SymphonyInWilde

Wanton

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Urchinal by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Urchinal

I came from the sea, already ten months pregnant. Russell's beach hut was close; I was sorry, so sorry, harsh-breathed as he parted the flaking blue door from the frame. He made cruel jokes about sperm whales; offered woody tea; talked it over like a premium rate agony aunt. Warm foam, gentle water - tub-bound I took everything off. Because I breathed under the surface, he finally liked me; a goldfish girl, dolphin-gened, some biological magic trick. I would emerge face slick, sheened - screen door paper sagging with humidity - finally we kissed. The baby came. Things changed. The greatest shame for my kind is our depe

Blastesses by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Blastesses

You're a great Irish wolfhound of a man. Fingers cut by unwarmed bedroom air thrust up and down over keys to find you. They're searching, all chubby hips, leather jackets, loners, ladies. None of them follow your scent as well as I. You're too beautiful to hide. Come to me. What's wrong with kneeling, resting in my lap? Sweet baby, I could give lung flutters, acid-flavoured purring, such body symphony for you. I'd welcome you home, into me. There is no mat. Don't bother to wipe your feet.

Portraitornography by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Portraitornography

They're coming to take me away from you; they say I have worn out my eyes from staring. True, I weep sand now and again, but gritty lashes don't matter, don't put off a man who cannot see. "What would you rather be, deaf or blind?" You're neither, being made of paint. People meet their loves anywhere: you could be on a coffee run on a TV set, in a jacuzzi, drunk - so what if I met you between the lines of a frame? Can't you breathe, just for me? Can't you kill the people who insist on kissing around me? The sound upsets me so.

Horse Feathers by SymphonyInWilde, literature

The Navigator by SymphonyInWilde, literature

The Pnuemoniad by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Mermaid Baby by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Sad Tale of My Birthday by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Sad Tale of My Birthday

My birthday this year: Twenty-one is a special bunch of years, but I was disallowed much fun. Someone I started to love clapped another girl upon his knee, looked at me unashamed, and I was out the room like a shot. Opaque cocktails came back up into the washing basket, the only container in my room - my birthday was paying dividends, all over again. Like Hermione churning with morning sickness, I gushed. Leontes was copping off in the other room; I brimmed with loneliness, with spit.

Odd couple by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Odd couple

She was the type whose nipples itched when central heating woke each new winter; grew her toenails long - you are imagining her as disgusting, she is not but neither is she striking a chord with anyone as beautiful- in-her-own-way. She bought a new pair of gloves, promptly sacrificed one half to an untidy room; probably now you believe she is clumsy, she is not so stop trying to imagine her and only listen. He for she has a he enjoys his Italian surname and uses "Don" for each online handle, but has minimal chest hair, an imposter. Maybe he spilt hot cheese on himself once, has a burn on a knee, maybe not - you think he

Shakespeare by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Shakespeare

O, O I am speaking Shakespeare doing it so differently from how you would, and all thoughts are on how you might do it - even our mouths are varied species; mine small, plump lips, opening to a width unimaginable - a baby bird squawking - and yours long, thin, sharp, laughing, angry in its curling, clever, clever boy. As long as I keep speaking you are shadowing - I cannot get away.

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Urchinal by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Urchinal

The Navigator by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Mermaid Baby by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Odd couple by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Odd couple

Shakespeare by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Shakespeare

dreams of the Gardener by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

dreams of the Gardener

Fingers in ribbons she shuffled to me the patio chairs and the cup of tea I'd poured. I'd found her weeding without gloves offered cream, bandages, a thick white carnation dropped on my saucer. Pert on the sage cushion she lay flat snagged hands on the table's difficult surface shot my eyes through the circle of hers - I will not love she said again. Let me love angels for I will not love ordinary men. The ring in my trousers bloomed with the hard necessity of staying secret for another day.

The Unfaithful Man, II by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

The Unfaithful Man, II

The unfaithful man, mottled with shaving cream, roped two lilac valances together, abseiled from the bathroom window. For five days his wife made raisin cakes, warm with rum: stacks of cakes grew over the counters, moist, dark, unhappy blocks. The doorbell rang when the cakes threatened the empty belly of the sink. "Why were you so long?" mumbled the wife. "I lost my eye to a low-hanging branch, had to chase it across a cobbled road." He grinned like a rogue with a scar-stiffened face and gave her a jar of marmalade with a scrubbed-out Best Before label.

