way.
Who do I rely on?
Who cares for me?
Who calls me their own?
What do I do?
Everyone I know has someone to love and live for
Why not me?
Why them? What makes them so different?
Everyone says life isn’t fair
But why couldn’t life at least do this for me?
This is unjust in the extreme
But who am I to ask what is just and unjust?
Why would I even get the notion that I know the difference?
What did I even do to life to deserve this?
All I wanted was to be like others.
Why couldn’t I at least get that?
Everyone says being unique is good, that being different makes you special.
But who cares?
Why would they care?
I’m nothing special to this world,
Nothing special at all.
Why would they even think I was special?
Why would anyone think I’m deserving of their love and affection?
I’m just a person living an unjust life for all of eternity.



FROM THE BRILLIANT IDIOTS AT Where-God-Went-Wrong


How far do you have to go in the afterlife to simply sit for a nice, quiet cup of tea? 
Our hero's not having any luck with that, no thanks to a growing entourage of "helpful" 
characters, who lead him to Grand Central Station, it's doors to different worlds, and, 
eventually, to the Shrine of the Book of cheats.


It's a family-friendly comedy in the flavour of Douglas Adams' "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". 

Tune in and support the show!

GOT ART?


If you would like to be featured, or know a rad piece of art that you love, send it my way! I'm always
open to suggestions for anything that I do on deviantART and I would love to hear back from all of you.

Happy writing,

NAKTARRA




Skin by SimplySilent
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:iconsaviorsblood:
SaviorsBlood Featured By Owner 4 days ago  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
Hello from your newest member, everybody. I hope everyone's doing well. I have a question regarding where I might submit a piece of prose. I feel it's a bit of a conflicted work in the matter of what folder it should go.

The current item in question's use of excessive or graphic themes of mature content (namely language, violence, blood/gore, sexuality/nudity, and disturbing imagery) is hardly severe, but I put a mature tag on it anyway, because if by some chance I feel security concerns ebb and decide to share more of the work here, I believe those themes would likely result in an undoubted need to be labelled mature. And to just be safe.

Furthermore, on the note of sharing or not sharing more than the first part, it could be likely I will only share the first chapter, but I'm not completely decided.

So where should this particular piece go? Mature only, Chaptered Works, or Prose? Fortgive me for the wall of text, but I figured putting all of the information out on the table at once would ultimately speed up the verdict, so you don't need to do anything more than necessary.

Thank you for your help, courtesy, and accepting my new membership. Have a nice day!
Reply
:iconbendrownedkitten:
BenDrownedKitten Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2016  Student Writer
Hey guys, I have literature commissions open if you're interested ^^

bendrownedkitten.deviantart.co…
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:iconwei-en:
wei-en Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2015
The poetry folder is full :)
Reply
:iconnaktarra:
Naktarra Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2015   Writer
Thank you for telling me; this has been resolved. :)
Reply
:iconbebravesoul:
BeBraveSoul Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2015
Thank you for letting me join! :)
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