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About Deviant carolineFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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Bucolic: Sheep's Milk
Bucolic: Sheep's Milk
I worry
of Your bones:
as milk, and sour
as curdle.
Your femur
in the crust
on the pail's rim,
Your ribcage
in the skin.
I break it- must–
consume that milkiness
like a dead lamb's eye:
How else can I
see You, steep
in Your figure,
in both Your whole
and your broken bones?
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 2 3
Feathered dark eyes and a long slope
to velvet lips and snout, grotesquely
expressive, nosing pockets for food.
The face, if white or black, skeletal,
bears the Impostor; his high head, mouth
foaming with effort or evil
or effort against evil, not
to follow
the reins.
2 The hair and musk
rise in the sun;
the path stretches dust
between the ears, goes on.
Then a knee and a heel, a rumbling through the ground
the rocking forward-thudding back, the timeless
cantering to the end, the horizon and over.
Then over is a stable,
----- a cool-down and walk in, the
----- hushing and patting, hosing down,
the cleaned hooves. They test the ground. Bones
against posts. The flick of skin.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 2 3
you must sing
You must sing to be found; when found, you must sing.
-Li-Young Lee
Those weeks when you stand at the mirror, your face harrowed; those days and hours, your pulse clawing at a tight angry eel living below the heart, between the lungs. And how you try to throw him out, your dinghy solid enough but tipped by this storm-scaled weight.
You try to drown him, to leave his knife-edge gills with nothing to sift air from. Convulse and heave over the sink, pail out the water by rivulet and stream. Your knuckles stiffen with splinters and your face swells in the mirror.
You curl on the deck, the fish circling. You stand at the sink.
Cup water, clear fresh and cold, in your eyes. Feel the hotness mix in your palms, the coldness settle your lids. Feel your breathing soften. Sit on that dinghy, feel the water level steady and the eel displace it. Breathe the moist air.
Calls carry far over water. If a voice is singing, it is keening for you.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 4 26
Eire; the country, not the element
(though the element, if any, might lend itself
to the way the country isn't)
the country I can only see
from the plane window, from the prospective,
its green and undeniable life
a far cry
from anything it';s been
or anything I've seen
so as I consider the quartered potatoes on my plate,
I'm also considering the wet soil
once around them, and the heavy shoulders
of my ancestors, laboring out to the fields,
thankful for whatever their earth
could give.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 1 7
I see you on the screen    you see me
we see each other
you’re propped up on the tip of your elbow, and
I repeat “do you like my hair” twice
“my connection is weird” you apologize
I nod and wave it away
start to think about the billions of pixels
making up your face    the hallway out your door
and the very white page I’m writing on
running their weary track on the hyper-super-highway
little Marathons running and running
bursting forth on a screen, rushing forth with the
great importance of one that brings light
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 2 0
jungle, desire
The many-legged eaters
of desire, they slink and clatter
alight and prowl
on jungle branches
snap their jaws and clack
their pincers, feral and unsated
gnashing their greed against
lethal, tree-strangling vines,
against the vicious intelligence
of those chimpanzees that
would howl and glare at the smallest one
cliquing him out of their food,
leaving him for the animals.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 1 1
twin sister
twin sister
You lump of floral
bedding, in a room with
two beds. Sometimes
you crawled into mine anyway.
I hated it when Mom rooted
through our closet—who said
you could come in my bed—
but I let you, you always helped me
pick out perfumes and whispered
in my powdered ear before those dances.
after it was done
with the boy you never slept with
me. I never cried. I never said
I loved you anyway, you
never-possibility, you
little red shadow.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 1 5
NaPo1 - small gifts
The particular citrus of an orange
gone sour, like the winceworthy
lemon if it were sweeter.
Rather like a yoga class(, or god forbid, the hot kind
where you sweat out any kind of relaxation
and all kinds of lactic acid)
after your limbs have started shaking.
Hot laundry. Mundane things.
In meditation afterwards, you see your body
inhaling through the poses, keeping the arms up in Mountain,
then disc by disc curling back into Child,
whole bodies in rows moving in time
to the great breathing.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 1 3
Train sets, she had been told, encouraged punctuality. Kids that played with Tinker Toys and building blocks grew up to be famous city planners and architects. Painting the walls and ceiling blue, she read, would calm the child’s disposition. Playing Mozart near the child’s crib was proven to increase his potential. She tacked the wall stickers with the number line, the ABC’s, and a world map up. His mobile dangled with accurate reproductions of farm animals. By the time the child was born, a girl, she was crammed into a corner, a footnote, a tiny, terrified bundle in a world of light and sound and color and expectation.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 3 5
Black Pepper
Black Pepper
The wife cooks dinner. She marinates steak
with Worcestershire, garlic, wine.
She concocts a seasoning so hot
that the lips pucker,
the tongue sears. It is her way
of speaking with the man across the table,
who trudges through the front door,
too tired to speak.
Nothing stirs him,
not her hands, not her advances—
only, she has found, the sharp dark aroma
of the black peppercorn
set on his plate.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 3 8
empty space
Standing in darkness can feel
like nothing is. With only a lightbulb filament,
not glowing and not fading,
the light could be out.
Without that–
what else is there? The tungsten. The dark.
          Then a shatter and flash, and nothing
          to see except the impression of light
          filling the whole space     expanding and expanding
          as if the sun had just blinked
          and opened, shooting out roiling light and plasma and
          warming the rocks around it.
Human instances keep repeating. Larry Walters of Los Angeles
tied 45 weather balloons to a lawn chair named Inspiration I,
he flew. He cut the teth
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 3 6
A common scene, Canadian geese necking
south, arrowing against the wind.
Every winter it happens      but this winter
I see one, the leader, produce a rolling fold
in his wings, and he’s slipped to the tail of the group.
Soon enough we took the sky, we built planes, and their shadows
swallowed birds, whose shadows crossed fences
and rested in the black, broken feathers
of trees, their wise eyes staring.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 79 43
At one point I remember your fear got so bad
you tried pressing yourself into this tree,
a Japanese maple I bought at an antique fair,
potted in a sack, the wood around it hugely old.
Its leaves were green and small, but then, summer—
I told you not to climb it until you got older,
or until you understood age, like the red leaves.
You did until your toes almost grafted,
almost began to drink the wood’s water,
and the leaves sipped the red in you.
Your skin yielded to the bark.
Your hair matted with leaves, tangled
so I unknotted them, telling the straight smooth hair
“Your best roots are your fingers,” they’re worked to the bone,
and strong. Instead, though, you use them
to lunge with at the clouds.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 3 24
The Snows of Kilimanjaro, abr.
The poet agonized over every stanza, every sentence. And word, and letter and the breath behind the vowel and the consonant stopping it and every anapest, iamb, mute and aspirate. Even now. At the end of the day, week, month, season, decade, life
the page is (still, will always be) blank.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 2 17
the middling 'matthew'
it is a little like finding
a scar, new to me, on
or beneath your ribcage.
it has always been there,
not something you chose.
these things, these scars
which do not leave, as
they were given--those gifts
which do not leave
as nature bestowed them
upon you, named you centrally
from behind high-backed
chairs at desks, from beneath
the depths of the earth.
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 1 14
one girl for sundays.
When Lea first reached my door, I thought she was a child in an older body; she looked lost and hesitant, ashamed or scared to ask for help, and when I opened the door with a smile, offering, she didn’t take it. Another thought, no candy from strangers, whisked through my head. I tried to usher her in but she waited, looking at the doorstep. She stepped in only after she made a decision to trust herself, with her long skirt strewing about her ankles.
Weeks passed, and every Sunday afternoon Lea came; her entrance never wavering, but the molting of her clothing growing more comfortable. She relaxed onto my canvas; the loops of her hips and the edges of her elbows, the roundness in her cheeks and the lines around her lips translated purely to my brush. Something about her, the soft lights and her skin, let me think that each quick render would be my masterpiece, the one that would leave me empty and famous. I exulted in this girl and her prettiness and this Sunday and my art,
:iconruffienne:ruffienne 5 20


