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It was carved in stone that they would all return at the end of their lives to the same house where the windows were painted shut and throw at least one stone apiece into the dark interior that never breathed and left them mute as swans when the music had faded and turned into mustiness that choked the birds in the tree outside the paved yard..
By nannan URL on 12.26.2011
The characters were empty, as far as the show went. Carved wooden faces in regal shapes. But no intrigue, no compelling backstory. Yet it fit together within a plot that moved, allowing me to overlook the shortcomings.
By Calilah on 12.26.2011
The carved version of the pumpkin didn’t resemble anyone recognizable, but there was just something about those eyes. Something, haunting yet, I don’t know, personally familiar.
By T. Michael Smith URL on 12.26.2011
He was an artist. The way he carved the turkey was poetry in motion.
Nah. I’m kidding. He hacked that poor bird up! The legs and thighs strewn in one direction. The wings splayed. The breast was just a mess, cut WITH the grain instead of against it. Made it all stringy and not that much fun to eat.
But the skin! Mmmmm. All crispy and golden. THAT was worth eating!
By CameoRoze URL on 12.26.2011
When Lily carved her name into the tree, she felt the pulse of the oaken veins against her hand. It was not a pulse of pain, merely of annoyance. She drooped her eyes toward the matted brown grass, tangled and overgrown like patches of decaying hair.
Beside her, a bird perched itself on a shrub, delicately balancing one leg on a bending limb and leaf. Quiet and withdrawn.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 12.26.2011
carved turkeys that i carved with a carve\ing knife are now aten and left only with the said big old carcus that will be fed to the baby because it like to chew on toys so we are going to save some money and let the baby chew on the bones and the caralige and have a very meryy cacusy time!
By ajloopy URL on 12.26.2011
I looked at the tree. It was tall, thick, the bark chipping off. It’s been forty years, and it didn’t look any different. I smile, touching my hand over the letters. CU + HE FOREVER. A tear rolls down my cheek. I press my lips to the carving and get back into the car. Time to visit the grave…
By Amanda URL on 12.26.2011
The words you said are carved into my mind. So I carve them into my arm. I’m so full of doubt, I wake up with my heart hurting. Why are you doing this to me? Am I so insignificant?
By M URL on 12.26.2011
My heart is carved in stone or sometimes I think that it should be – I painted a heart last summer that shows the broken pieces, the torn and broken pieces, the shards of my heart. I need to carve out new things with my heart.
By Sebtown URL on 12.26.2011
Perfectly carved is the life that everyone wanted of me. Perfectly carved is the hopes and dreams that they wanted. Perfectly carved is their puppet.
By Pinky on 12.26.2011
He always made them with love, tigers, leopards but mostly owls, all made out of the finest redwood. One of them sat on her mantlepiece, its plastic eyes burning with fire, she liked to think it was watching over her now he was gone.
By RomCarter URL on 12.26.2011
We carved our initials into trees
when we were only nine years old.
But really –
you permanently carved your initials
into my heart that day.
I can still feel them –
sitting and waiting with each beat of my heart –
for the day you come back home.
By Ashley URL on 12.26.2011
a piece of wood with a pencil and then i shit on it because it was yellow and my knife was gold with chocolate writing on it then i licked the writing off and it was just a gold knife i love my cared piece of wood that a carved with my gold knife
By michael on 12.26.2011
You’ve carved your place in my heart through words and actions, small and great… It’s an irrevocable hollow that only you can fill…and only you can leave empty and desolate. Say you will fill it, again and again, there is no music like such words.
By J9 URL on 12.26.2011
carved out–if only i could carve out something from anything. that’s what i ought to practice. it would be ideal if i have the brain to do so–yet perhaps that’s not the workings of brain. it’s the workings of imagination.
By kaorita on 12.26.2011
into a tree
the initials of you and me
for we love each other so
ill need a bandaid to cover the stab wound in my heart
By Kate on 12.26.2011
he carved up the turkey, throwing the slices to each of the plates stuck out. As the meat slapped the china, the face scrunched and the arm withdrew, placing the plate down. They sat silent, hands on their laps til they were told they could help themselves to vegetables. They were never told.
By Rolo URL on 12.26.2011
Carved a piece in a cave telling the story of a life once know. The details the intricate textures depicts memories of time that is longed for to return again.
By Christian URL on 12.26.2011
My heart was missing a piece; a teeny, tiny little segment. One that was shaped after his birthmark, and his trail of freckles. The two were joined; and they were beautiful to me. They were on his hipbone, just below his waistline and were only seen if he shaved. I remember the first time I saw them – they stood out so vibrantly against his pale skin and I was struck by them so much that I asked why he never mentioned them before.
“I hate them, I think they look freaky. The brown and orange mix against the white. I’ve always hated them, it’s why I don’t shave. It’s why I never have before.”
“Well, why have you chosen to do so now? Why did you expose them if you hate them so?”
“Because I know you love me, and I know that even though I might hate them and want to will away their existence, I know you love all of me, and I know how you love imperfections. I think it’s only fair you’re given a chance to love the thing I hate most about my body; just like I love yours.”
