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Deviant for 9 Years
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Newest Deviations

Zerg Turd by bonjourduck Zerg Turd :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 0 0 Chadarnook by bonjourduck Chadarnook :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 2 1 Behold The Abstract Art by bonjourduck Behold The Abstract Art :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 2 3
Literature
Lucky Break
Follow the beats. Tap toes, watch drinks move from the table to the balcony in timed waves, and whatever happens, don't let the keyboardist leave with any loose women, because he might not come back.
Junior couldn't see a thing through his dark shades, but Ronnie's studded jacket reflected light like a disco ball, so looking directly at him was harmful to the eyes. An elbow bumped into Junior's back, and his drink spilled up into his mustache.
"Whoop, sorry, buddy! Didn't mean to-you're one of the Tonzura Bros, aren't you?!" A short, greasy-haired man shook Junior's hand before it was open, and Junior set his drink down. 
"I take it you enjoyed the show?"
"Enjoyed it? I've been your fan for two years now! You guys are just great, you really ought to hit it big one of these days, you're a huge talent, here's my card." His stubby fingers reached into a silver case and pulled a business card from a stack of dozens. "I'm always here if you want an extra push into the major leag
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Colorful Mask by bonjourduck Colorful Mask :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 0 0 Samus on the Cello by bonjourduck Samus on the Cello :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 2 3 Bubble Bobble by bonjourduck Bubble Bobble :iconbonjourduck:bonjourduck 1 4
Literature
Security
One less coat by the door.
Half the mail in the slot.
Double the bills.
No left-handed scissors.
New dog-feeding duties.
All of the garbage.
None of the laughter.
Still the rejected train ticket,
and a shared future splitting
along the horizon.
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Literature
How Do You Say Goodnight
There must be something else to it, not
Simply shutting your eyes
And settling into a soft spot.
There is nothing new for the eyes
That play in the twilight--
Old trinkets line the shelves
And the moon rests somewhere
Beyond the sill, a spotlight on the yard.
You and your pillow gather dust,
One heavier for staying still,
The other rested upon too much.
A yelp echoes a mile away
Like some frightened dog
Or sleepless bed wetter.
If there were nursery bars
Just your size, insomnia would disappear
Into the pages of some fairy tale,
But instead curl into position,
Recall something wise or funny from the day,
And treat it like a fleeting dream tomorrow,
Its signs looking at you to catch up
Like some inside joke only you would get
Or care to tell.
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Literature
Subway Puppet Show
Moving subway windows
Often turn the sterile seats
Into a puzzling clash of black and white
My mind does not wish to understand.
I often sit with my hat over my head
To block out the light and dark,
But one day the L train ran beside the F
And I spotted her, looking up
From the newspaper that covered her head.
We both waved, then I thrust her a peace sign
(Or maybe it was a devil's horns?)
So she flashed me an OK sign
(Or maybe it was a playboy bunny?)
And while we couldn't hear each other's laughter,
It still resonated between the windows.
Then an unkind man pushed her aside
And stuck his abrupt finger in the air,
To which I pantomimed my thumb
Entering the rectum of my other hand.
Her last gesture was two curled fingers
Running across an invisible line,
Though if they were us
They would have fallen off.
I pointed to my phone and waved my digits
Toward her, but I think they were beyond her sight
As the L sped away.
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Literature
Miss Charleston
The world will do without you,
even as you cross your arms
with all the concern that drifts in
on the tide.
It will wash right back out.
The world will only sting
for a moment,
the discourtesy of a pale jellyfish
sunken in a hole.
There was no lesson in the accident.
Your steps have a right to their weight.
The world will choke on weather,
its floating smog and dust,
its mass exodus among avian and insect.
All the dust’s storms and sun’s radiation
summon from you is a cough and a roll
in the hammock,
likewise from a cat on the sill.
Neither of you wake for the trouble.
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Literature
Dry Season
In the morning,
        A long soak in the pools
        and streams
        To let our bodies wrinkle
        before ironing them out
        Beneath a merciless sun
        that knows the shape of things.
In the afternoon,
        A dance between sprinklers
        and before the hydrant
        To the delight of neighbors
        before the water peters out
        Beneath the cough of drought
        that dries every throat.
In the evening,
        A fire that invites its
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Literature
Solo Virtue
Along strings
they dance; fingers
rehearsed to where I watch
and am closest to the failure
of my thumbs. They heckle
the dancers and their stage,
clumsily strum against measure
and shake the neck
like a jealous parent.
Through the body
they crash; fingers
willing to destroy before me
an imperfect performance.
They calm, splinterless,
squeeze around my thumbs,
and condemn the fractured case
to contain something less alive.
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Literature
Thor's Hammer Dangles Thusly
O’er mountains of scorched flesh
and shattered skulls
does the holy hammer abide,
and a million silent epitaphs
have failed to slow it with their untold prayers
that uttering death’s name could cause it mercy:
“Thor.”
An endless tapestry has he lit
of boundless night sky, made crowded
with the crash and shock wielded
to wake the windows of every horizon
as he pounds another foe into earth.
What he wears into combat are choices
all made to intimidate:
he bears no suit of metal,
no plates cling to his  chest,
yet his enemies sense protection.
There is a helmet, though wings
can be sharpened past horns.
A swing of Valhalla’s mallet
is to grant a lethal gift:
fear dispelled in lightning,
nothing left to linger in the thunder.
His worst is suffered
by the rare ring of behemoths
that has ever witnessed his rampage,
felt wrath in the bare hands of a god
whose civility hangs from his belt.
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Literature
Sullivan's
Somewhere, Normal Rockwell
shed a tear,
and through it
this oasis was formed.
On this island,
friends remain in rings
forged with steel,
and you are their welcome stranger.
Their parents call you the missing child
and serve another plate of ribs.
The mother will ask you about a movie tonight
and hang on your every word,
then on every scene.
You will explore a barren beach
populated by deflated jellyfish
and half-buried crabs
sleeping underneath and overcast sky.
You'll squint through the brightness.
Ahead, seagulls gather
and value their privacy.
You violate it,
running through their ranks
and noticing at your sides
that they even fly perfectly still.
Motion calls for you back
on the other side of the bridge.
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Literature
Brainwashed
A glowing ring,
oscillating open and shut:
I can't stand how her red lips smack
or the way she stares at them
before calling each new customer,
least of all, me.
Then the head massage:
I lean back, her fingers take my skull
and slide each sinew from the muscle inside.
Everything holding focus goes limp.
My neck balances on a pin
as she clips from the top,
buzzes in the back,
messes around with the bangs.
The clips and motors are mute
while she gabs to herself,
the mouth filling the mirror
and my retinas--
and after she's done,
kissing a garteful tip.
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Activity


