The Man who walked backwardsFor thirty years, Praveen had only walked backwards.The Man who walked backwards by BeccaJS
Through the city, he spent every day pacing the streets making scribbles in his notepads. He didn’t pay attention to the confused expressions of passers-by anymore.
He didn’t care for the comments, the questions or even the accusations of madness. He heard all their theories to why and even their concerns to his ability to walk forwards.
He continued to walk on, backwards.
Sometimes people would join in and walk backwards alongside him. It wouldn’t take long before they’d give up, realising the art meant crossing roads and dodging lampposts. He’d glance at them pointing their smartphones at his face as they filmed him with fascination, sometimes breaking a smile to let them know he understood.
Sometimes he would answer their questions. He walked away watching their confused expressions as they tried to understand his answers.
He did explain to a journalist once. He told her he’d taken this vow thir
OverworkedWe set aside a time, one hour for a meeting;Overworked by BeccaJS
our search for a room hindered by our search
for the solution.
Can we set aside a day
for creation and have a canvas we can all paint on
at the same time in the same room
and order ice cream or chip-shop chips
whilst we make our master design?
Then do you think we can turn our idea
into a real life innovation?
Or do we continue to scavenge old buildings
for neglected conference rooms once
booked by occupants no longer present. Do
we panic about the problem and confirm
we are in shit before we've truly understood
the colour, depth, and complexity of the shit?
Do you think we could stick to our plans and
do what we say we will do when we do it? We
go home on time and drink gin-and-tonic in
a local beer garden, enjoying the warm sun instead
of an overheated, over-exhausted office.
Machine WindWind tip-tapping againstMachine Wind by BeccaJS
desperate to attract attention,
off desolate rooftops
where there's no blue skies
but the lingering pollution of
The wind infers longing, where they once worked,
sweeping each corner in search of their presence
or past existence, a distance too far
of just what happened and why now absent.
Still tipping and raising the alarm,
there must be someone there-
a twisted gust takes one more lap of hope.
no more than hope.
Walking with a ToddlerSlow he may be, plodding gentle hisWalking with a Toddler by BeccaJS
tiny legs. Each stick is a new
exploration three steps to
“come on” you shout as he trots over
gravel laughing delighted at the crunch-crunch
beneath his feet
and back again.
A dog bounds by, so much energy that
it sparks fear in the little trekker as
he clings to your leg, begging to be lifted.
Arms wrapped around his world,
he points at the sky, tells you its blue.
The Execution of Judy MonroeIn glamour, in glitter-infested HollywoodThe Execution of Judy Monroe by BeccaJS
the movie star Judy Monroe’s almond eyes; coaled melodramatic,
tilt towards the camera.
The executioner motions forward;
a tall man, no guardian angel.
She watches his movement; spiteful, hated as he proudly glides
to prep for the grand finale.
A prayer to God with no love, each lens focused on her.
Black and white replaced by orange overalls.
She was found,
She was judged,
And Judy Monroe will be judged
Until opulence is extinguished and her dimpled cheeks sallow
and her pretty head drops.
When the tall man grazes her last touch,
leather grasps her wrists tight.
the poison plunges and she falls before them all:
behold her final bow.
release and exhale.
Four-Letter PoemsWe try to recombine each other,Four-Letter Poems by TheMaidenInBlack
to overwrite the coding of us constantly-
yet I've never been good at Scrabble
And I can't make poems out of four letters,
Hackers, we've corrupted this sourcecode
Attaching and removing strings
So long and repeteadly it feels like forever;
And now and then it is
Like we're decorating a Christmas tree
But we lost all sense of beauty.
we have tried. I feel my insides
A festival of scars and tentatives of surgery;
enzymes, our guests, look for those special seats that
Have a name and a shape fitting them only.
And they will cut up their fabric and
tear apart their old, tired cushions.
And pull out the fluffy beauty from inside them,
"We're just modernizing them a bit!".
And I will look at you, my so-called love
Through eyes crying aminoacid chains;
but I've never been good at Scrabble, so
you unmade and rebuilt all my four-letter poems.
The beauty and the wonder of
Nitrogenous base sequences,
You nitpicked the best restriction e
I Came, I dAmned, I Founded In this ongoing series of articles, we probe the minds of some dAmn's channel founders to find out what makes them tick, how they've made their room a success and what tips they can provide to budding channel owners.I Came, I dAmned, I Founded  by shuttermonkey
This month is karyaazure and :#Thumbsshare:
1) First off karyaazure, can you tell us a little bit about yourself!
Well I'm not the greatest at talking about myself so I'll keep it brief here, but I love to meet people on dA and if anyone has questions about me or the community please do not hesitate to contact me! Just a few of my passions include my work (I am a licensed professional working with children with special needs, like autism and also teach graduate courses at a state university), my friends, my family, my pup, changing the world, and pursuing my curiosities.
Included with friends above are, of course, the folks (both mods and members) that participate in the :#Thumbsshare: community.
2) When did you first discover dAmn, and can you
eclipse.my eyes well-up constellations for you,
they shine bright. though my tears aren't precious anymore,
far too common for the tormenting night.
whoever told you about those squinting stars?
they strain to see those in this world;
gifted yet challenged by the sun and the moon.
and if all of earth's paradoxes were to stand up like soldiers,
we would be out of place.
try not to cry about such trivial matters
and live life as if we will not die.
and if such aspects are set in stone,
why does our molten flow so smoothly as
we seep out venus' volcano of infidelity and trust?
and they tell us that lust leads to consequences.
our brightness attracts those moths who perish in our heat.
we give a warm welcome to everything that we
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;
I watch him as he buys coffee
and gives it to everybody he passes
on the street who looks sad, and
his lips curl into a smile because
he made a joke that gave someone a laugh.
He holds his mother's hand on top
of hospital sheets, pressing the button
to pump morphine into her system
before he signals a nurse. Tears cascade
down his face when he watches
his mother take her last breath.
And his lips curl into a sneer as he walks
past a cloud of lung choking smoke,
thinking of the fume filled air
his mother suffocated herself in.
He thinks he's heartless, but
his heart is bigger than anyone's.