#pome

[inkdesigner]

Just finished making the stickers!! I, too, am a fan of the #pomeranians #gquuuux #gundam #clanbattle #pome

[randomizt]

[puddle-ofwords]

I realized I haven’t posted any work lately

Maybe there’s a reason

Maybe not

Anyway here

(No title)

I left my closet door open last night

In hopes that the monster would come out

And crawl in bed with me

And keep me company

But I didn’t need to

There was really no point

it was already laying under the covers

Hoping something would come out

of the closet door it left open

-D.B.

[graveflowerss]

I'm Ghost/Graves!

On that oc/paranatural grind. I like eyes

Website

Youtube

Instagram

KOFI DOODLE REQUESTS: OPEN drop me a lil coin and ill doodle whatever you'd like :~) pay what u want! (pspspss i love ocs. u wanna see ur ocs drawn so bad. pspspsps)

[bellybiologist]

And here are the other halloween themed pics of my OCs!

The first is a very old David from 2015. the 2nd is David and Fran doodle from 2017, then we got Oktoberfest Ulrich and David (not halloween, but relevant!), also from 2017. Then Calhoun, Pome, Rodrigo, and Vivek from 2020! The Hermes Titus is also from 2020.

This catches me up with Repost-ober, and I hope people had a nice time looking at some of the older stuff with me. :P

[m00nb04rd5]

Can I have a moodboard of Kawaii Dake de Bazuritai?

Kawaii!!!

[natalieironside]

Hey I wrote a poem about childhood trauma. It's in unadorned iambic pentameter and it's called "If Your Family Tree Does Not Fork, You Might Be A Redneck."

-------

Gone away now is the fair green summer  And gone now is the harvest and its fruits  Weeping lies the daughter of my people   And my poor heart is sundered with her grief 

Is there no balm in Gilead? Are there  No healing words, and no physician there?  Is there no hope or help for this poor wretch? 

-

Twenty long years ago, I sit and think: The drive up 61 to Holly Bluff  Is agony; I feel his eyes on me  And the unspoken question in the air  Lies like a shroud between us now and I  Want him to know and hear and comprehend  And maybe he would know what we could do  And with each mile I turn and try to speak  And each word feels like ash inside my mouth  As my confession dies within my throat  So we head north into the autumn woods  While wicked silence festers in the air;  Youth hunting season starts today, you see. 

There is a shadow over what was home  There was corn here, but it’s all kudzu now  Along with darker weeds like nightshade dreams  And scarlet jimson nightmares where it waits  As once she waited in a darkened room  To stoop and strike and have a bit of play  At things nice people just don’t talk about  And, sure, nobody talked, but there was still  That wretched shadow growing like a weed. 

Sometimes I can, in half-remembered dreams,  Still walk beneath the pines along the ridge  With Pawpaw’s rifle resting in my hands  And that same old black dog there at my side  Looking for squirrels, we said, but we both knew  We were just walking in the morning air  Along the west ridge headed toward the creek  But that’s all gone; it’s subdivisions now  Split up and passed around like Pawpaw’s guns 

And I think: I suppose they might as well  Tear up the kudzu and the johnson grass  And make it new. The old was fallow and  No wholesome crop could spring up from that ground.  Even in life, no-one lived there but ghosts. 

[dragonfang-photography]

Sorbus aucuparia, the European rowan.