Excavation by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Lopsided Breasts by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Lopsided Breasts

I am on a swing and I am looking very hard at a perfume advert held in a glowing glass rectangle, a blister on the side of a bus shelter. A woman with facial skin like a laundered shirt is trying to seduce me into reaching out for the glass globe in her hand. An interesting colour, like the wrapper of expensive chocolate, gleams on the fat flank of this globe and in the woman's lower lip. I am swinging as high as the chains will allow, holding a staring contest with this well-pressed lady; the evening is dusty and humid, my linen shorts tight on my dimpled thighs. I am the unsexiest thing in the world - fourteen, mouth rigg

Girl Who Forgot How to Sleep by SymphonyInWilde, literature

Literature

Girl Who Forgot How to Sleep

Her body became one long starched sleeve, a joke on the theme of straitjackets, eyes heavily open, fixed on the bulging wall; cramps came and crushed her guts; the resulting cube might easily have been a lilac car left out in the rain. With a snarl like a banana skin splitting, her lips unzipped, like the corner shop, staying open past 4am unable to repair. After the third sunrise hair came away in wheaty bushels earmarked with gold by rude light; the fourth shone on a caged pair of parched blue dots, ruffling their jellied flanks as they strained to pop from the skull of the girl who'd forgotten how to sleep.

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1020 Ocean by EmmaSloane, literature

Rooibos by saturninesweetness, literature

Literature

Rooibos

If under mulch she sang a rotten wood-like note with quiver Nostalgic for her days alive Surely they could forgive her Most days it's quiet (these days it's cold) Her bones observe the soil But Spring is pulsing warm and gold Teasing memories to boil Like heated milk the liquid smell of evening drips in branches A honeybee who suffocates falls near her musing ashes "Is it wine or light strawberry?" She asks him of the sky Though his dead ears don't hear her query The answer is "Like dye" Just under mulch I hear a rotten wood-like note with quiver Flushing young in days alive Of course I can f

Yellow brick by EmmaSloane, literature

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About SymphonyInWilde

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Artist // Student // Literature

United Kingdom
Deviant for 13 years
She / Her

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My Bio

I study Early Modern English Lit at Sussex, UK; I write poetry, visit museums and sites of historical interest, act, direct, go to the theatre and wear down my teeth with sweets in my spare time.

Favourite Movies

Metropolis

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Tori Amos, Emilie Autumn, Regina Spektor, Kate Bush, Les Mis soundtrack

Other Interests

Poetry, short stories, sexualised fairytales, magic realism, reading.

Posts

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SymphonyInWilde

May 15, 2012

Journalung

0 min read

I really dislike using deviantArt. In brief, there is little to no critique, no real poetry-centric community (My Little Pony icon shit everywhere, what) and a horrible push-button system built to pump a feel-good release into whoever can favourite the shit out of stuff the quickest and in the greatest volume. I'm not likely to find a decent critiquing community online at all, but whatever the case, I won't find anything near what I need to develop my skills here. Also I hate the colour scheme, really truly. I feel like I have grown out of posting poetry to places like this. I'm in the process of researching a 15,000 dissertation in order t

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SymphonyInWilde

Dec 18, 2011

A-roooblublublub

0 min read

Much like Patrick Wolf likes to write about wolf-men, I seem to go towards the sea and mermaids. Bubble bubble!

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SymphonyInWilde

Dec 16, 2011

Ha. Irony.

0 min read

Feeling broody the year you're diagnosed with vaginismus. Funny, eh?

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Profile Comments 38

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TheFoxAstronaut

Jan 4, 2012

thank you kindly for the watch!

SZografos

Jun 14, 2011

your wonderful work has been featured here: [link]

SymphonyInWilde

Jun 14, 2011

C: Thank you so much for the feature!

my pleasure!

I think I might take up the mantle of Poet again, if only for a while. You remind me of my love for commas and line breaks. In poetry that speaks without rhymes. Thanks. It's been a while since I've written a poem.

-Tay

SymphonyInWilde

Jun 12, 2011

I'm flattered, really. I gave up on writing rhyming poetry in absolute disgust and it took a while to learn that poetry can be beautiful and communicative without being trite. If you like, I can point you in the direction of a couple of sites that really helped me get back into the craft and understand it a little better. Just give me a shout if you'd like the links. Thank you for the wonderful comment and the watch.

XxBlindxBeautyxX

Jun 21, 2011

Oh, that would be wonderful!

I miss poetry, sometimes. Thanks so much, for the links. My writing teacher always said, "NO cheese. NO disclaimers. NO RHYMES!!!!!! And no, I repeat, NO unrequited love. Now write, children!" Good, ol' Mr. Pullen. xD