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About Literature / Student SurreptitiousBloomerFemale/Philippines Recent Activity
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Newest Deviations

Under the Never Sky by SurreptitiousBloomer Under the Never Sky :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 1 0 Rocky Shore by SurreptitiousBloomer Rocky Shore :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 1 0 Rustic Direction by SurreptitiousBloomer Rustic Direction :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 2 0 Rumination by SurreptitiousBloomer Rumination :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 1 0 Shadows and Sunrise by SurreptitiousBloomer Shadows and Sunrise :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 18 1 Beachside by SurreptitiousBloomer Beachside :iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 12 0
A Tragic Resolution
"It really isn't your fault, Will. I don't blame you for getting tricked to come to a party that you weren't invited to at all." I said, swallowing the bottle of sake in just one go.
"You're best friend forced me into this so stop acting like I asked for this to happen."
"You could have left. Why did you stay here, then? Can't you take a hint. We're talking about my meddling best friend of course he'd trick you to go to an abandoned wine cellar that I happen to own. All this to give us some, 'alone time'" I snorted.
"Dammit, Lucy! What is wrong with you?"
"I don't know." Her voice slurred, "Maybe you should get us out of here and ask your girlfriend."
"Are you jealous?"
"You're passing out. This is ridiculous."
"You know what's ridiculous? You're just like everybody else captivated by a train wreck."
"What is your problem?!" He snapped.
"She asked you out."
And you said yes.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 0 0
Fantasy Resolution
her life is a series of fantasy resolutions,
of notes forming compositions
woven into silent symphonies
and dreams shared in hushed whispers
she perseveres
night and day she struggles
in the uncertain world of artistry,
to prove the voices, united in rebellion
that  her goals, are not just dreams
they are her reality
she will fill the pages of her musical story,
with daring performances,
unforgettable stunts
And in this crazy ride,
She’ll have the time of her life
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 0 0
Warrior's Nobility
A knight will battle
a never ending story
of love and honor.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 0 2
Moments We Spent
They will remember
the thrill of the adventures
the moments they shared.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 0 0
Of Greedy Hearts
Long ago a man had prided himself,
in owning vast hectares of barren land.
To ease his burdens and relieve oneself,
his sons offered him their helping hands.
In the beginning came a golden age
Of towering trees, bountiful harvests.
The end arose from the equal wages,
When each son claimed to be the best.
In the seasons to come, they  longed for more,
‘To each his own’ his sons had said.
The father grew ill, sad, forevermore
his sons came back, to find him dead.
In a faraway future a landlord,
divided vast hectares of barren land.
To ease his burdens and relieve oneself,
his sons offered him their helping hands.
Thus begins the cycle of greedy hearts...
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 6 2
In Blind Faith
Under the endless sky,
I wait miserably.
For someone who will never see,
how much he means to me.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 0 4
Weaving Memories
In the age of innocence,
to the age of discovery
are woven memories
of knotted friendships
and silent rebellions,
of glories ablaze
and trials of pain,
forming fantasies in tapestries
unforgettable memories
of all that has been,
and of all that will be.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 2 9
In Hazy Grey
Her clothes are smothered with streaks of paint, soiled with rough outlines of mixed colors. She’s the one who spends hours staring at the canvas,  fingers  moving so fast that others looked away in envy.
A child prodigy. She didn't even have to try.
The ideas  swirled in her hands, forming patterns that transcended through time. She was so focused on the canvas that she never realized  how jealous eyes ridiculed her. They detested her talented. They hated her so much they stopped painting.
No one could beat talent.
Unknown to all of them she wanted something else, longed for an art where her talents didn't lie. So she began painting by day and writing by night. Weaving stories of fantasy, adventure, love, horror, in a lone corner of the attic. She wrote when their voices disappeared. She wrote about paralleled worlds to escape her reality.
Her parents are dead.  
The voices said behind her back. As always, she is as silent as a hawk, staring at their
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 11 8
Fallen Expectations
They say its okay,
so maybe it is,
maybe it isn't,
who would know?
in a world full of lies.
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 3 2
Unseen Affection
His heart is entwined into the depths of despair. Broken and stepped on, as a rock crumbles into dust. Still, he remains calm- a free flowing lake. An untamed soul reaching for the top.
He thinks he is no one. Nothing but a mirage of his rival-the one in his lover's eyes. It's a funny thing to be hopelessly love- with a complete airhead. Ironic, more so, is that he, an ace in everything, fawned over by all, needs to prove himself. He is the Jack-of-all-trades. Perfection at his fingertips.
Night and Day he faces his judges. The voices, pulling him down. He perseveres pushing himself, beyond what is even possible. And still after every mountain climbed, he falls at the last minute. Still, he faces defeat, after defeat, after defeat. Still, she doesn't notice.
And again, he perseveres. His pride detests defeat. A fact unaltered. It would be nice, he thinks, if she would look at him. Alas, she remains blind to everything but her sport. Why can't she see she means everything to him?
Why di
:iconsurreptitiousbloomer:SurreptitiousBloomer 2 1

