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About Literature / Professional Core Member Ron Ray60/Male/United States Groups :iconvicious-verse: vicious-verse
we must integrate the shadow
Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
2 Month Core Membership:
Given by an Anonymous Deviant
Statistics 942 Deviations 61,634 Comments 152,296 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Literature
Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes)
I don't remember if it was a wedding or a funeral, only the flowers...
seemed like millions of them
Soft, sorrowful, white flowers... roses or orchids?
I don't remember now, maybe magnolias...
You smiled a thin smile, your face pale, washed out.
If it was a wedding, I wasn't the groom.
A funeral, I wasn't the guest of honor.
I never could get things straight, somehow.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 53 44
Literature
Morphine Days
Sepia world, barnstorming, brainstorming, building up, looking out
Of dusty cracked windows to see it all happen, now, again, bold
Into the empty yellowed skulls piled up around the old church
Only on morphine days, though, when we fall out of grace
God, look at the crows, how many pilot their way across the sky
Obscene noises through the dust, shitting on old rusted machinery
Abandoned throughout dried-up, smashed-down stalks of corn
Here, to the left, the foundation of a house that no longer exists
There were good days here, once, weren’t there? Maybe not…
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 45 37
Literature
99 Drums
There were ninety-nine drums in the line, speaking loudly
about thin white blankets, bedsores, red Jell-O, disease
About the sky cracking and falling to earth in sharp pieces
About the old nodding out more frequently now, their
bodies shutting down for the last time, faint groans and sighs
The buttons have been pushed in sequence, no return now
Crossword puzzle books and Uno cards abandoned, TV
unwatched, drums drop out one by one until at last only
silence
Not even shouting down the halls, but whispers
I remember the trees were just beginning to turn when you left
And how a hard driving rain swept across the grounds
The sky cried all night; I took your dreamcatcher home
in the morning; there were no dreams left
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 39 36
Literature
Installation Piece
Iron thorns push through skin, I’m part of an installation piece
Flesh and bone, metal and stone, electronics
Wheeled in on a cot, phones for eyes
That never ring
But I see how they look at me; (they’re thinking)
How lonely it must be to slowly die alone
They smile anyway, good at faking it
After all, it’s their job
One day the artist will be able to push a button, and I’ll spin
My speaker-mouth will sing about snow
Only one more push allowed
And I’ll spin into space
My last human thought will not be of you, but of us, together
Sitting in the cold morning, coffee and cigarettes
Back before they began assembling us
One at a time
for departure
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 36 46
Literature
Dancing in the Streets
My brain needs food, maybe peanut butter flavored
Something to jolt it into gear, into inspiration
An old 45 on the Invictus label, or lemonade stand sun
Maybe the Necronomicon, maybe crow-dancing
Something to awaken me and start a fire downtown
Could be you, your hand grazing my cheek gently
But more likely something old and iron found in dreams
Something besides the wavering headlights in the fog
(Where the fourth line of this stanza just disappeared)
Maybe a ghost owl and a near-dead crow in a duet?
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 26 52
Literature
Places I've Been You Wouldn't Want to Go
An oil-painted robust cowboy riding beneath epic Western skies
But a dark cloud passed, a tumor grew, dreams rotted and festered; yippi-ki-yi-yay,
Goodbye.
A dark court of one-story apartment buildings, hazardous, broken
Decorated by a rusty tricycle, mops on back porches, dead dolls
Fear of the one-armed man;
Goodbye, goodbye.
An old man with the smell of disease about him lies in thin blankets
A faucet is dripping, a clock ticking, a dog howls mournfully outside
Empty bottle of pills;
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 40 47
Literature
Three Pears
Three pears on a wooden table, light and shadow
Texture, composition, color; who cares?
A black cat looks on, curious but lazy
Pick up your brush and paint
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 9 10
Literature
The New Beat
Spools, large and wooden, empty now
The kind that used to hold industrial cable
The rhythm of the trucks have left their song
Imprinted upon them, all down the borderlands
Cryptic drawings and messages scrawled with knives
Ola, T’kia, Celestial Dawn, all have danced there
Beneath the moonlight’s unerring eye,
(I was up above it)
Redemption for a dollar, smooth-skinned,
(Now I’m down in it)
Stranglewood, gangrenous, limbs protruding
Jungle drums mixed with a wealth of tangled wire
Ghostly incantations, chanting, fires burning
All in Ohio’s darkest regions, like hell, like chainsaws
Unkempt and unclean, Guinevere drew pentagrams
Atop the spools in chalk, a candle for each corner
Beneath the stars’ cold blue eyes,
(I was up above it)
A thousand years of dead weight falls,
