Copperfield17

Knights are so rare these days

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Look to the East by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Look to the East

Henry was late and he knew it. We all knew it. He set his festive bag down by the tree and slithered past a flurry of snowy heads that watched his movements tersely. I was the lucky one that he sat next too. His aroma overwhelmed me: too much aftershave, it covered up a woman's perfume, cigarettes and canned soup. “Could you pass the potatoes,” he whispered to me. I could smell the booze on his breath and I grimaced. He smiled at me with yellowing teeth and bright blue eyes. You know how uncles are a dice roll? Henry was a snake eyes. The perpetual flush in his cheeks and yellowing fingertips, the matted hair and unkempt beard

Foothills, Faith, and Faithlessness by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Foothills, Faith, and Faithlessness

You have broken my hands, that I might take a pause and evaluate life. You have taken the rock from underneath my feet and replaced it with earth. Let me work in it's richness, let me delve in its fullness, and bring forth new life from it. The scent of the earth is strong unlike the wind in these trees. These oaks have been silent before the breath of the world. The sky is fenced off, hemmed away by the Earth's teeth, driven skyward. The sun is but a passing friend. The night is so black and full of fear, until eyes, cast above can see a high ocean without limit halved by a galactic fire. These foothills sleep before the new dawn. A

Wanderlust by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Wanderlust

Too long I have been gone from you, the cold of your nights and the warmth of your days. The love of ours was ever true. And to your lustrous skies I poured out my praise. The frontier is in my veins, and you my darling lover are all that still remains of the souls of my ancient brothers. Men set sail in the frozen sea mist to test their might and seek strange shores. But all the shores are wrote and list, so the need is a subterfuge inside my core. It presses me onward, to sea, to hills. Shaking me from life's peopled stills. So I gaze from my counter to the sunlight and dream That my back is laden and my hands unclean. I wonder to hear th

A memory. A purgatory. by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

A memory. A purgatory.

Times change while we watch. But whether our eyes are turned, the sun will raise and be interned regardless of our thoughts. The time escapes us in this way slipping through obligatory cracks and running a trickle by solid responsibility. Leaving the thinnest behind: a lonely memory. How poor a thing is the mind that keeps the records of life. Only grief may come from such design A good memory will be a thief. So may I forget the days of sun and forget the winter's frozen bite. Let all my thoughts condense to one and never return to backwards sight.

The Quickening of Love by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

The Quickening of Love

Entombed in dust-enclosed eyes a sleeping thrill lays deep belied by guards of life and duty bared and sorrows left long unrepaired. The thrill lays sleeping ever long, deaf to tones of a common song. And sleeping without love to taste it lacks a waking lover's haste. But oh, a song so sweet appears than has before been given ears. And as it grows the eyes unclose to sting with tears and waking fears. But the song so soothing begins removing the terror from the wild eyes. And fear so seething is soon believing the sweetness of a newer tie. “Again to me, my love, again, come to me from the near or far. Be with me, love, and not abstai

A Massacre in Four Stanzas by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

A Massacre in Four Stanzas

The…heroic aspirations that once filled my heart to the brim with great gobs of fallacious solemnity have sadly departed from these sodden shores. Such silly intonations or rather, supplications gave little avail in the face of open war. And while one might decry the maturity of such realizations I must retort that self-reliance is a utopian's wet dream of a fool's errand. The human will is unfortunately not like the American Federal Reserve and as such, cannot always pretend that it's got more value. So maybe it's maturity that does make me head the direction of surrender. Hiding in the mind is a commonplace offender. So m

Words Without Words to Say by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Words Without Words to Say

How can I say I love you when there is no love in me? In moments lost without you it has deserted me. How may I love you when to love is to regret the loss of love and sorrowful neglect— to remember the start of love and remember the cold upset. I wish that I could love you and build you a palace in my heart. But as I come ready to hew there is no stone for me to start. To be with me is to damn yourself to a famine of the kind. Service, I promise and sacrifice. But love, I cannot divine. Love is not measured, weighed, or bought. And yet it is treasured beyond all thought. But thought is my world, a paradise of pleasur

The Winter Hunger by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

The Winter Hunger

Warriors face the blue and the sunset sky never demanding reason of their commander's pride. Such vanity looms through all of solemn day and in the night becomes the doom of prey. So sorrowful are the songs the dying deer outcries. And drunkenly, the prideful jaws devour and more die. They stagger forth with devil's dexterity to tear and gnash the young, then raise their voice in insanity to atrocities never undone. Such action commanded by the fingertips of hate draw life from inside the innocent to sate. A hunger of untold power resides inside the craven coward. The non-combatants flee in fear from horror's living face. And bet

The Agonies by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

The Agonies

I see before me the endless comprehensions of time. Among them all, I see a story, that which is mine. The fears of life and of the world turn my eyes' intent to the ceasing years of lifelessness, the hollow, lonely end. How beautifully we may ever dance in a glorious sea of time. How passionately we may romance in a living poet's rhyme. I wish that I could hang the stars to honor you with bows and pay their homage dutifully with passion-laden vows. I wish that I could paint the dawn to call your lovely name and etch the twilight beautifully guard your sleep again. But as the seasons turn their lives, she will fade away and die. An

A Sorry Day to Live a Life by Copperfield17, literature

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Look to the East by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Look to the East