Random Favourites

Colors Contest

Update:  The Colors Contest Results are Finally In!!!
OK, yes, it has been quite awhile since this contest ended.  There have complications outside the current DLD administration's control which lead to some of the delay - the rest of the time: procrastination.  :blush: In any case, better late than never, right?
Anyway, here are the winners:
1st Place: 

The color of betrayal by TheBrassGlass

2nd Place:

Barracuda by Sigma-Echo-Seven
3rd Place:

:icondailylitdeviations:DailyLitDeviations 54 58
Prompt #37
Seven deviations were submitted to prompt 36! They were all amazing, but the one that stood out the most to me was The Snow Queen by WhisperingWatermelon. It was so new to see a new dialog and once you managed to get past the Scottish dialog, it's an amazing piece.
Welcome to Heart-of-Poetry's thirty fifth writing prompt. Hopefully these weekly journals will inspire some new ideas to keep you writing. You may write for our prompts in any format you wish -- poetry, prose, flash fiction -- just so the content is based off this week's theme.
This week's theme is color. This week, I was thinking something simple, so just include a color in your poem. Any color is great, and color makes up for so much in our lives.
Remember to submit your new deviation to the Weekly Prompt folder. If you would be so kind, also mention this prompt (and the group's name) in your deviation
:iconheart-of-poetry:Heart-of-Poetry 2 5
The Prince's Last Wife
It must be confusing
to lie down every night
not sure if you were going to be with
the man or the bear.
Sure, he's always been a man by night,
but then he's a bear by day,
with those big, sad, polar eyes,
still trying to control his massive limbs
like he's the master of his own destiny.
And yet you find those white hairs
on your good clean sheets,
on your silk pajamas,
mingled in your morning tea,
which is always waiting,
hot and steaming,
despite the fact he can't carry it in his paws.
And he watches you dressing yourself,
pulling on layer after layer, wool and wire,
because he shoots the cold
right through you,
with a nuzzle of his nose.
And he never has to dress, though at night
you can feel his skin,
and the goosebumps that line his humanity.
It must be confusing,
to lie there at night,
hoping he'll be the bear,
coming to eat you alive.
:iconkarlynoelleabreu:KarlyNoelleAbreu 18 27
Concerned Words
When we part for the evening
he tells me to "be safe,"
and I'm never sure what to say.
So I settle for "I'll try,"
as though that's all it takes.
:iconsilverinkblot:SilverInkblot 11 2
Recycled Dreams
I was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.
It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s  arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.
It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupial martial arts masters in Atlantis. In space. You would think putting dreams to canvas is an easy job, and you'd be right - but truly I wonder about humanity at times. Subconscious wanderings are laid bare to my paintbrush - they get their dreams, and I don't fall apart entirely.
Morpheus is upstairs. I know because I can see the color runn
:iconsilverinkblot:SilverInkblot 239 147
Mommy and Daddy
Mommy, Daddy, are you okay?
You haven't talked at all today.
Mommy, Daddy, can't you see?
You're really starting to hurt me.
All you do is scream and fight,
and I hear it all throughout the night.
Sometimes I think my eyes will run dry,
yet whenever I do, I just continue to cry.
"She doesn't care about any of this, she'll be fine by tomorrow!"
Daddy, you don't know how much your words fill me with sorrow.
"Can't you just be civilized?! Stop acting like a child, and apologize right now!"
Mommy, please don't make this worse, or I'll run outside and hide in the snow.
Mommy, Daddy, I wish you would just stop everything and be happy again.
I'm hiding under the blankets, writing these words down with a pen.
Mommy, Daddy, can't you see?
You're tearing my heart into one, two, three.
A piece for each of us, a piece of my heart,
the beating has stopped before it could start.
Two sections I wish I could install into both of you,
yet I'm afraid I have not yet found the proper glue.
"It isn't your
:iconlupus-astra:lupus-astra 958 583
The Principle of Sympathy
He gave her something to sleep to
at night. Her security blanket
A long time ago. She remembers
the person he once was but failed to remain.
We all fall short of something, sometimes.
And sometimes she dares to dream.
That things would be the way they used to be.
Most days.
So she lays there in waiting.
Reading notes from the nameless.
On blank paper in tattered books
about topics that were overused anyway.
Yet, he's there even when he isn't.
The silence he brings, deafening.
Even when they dance about in this awkward tango
She seeks for what can't be given.
When she couldn't give anymore of herself.
So beautiful but cries so much
For someone who feels so little.
It was in his disappearing act that he found solace.
In his never ending circus act
She didn't know whether to applaud to.
And he watches her, faithfully.
When she becomes undone, every time.
With all the realizations to intoxicate
her today. In her unharmonized consciousness.
She always had a reason for
Why she couldn't
:iconmedoriko:Medoriko 6 12
i. I fell in love with a girl who catalogued darkness,
sat in her room with the blinds closed and wrote down
187 ways it felt
in all of the different times she couldn't see.
My name was one of them,
#143, ash velvet, and I didn't know what she meant at the time
but the only description she wrote beneath it
was good night for stuffed animals
bad night for worn pillows.
And I'm sorry I made you dream of the rivers.
ii. I fell in love with a girl who never looked in the mirror
but dressed to perfection, somehow
in her blue skirt and black socks
white tennis shoes
and a smile crooked as the bottom side of Indiana –
yeah, I fell in love with a girl
who could never quite get it straight – but hey,
that's alright,
I've never been 100% straight either,
and the one corkscrew curl you have
opens me up like fine wine
each time I see you smile in that cracked bathroom mirror.
Makes me half-drunk,
iii. I fell in love with a girl who was depressed by Paris,
but loved Italy beca
:iconwinterkate:winterkate 104 90
Lying by Omission
He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d never picked up a weapon in his life. But, as the brigands would find out, he was very handy with various farm instruments with pointy ends and sharp blades.
:iconsilverinkblot:SilverInkblot 9 2
[VOCALOID3] IA Journal Skin by vkunicorn [VOCALOID3] IA Journal Skin :iconvkunicorn:vkunicorn 16 9
Raise a Child Who Writes
Raise a child who writes. Raise a child who's life is devoted to an imaginary world. Let her learn that managing characters is just a way with dealing with life.
Raise a child who knows how to craft a story arc. Let her discover that somewhere after the beginning is the height of the climax and how an end finishes with satisfaction. Show her how much fun subplots are, small diversions on the way.
Feed your writing child on books. Make sure she's a reader, as well as a writer. Instill in her the love of words. Gift her with a strong vocabulary from a young age and smile with pride when she goes on enthusiastically about her long library list.
Make sure she's supplied with plenty of notebooks and paper for scribbling ideas in and crafting stories on. When she's older, let her try forming words on a screen instead of on paper. Let her discover forming ideas on such a temporary medium but don't let her forget the value of paper. Having tangible evidence of her masterful writing should neve
:iconkaritxa:Karitxa 3 6
Date A Girl Who Reads And Writes
"Date a girl who writes.
Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She'll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she's cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it'll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she's saved for ever since she was twelve.
Kiss her under the lamppost, when it's raining. Tell her your definition of love.
Find a girl who writes. You'll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She's the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her
:iconpossumfan:PossumFan 6 8
Date A Girl Who Writes
Date a girl who will argue with you over which brand of pen is better. Who needs more RAM on her computer because of Word files, not game files. Who has two bookcases – one for filled notebooks and one for other author's works.
Find a girl who writes. You know it's her because she'll always have a pen and a notebook with her. Occasionally a tape recorder. She's the one who would have as much fun at home on a Saturday night with her computer as she would out at a party.
You see the weird girl sitting on a park bench looking engrossed in watching the people that walk? That's the writer. They watch people, how they act, they discover how people work. All for research. For their next big novel.
She's the girl hunched over a laptop at the coffee shop, or a notepad. Her fingers are moving so fast they're only a blur to you. Her previously fresh-cooked muffin is now cold. Her tea has simmered down to a lukewarm. Sit down. She won't notice you for a moment, she's lost in a different world
:iconchantal9:Chantal9 117 38
Date a girl who draws
Date a girl who draws.
You know the one. Her bag will be filled with discarded pencils and pens, scraps of paper with mindless doodles on them and blank books sticking out of her bag. She's the one who spends an hour trying to find the perfect sketchbook, only to pick up three more because she just couldn't help herself. She's the one hunched over in the coffee shop, rain or shine, the gears in her mind turning and turning while her hands move to catch up with every idea she has. She's the one who's too focused on what she's doing that her coffee's gotten cold and the people around her peek over her shoulder but she doesn't realise.
Compliment her drawings.
Ask to see more.
Turn the pages carefully, gently. Look at how hard she pressed the pencil into the page, the failed drawings, the successful ones. Look at the careful lines, the messy ones, the ones that give the drawings life. Linger on the pages you like but don't touch the drawings. Look at them carefully. Remember them.
Don't t
:iconenn-chan:Enn-Chan 70 43
To London
Gypsy hopefuls once told me,
there are flights leaving for
any destination
at any given instant
Upon sizing up our town with
a fingernail
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?
I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.
The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.
I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.
I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence styles and words.
She saw things through different eyes
and I understood her.
When I found out she was a writer
halfway across the globe
I was selfish
and I loved the world a little less.
It was different
but it was still water.
:iconthegreatspyexperim:TheGreatSpyExperim 27 15
A Writer's Romance
-"You're a writer, aren't you?"
Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.
I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.
Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.
-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too much trouble than anything else will do too."-
She starred at me with her big blue eyes,
Long golden hair,
Holding her hands together at her chest -
She was quite pretty at that,
Making me question why such a person would come up a complete stranger such as myself, and ask for something so absurd.
-"Why do you need something like that?"-
That's truthful
:icongameofficial222:gameofficial222 53 50



Well after weeks of not writing absolutely anything... I gave it another try one day after telling myself to stop wallowing in grief and maybe start doing something in life...

So after my first piece 'Weaving Memories' came the other 'In Blind Faith' which is really GOOD NEWS! Right now, I've just finished reading 'An Abundance of Katherines' and it was a great book! JOHN GREEN IS A GENIUS! What's ironic is one of the main problems of the characters was the fact that they thought they didn't matter.... but in the end they do realize the importance of 'doing something for the world.'-story of my life

Well right now, I'm going to write now more than ever after finishing a book list which is taller than me :)
  • Listening to: Hall of Fame by The Script
  • Reading: An Abundance of Katherines
  • