Mr and Mrs HutchinsTwas a week before Christmas, when Andrea and RichMr and Mrs Hutchins by BeccaJS
on the 17th of December decided to get hitched.
Their friends and their families gathered to call,
as the radiant bride walked through Barton hall.
Oli and Toby went ahead of their mum,
excited their family journey had begun.
Both were delighted, because they knew
this was a day for them to celebrate too.
Inside the Orangery the crowd they did hush
As the crescendo started, and Richard did blush.
Led down by Ernie, in her glistening white dress
inhales by those present, who felt greatly blessed.
With each step to Richard, there's no befuddle
Little Miss Barnard will marry her Trouble.
A stick-out of tongue and a little eye-wink;
Exchanges of knowing how the other will think.
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. The art meant crossing roads and dodging lampposts. He’d glance at them pointing their smartphones at his face. They filmed him with fascination, sometimes breaking a smile letting 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.
Site Update: Comment Counts on Thumbs and MoreIn this update, you'll find all the feedback from our last Site Update gathered into the Your Feedback section below, just after the Change Log, which will tell you about some brand new updates we just launched, as well as all the bugs fixed since the last update.Site Update: Comment Counts on Thumbs and More by danlev
Comment Counts Under Thumbs (Beta Testers Only)
We just released a new feature to Beta Testers that adds more context to the experience of viewing artwork on deviantART. You'll now find comment counts underneath the thumbnails of deviations -- they can be seen when browsing or searching art, and also display in your Message Center. We hope this feature will help bring to light the fact that there is a whole world of activity that takes place behind thumbnails. In some cases, when a thumbnail displays many comments, it can be a trigger to join the discussion. Whi
Community Projects - UpdateHi! I'm Hunter, your "new" Community Projects volunteer! I hope our time together will be awesome and productive, and to further this goal I've prepared this... um... brief update to let you all know of some changes coming to the Community Projects gallery, and how we're going to continue in 2012! So here we go!Community Projects - Update by haldron
Changes to Community Projects
So this year we're going to do things a bit differently. My primary goal as Community Projects CV is to support you, the community. Community Projects doesn't exist solely to run our own projects, we're primarily here to help you out with yours. If you want to run a Project, read this article, as it will explain things in greater detail, and then send a note to haldron.
If you know of an awesome project, and you think we should know about it too, link it here!
In the past, we added a lot of categories to Community Projects each year, which ended up cre
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.