Element Wolves by yuumei Element Wolves :iconyuumei:yuumei 35,456 3,218 save us by Finvara save us :iconfinvara:Finvara 424 52



United States
Current Residence: Chicago
deviantWEAR sizing preference: M
Favourite photographer: you should look at Finvara and Eliara
Favourite style of art: Writing, Vector/Vexel, Photography, Film
Operating System: Mac OSX 10.4
Wallpaper of choice: Vector
Favourite cartoon character: Hobbes
Just to validate myself, I have been writing my dailies for NaPo-- I don't upload all of them, because I don't like some-- but mainly NaPo is to get me writing every day. I don't really want too much fuss over it, for my own sake. I'll consider it a success if I turn out some decent work that I can revise over the next weeks and months.
Thanks to all-- mostly RoseOfChaos for egging me on. And happy day-bloodied-and-bruised-jesus-turned-into-a-zombie day! Hope you enjoy your religious services!
  • Listening to: Swing Life Away // Rise Against
  • Reading: crossword puzzles
  • Playing: N
  • Drinking: Dr. Pepper


Add a Comment:
MissNomie Featured By Owner May 20, 2010  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thanks very much for the watch! i appreciate it. c:
ruffienne Featured By Owner May 20, 2010
sure! C: I love your style!
NathanWhitaker Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2009
Thank you for the watch.
Dani-the-Naiad Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2009  Hobbyist Writer
hey! :wave:
~kyomichi5252 pointed you out to me.
I'll have to take some good time to really read your gallery - but I didn't have much time right now- I did get to read a few though and I think my brain is tired. Since this is so, it's not best time for me to be reading poetry- I'm slow :slow: So I'll have to find the time later- for now I thought I'd just say hi and so I can remind myself to return! :wave:
ruffienne Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2009
Oookay! Thanks a lot for looking!
b1gfan Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2009  Student Writer
Hi Caroline - Wonderful DD and so well deserved too! Congratulations.
mode-de-vie Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2009  Student Writer
Congratulations on your Daily Deviation! :) I've placed a link to it in the sidebar of my journal page.
aleeshii-chic Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2009
:iconrelaxeddanceplz: Congrats on the Daily Deviation! :iconrelaxeddanceplz:
enchantma Featured By Owner May 19, 2009  Professional Digital Artist
beautiful writing style~
keep it up~
ruffienne Featured By Owner May 20, 2009
thank you! <3 :)
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