(Now I’m down in it)
Sally go ‘round the roses/ram/ram/ram/shake
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 30 45
Literature
The Black Clowns are Back
Twenty-four black clowns getting out of a hearse
Throwing moon pies at the doors of the unsuspecting
Dancing in the dark streets, singing woeful tunes
Brenda, where are you? Come to the window
Twenty-four crows baked into a crusty moon pie
Still alive, cawing “Stop the madness!” with vigor
We all forgot where we were for a moment
Until Connie appeared at the window and sang
Twenty-four women sang my water-dripping song
Christiane leading, lilting, trickling in the night
The black clowns played on, yesterday’s dark jazz
But they never lifted their voices in song again
Twenty-four open windows, chorus in black robes
Evenly matched, paralyzed, Spanish Angel Eyes
Who’ll come down to the pot-holed streets with me?
To slow-dance, sparkle-sing, and moon-cry?
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 18 16
Literature
Fire Dance
The way of the world, dancing, bright colored dreams, biting into life like a plump orange. Soul to soul, the sound of crowds and music reverberate, singing “Summer! Summer! Summer!” When the day lasts as long as it wants before retiring into smooth starlit night, we pair off and head down to the lake, the holiest of holies. Beads braided into our hair, faces painted, we sing the songs of our ancestors. We make love, ignoring all those things which would make these days unreal. These are the best days and nights, tattooed upon our hearts. This is where we awaken and dream. This is where we learned the Fire Dance so long ago.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 19 16
Lesions :iconbark:Bark 14 32
Literature
Sax
And suddenly the music stopped, save for one lonely sax; wailing through the darkness like a lost child, drifting in and out of the smoke. Drone. Whisper. Reeling drunkenly, bouncing off shadows. Just when everyone was entranced, beginning to dream, it happened. The sax broke out into an orgasmic series of notes, rough and real, cutting through the room like a mad blizzard of sound and motion. Fever. Frenzy. Fury. Then the rest of the band stepped back in and the spell was broken. The sax man receded and lit a cigarette.  
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 58 56
Literature
King
Soul juice poured out of long-neck bottles, drained voraciously by the shadow people in this dark place. This place where dreams are jokes, and the high are the mighty. Stand up and read sloshed poetry, you’re an amazing wordsmith here where there are no limitations, nothing more than the breath of the dying. Here, you are king; king of this shriveled and debilitated world, yes, but king. Until someone turns on the monster in the corner, and suddenly you’re hearing Jim Morrison… “learn to forget….” Sit down, king of idiots, king of graffiti-sprayed dumpsters, king of disheveled rooms with dirty sheets. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere. Drink now, until the hammers stop banging in your head. Fall into the soft darkness and find a quiet place to die. Tomorrow you’ll wake up dead, but you won’t know it.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 27 28
Literature
Chemo
5:30 am, get up and get ready for them to pump poison into my veins. I don’t mind my hair falling out, it’s this damned pain that always returns, no matter what new medicine they give me. Four hours of sitting, doing nothing, then feeling weak and disoriented afterwards. Fun times, huh? I only need thirty-seven naps a day. Try to make myself eat and drink water. 124 lbs I weigh… my girlfriend looks at me with sad eyes. She thinks I’ll die soon. Maybe I will, I don’t know. But for now, it’s off to chemo.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 24 84
Literature
MG
A vintage white MG speeds down an empty highway. West, to California. West, into the sunset. West, into that bright and colorful land of dead dreams. The driver knows, but doesn’t care. The wind in his hair is enough for now. Once there, once he sees the Pacific, he’ll drive north up the coast into the land of rain. There’s a woman there, one he knew long ago. They’ll embrace, open a bottle of Riesling, read poetry to each other. Maybe. If she hasn’t moved on. He doesn’t think so, though; her temple is here, she wouldn’t leave it. He hopes.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 23 28
Literature
Copper
A bitter taste in my mouth, I walked down to the town square. The sky was moving sideways, racing cloud shadows across the ground. Everything was so damned green, fresh, new. I sat on a bench in front of the clock tower and waited. A tank slowly moved down Main Street, firing randomly at the old buildings. Speakers were playing ‘Abaddon’s Bolero’ at full volume. I decided that the bitterness I tasted was copper. Everything seemed to move so slowly under the swift-moving skies. Still, I waited. I waited all day for your ghost to arrive, but you never came. I’d wanted so badly to recapture that old memory. A sickly, small King Kong climbed up the clock tower. Still tasting copper, I went home to our old empty apartment on Church Street. Nothing interesting happens without you here with me. Maybe you’ll come tomorrow.
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 26 32