The Quickening of Love by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

The Quickening of Love

Wanderlust by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Wanderlust

A Massacre in Four Stanzas by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

A Massacre in Four Stanzas

A Sorry Day to Live a Life by Copperfield17, literature

A Bitter, Better Cold by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

A Bitter, Better Cold

I tick the time away in the ever shortening days and I wonder if you still remember when you used to draw us. I do. I remember the grains of graphite staining the tips of your fingers and the momentary conquering of distance over the faded blue lines. So true. I wonder if all memories are fit only to serve themselves, if they are only paintings in rooms of a Hermitage of cold and beautiful art. So I start to the reminiscing which holds us no closer to the touch we're missing. And so I sing again, again to teach my heart to defend, again. That somehow I might sleep away the worse thoughts of a damning day I'll rock myself to

An Exercise- My Ways by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

An Exercise- My Ways

My soul has dwelt in a parched land. Rife with rebellion, I smote my heart. And like desert rocks pounded to sand I found myself bereft of solid guard. But by Grace, of my life this was not the end. For I had fought my life to be ready to mend. So I may lay down my chains and call to my mind a prayer of surrendering pains, a littany for God to find. So I will go my way as a man once damned and remember my pain with pride and command. For greater honor is had by no one than to be born a slave and chosen a son.

Someday by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Someday

When I was a child, I thought like a child, I walked like a child I talked like a child. Someday my princess will come. The fairytales promised me that things would always work out, in the end. But then I became a man and I put away childish things. The fairytale was just the canned, itemized, and normal dream. Someday, I know I'll be a man I thought with wry disbelief. I know who I will be and truth will be given in timly sand. So said my thirteen year old self, so assured of the future life. In ways I envy his youthful wealth of trusting life's inevitable direction. Then I became a man and I put away childish things. A m

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Look to the East by Copperfield17, literature

Literature

Look to the East

Copperfield17

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About Copperfield17

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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Dec 7
United States
Deviant for 13 years
He / Him

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My Bio

"Poetry is music without notes." - Susan Baird

144

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil,
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

-William Shakespeare

If you fave or comment I will at least do so to one of your works. I belive in art, sharing is a key to both building a community of artists and a community of human beings. Tying people together is more important than tearing them apart. When governments fight, people should find peace and common ground. This is the very essense of language and I welcome all who want to pursue this goal with me.

Favourite Visual Artist

John Singleton Copely

Favourite Writers

Jonathan Foer, Cormac McCarthy, Robert A. Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, Junot Diaz, Herman Melville, William Shakespeare, Walt Whitman

Tools of the Trade

Wit, Sarcasm, Mania, Blood, Keyboard

Other Interests

Western Martial Arts (surprisingly, they do exist), Fencing, Broadsword, Spanish Rapier, Rapier and Dagger, Boxing, MMA, Reading

Posts

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Copperfield17

May 14, 2013

Storage

0 min read

Hello All, I've begun to move in the direction of publishing. In both my writing, and the things displayed on my page, much has needed to be stored. I am grateful that in the beginning, I did not list my real name on this website. Apparently there is extremely bad juju for having things even in their draft forms on a website. So I will need to begin to tread carefully if I want to be taken seriously in the world. Thus, my three incomplete novel projects which were previously here are now locked away for the moment. In other news, things progress well on the notebook front. Paper and pen writing has become a normal facet of everyday life and

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Copperfield17

Dec 6, 2012

A World for the Gulls: Prieview

0 min read

Greetings to the Internet, Being in Washington and now assured of a job has reopened the concentrations of my mind. The cold winter rains and darkness has opened a grey world to my eyes that has manifested itself, at my Father's suggestion, as a new story. I've really lost the sand for chapter writing in these past few months. But that's ok, I'm hoping to grow the mythos of Genesis through the expansions of short stories (although this new story is not precisely in the same world, only in the same spirit). And quite frankly, I have always wanted to tell the story of the lone survivor. Man vs. Nature is one of my favorite story structures and

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Copperfield17

Nov 11, 2012

My Birthday

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Ah, my birthday. As a result of a mistake during account creation oh so long ago, my birthday is mismarked in December rather than its actual date, November 1st. Lethargy has overtaken me since my advent into this new year. Other than the politics of the US giving me a poor birthday gift, I have since done little but pound the ground with my feet to see what employment might be ripe for the taking as the days shorten and the nights chill. My stories are the farthest things from my mind as I continually lose sight of fantasy and story in lieu of the real world and its challenges. Nothing but poetry and flashing vignettes have plagued my mind a

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Profile Comments 93

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NotenSMSK

Dec 7, 2015

Happy birthday

hope you are still alive and kicking!

Thanks for the fave!

Thank you for the

xXxAnomalyzoOo

Dec 22, 2012

HIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii how's my lovely, sophisticated (in the wordy word like sense), fancy pantsy, number 4 or 5 or something favorite poet of mine doing?

Copperfield17

Dec 25, 2012

Workin, hangin, not doin much writin or sword fightin.

xXxAnomalyzoOo

Dec 25, 2012

Bummer sword fighting is the shit

Copperfield17

Dec 26, 2012

Indeed. I miss the feel of battle. But it is not dissimilar to working. I just work so much longer than I would usually fight.