By Michelle O'Connor URL on 12.26.2011
A male ballerina. Ballerino? No, just a dancer, really. And a heterosexual. Something about that was poignant, besides the obvious. The misconception of the ballet (the dance of the thing): ballet is grace. Grace is just how we see strength. Ballet is nothing further than the pure power of the muscle. The dancer built as lion, built as heavyweight boxer, as shark, as sinew and hate.
By Jack URL on 12.26.2011
one day you’ll be Emperor
By Fabric Spell in Ushe URL on 12.26.2011
I used to live across the street from a railroad. There were thousands of rocks that lined the sides. Once, I found something I thought was treasure. It had to be a carved Native American decoration. To my chagrin, my father said, “No, Nick, that’s a trilobite.” In my disappointment, I threw it as far as I could into the woods.
By Nick Rassi URL on 12.26.2011
Avocado. A word sounding so ancient in the syllables that round, harden, open and close. They are parellels to the mouth moving, carving out consonants as I spoon feed the slivers of green flesh into my wine-warmed mouth. How sensual is it to curve something into a mouth, to smooth a C into soft flesh of ripe juicy tenderness, to sip wine afterward to ease the blending of complementary colors, green then red, a wheel spinning in the frame of the body where art is created through sensuality.
By MorganLovell URL on 12.26.2011
Your love is craved all over me, from the inside to the outside, that I think I can no longer live without your love!
By Salma Elkhamy URL on 12.26.2011
“Well, Daddy, we carved the last one. Why we gonna brand this one? I kind of wanted to improve on my technique some.” The younger male voice said.
“You heard me. Git the iron!” came the reply.
By chole URL on 12.26.2011
Parted, split like a thousand shards of glass
From a hundred broken hearts
holding a million hopes
Of blood and body
Now ripped and carved apart
In never but in hope
By Geejay URL on 12.26.2011
He sliced into the piece of wood, over and over. Shavings of brown floated gently away, over the side of the man’s boat. After a while, a thousand strokes in to the wood later, and he was done.
By NCISaddict on 12.26.2011
There’s an empty space in the tree–
in the shape of someone’s name.
I’ll never know who they were. Does it make them happy?
“I was here”–
perhaps, but who?
By Entropy URL on 12.26.2011
I carved out enough time for you today and the least you could do is show up!
Men! Forget about ’em!
I’m channeling my inner Mae West. :-)
By Mary on 12.26.2011
you carved your name in my heart and left me left your name forever on my heart it want go away now all i can do is thank of you i want you to came back to me are i want to try to remove your name from my heart i cant live my life without you
By taylorp URL on 12.26.2011
wood sculpture art
By Pat Gonzales on 12.26.2011
You have carved your name on my heart.
With your right hand, art inside of me.
Big bold letters.
I will never recover.
By Missy on 12.26.2011
God carved a poem in my heart… it was of his love and mercy,and all he has done for me.what a great powerful,mercyfull ,loving LORD.
By golden brumby URL on 12.26.2011
me my life the whole world soul brain love hate the whole dame world.
By recon on 12.26.2011
are carved into my memory
By corrine on 12.26.2011
“Oh, you look nervous. Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got em’? Come here. Hey! look at me. So I had a wife. She was beautiful, like you. Who tells me I worry too much. Who tells me I ought to smile more. Who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks. One day, they carve her face. And we have no money for surgeries. She can’t take it. I just want to see her smile again. I just want her to know that I don’t care about the scars. So… I stick a razor in my mouth and do this…to myself. And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side. Now I’m always smiling!”
By Allie URL on 12.26.2011
Glaring eerily from its post on the top step, the jack-o-lantern kept a silent vigil on the night of All Hallows Eve.
By Sara on 12.26.2011
I have only spent a few moments, a very few
we spent them like our pockets were full of them
straining the stitches keeping me together
us together and I opened myself up to the vulnerability
of actually letting those moments matter
and I am terrified that those moments matter more to me
that he has made his impression on me
that I try to hide my face when I blush a smile
whenever someone says his name
and somehow, during one of those moments
I carved a hope out of the possibility of us
By mere URL on 12.26.2011
It was so dark she couldn’t see one foot in front of herself. There was a faint glow at the far, far end of the long cave but it flickered off every so often. She walked along the wall with her hand resting on it. The surface was wet with what she was praying was water. There was a particular section that was ragged and ruff. Five small grooves were carved into the stone…fingernail markings.
By Ashleigh Joy on 12.26.2011
I want a real relationship. One where we go out and do something. A fun relationship. Not so serious not so physical. Spiritual. I want to walk in a park hand in hand. Stop by the swingsets and have you push me. Have a picnic by the lake on a sunny afternoon. Curl up under an oak tree with you and read a book or just talk or even nap during a thunderstorm. Carve our names into a tree for future generations to see – a sign that we were once here, a notion that all of this was real, a faint memory for years to come.
By Haley URL on 12.26.2011
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.