Random Favourites

Literature
immortal
and i used to lie beneath the winter's still morning,
watching the cornflower-blue gently bleed through cloud.
there's something that glistens in your eye, so subtle
but i don't want another lover, don't let me take your hand.
and i used to need you always, my lover, oh butterfly
flutter by me so softly, like silken stolen kisses.
we used to hold hands by midnight candlelight but now,
i wish you would not return, for i will not survive you.
there is something secret and untouched in your story
something that stones will turn their heads to listen for;
you were the beauty ground up into dust, darling-wilde,
and i don't want you to be mine, although i adore you so.
there is something that flickers softly in eternity,
and it is that memory of who we were, dancing in starlight
floating in the sunshine, forever young, forever new;
there's something so eternal within my hope, within you.
and i once thought i couldn't live without your wings
your wings that helped me soar and dash and freefal
:iconLissomer:Lissomer
:iconlissomer:Lissomer 52 36
Literature
Pushing Poison
                                     My darling,
                          If I had to color you
                                   from the buzzing of your irises
                                            to your footprints in the sand
                               You would be deeper
                         than liquid gold
                  though
                         
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 16 6
UNTITLED 110814 :iconjfbayle:JFBAYLE 5 0 Sunset in Northern Germany :icondasghul:DasGhul 41 8
Literature
compare and contrast
your cologne doesn't smell the
same straight from the bottle and
your favorite cigarettes don't taste
the same on someone else's lips.
he talks like you, walks like you, and
truth be told, he drinks like you;
three hours later, he fucks like you
and I don't know why I'm here
doing this again, when I swore
that the last time was the last time
I would do this again.
his hands aren't as calloused and
his fingers don't fit over my hips
or pull my hair that way that yours do.
there's something definitely wrong
about being in bed with a man
and wishing for nothing more than
the company of another,
even just if it was sitting in silence
watching the coming storm.
:icondietcocaine:dietcocaine
:icondietcocaine:dietcocaine 5 10
Literature
this language
"This language thou speakst, it lieth beyond my ken."
"My kin lie over there, far distant and barely marked. I am son to some, nephew to few, cousin to several, and I lie far from all and home. That is my story, sir, brief and lacking in detail though it be."
"Indeed it lacketh much of muchness, strange sir. Beest thou from hereabouts?"
"Nay. Once I was, when I was born, but have travelled far and been transformed. And now a foreigner I be."
"Transformèd indeed. I may barely understand your ways or you."
Lancelot Price 2014 August 11
:iconLancelotPrice:LancelotPrice
:iconlancelotprice:LancelotPrice 5 37
Literature
Ghostfingers
The wounds may heal...
scabs fall away...
but the scar reminds us
with phantom's pain.
:iconSleentheBeast:SleentheBeast
:iconsleenthebeast:SleentheBeast 15 2
Literature
Choice Cuts
A little shop of horrors
lives within my head...
walls spattered bloody
carving up the dead.
Inside ; grown gargantuan;
souly gorged with the bad
of men in me -
lust envy sloth rage greed
a gourmet of darker meats -
sate the singular hunger
of angry imprisoned beast.
:iconSleentheBeast:SleentheBeast
:iconsleenthebeast:SleentheBeast 7 0
0690 :icon7markus7:7markus7 24 6
Literature
Ocean-wide, Pocket-size
She is the perverse whispering of phobias
Shadowing each and every action I take
The capricious heat of the moment decisions
That I almost always come to regret
She is the gathering of tumultuous thunderstorms
Knowing she can bolt my world into Cimmerian  
The tattooing of molten mantras on skin
That pool me from drowning in burns
She is a mouthful of psalms and lucid eulogies
Spreading her disease quicker than cancer
She is ocean-wide
She is pocket-size
I rebuke her- mountains and thread counts at a time
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 35 53
Literature
furor by proxy
futility blisters
a razor-mouthed
slap to the conscious
and all the words
that must remain
unvoiced
bubble upward;
bile
:iconLissomer:Lissomer
:iconlissomer:Lissomer 20 22
Literature
Galaxy dating pt1
When the night is so clear
I simply cannot sleep
For the moon is calling me
When the sun is so bright
On the other side
He says
'She just won't leave me be'
:iconqwibes:qwibes
:iconqwibes:qwibes 7 11
Extraneous noise in the kitchen :iconmoppaa:moppaa 2,121 153

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Bark
Ron Ray
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Interests

Smile! (personal)

Journal Entry: Thu Feb 26, 2015, 11:15 AM
Most of you know that I have some health problems, but I've decided not to let it get me down. We all have problems throughout life; personal, family, financial... a host of different types of problems. We plow through them until we reach the other side. That's what I'm going to do. No whining or bitching and moaning... every day is a gift, and I'm going to use these gifts to try and do something positive with them. :)

Thank you all for being here. That's why I've stayed on this site for ten years; the good, kind people who inhabit it and give it a real sense of community. Thanks, my friends!

This Journal Skin was designed by Night-Beast

Comments


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:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2017
Dear Ron - two years - has it been that long?  I hope for you, wherever you are, that time is not even a memory now.  That the song of those of us reading your works aloud will have you humming along.  Always, your friend - Jadey
Reply
:iconshyll-j:
Shyll-j Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
I didn't ~really~ know you, as we never met, but you left an impression upon my mind....enough so I feel the need to visit this page ever so often---even as you are gone. But then as Einstein and many others have expressed, time is an illusion and perhaps so is death. If so, we shall meet again, even though we never really met.
Reply
:iconwdwparksgal:
WDWParksGal Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017
Dear Bark, you are missed :sadangel:
Reply
:iconmilenareinherz:
milenareinherz Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Yes, very much... :(
Reply
:iconme2smart4u:
Me2Smart4U Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017  Student Digital Artist
:party: Happy Birthday :party:
I Hope U Have A Blessed And Wonderful Day.
May All Your Wishes Come True :heart:
:hug::heart::love::heart::blowkiss::heart::glomp:
Reply
:iconwdwparksgal:
WDWParksGal Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017
Just to let you know, Bark passed away a few years ago.
Reply
:iconme2smart4u:
Me2Smart4U Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017  Student Digital Artist
OMG...I have been posting a birthday wish on his page almost every year..
I always try to keep in touch with my friends here on DA..
I am sorry to hear that he has passed away... 
thank you so very much  I truly appreciate you sending me this message.. 
My thoughts and prayers are with his family :heart:
Reply
:iconmetal-bender:
Metal-Bender Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017   Photographer
:blackrose::hug:
Reply
:iconm-gosia:
m-gosia Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017
flame by m-gosia ..:(
Reply
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