deviantID

bonjourduck
Joseph Dover
United States
Current Residence: South Carolina
Operating System: Win7, Ubuntu
MP3 player of choice: iPod Touch
Interests
  • Listening to: She & Him - Fools Rush In
  • Reading: Hellboy
  • Watching: Curb Your Enthusiasm
  • Playing: Marvel Vs. Capcom 3
  • Drinking: Water
I wrote some short stories and have been considering self-publishing short works to the Kindle store. They would be little genre pieces most likely to pop up in random ebook searches and require far less effort than mailing printed manuscripts to magazines across the country.

Comment whether this idea sounds like foolish selling out or productive branching out. Or both!

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconcassandra-wedeking:
cassandra-wedeking Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2010
Hey, you:

[link]

sex with ducks
(I know they're making a political point, but...ducks.)
Reply
:iconfuturetarded-muser:
futuretarded-muser Featured By Owner Mar 5, 2010
Ta for the fave!
Reply
:iconblix-it:
blix-it Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2009
!!!! uuuuuuuh!

[link]

I had a Thomas moment just now regarding ducks.
Reply
:iconlouie9090:
louie9090 Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2009
Thanks for the fav!
Reply
:iconeroma:
eroma Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2009   Traditional Artist
You duck! I knew you weren't really working!

Thanks for the fav, all the same.

You could ace the FSOT with your hands behind your back. I'll show you the sample test, and you'll agree.
Reply
:iconkarzahnii:
Karzahnii Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2009  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the faves!
Reply
:iconshinju-with-coke:
Shinju-With-Coke Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2009
Bonjour, Monsieur Duck! Tu parles fracais? Non? I speak English too. :D
Reply
:iconbonjourduck:
bonjourduck Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2009
Je parle un peu francais (j'ai appris il dans la passe dans l'ecole), mais je prefere parler en englais quand possible.

I also don't know how to do any of the accent marks in a way convenient enough to remember.

Pouvez-vous parler bon francais? Nous pourrions etre conversation partenaires. (I'd just be checking my old French textbooks and dictionary a lot more than you, the vocab gets rusty after so long)
Reply
:iconshinju-with-coke:
Shinju-With-Coke Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2009
Yeah, I speak French pretty well too. :D And I can't do any of the accents on my computer.
Reply
:iconeroma:
eroma Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2009   Traditional Artist
Allo, you duck!
Reply
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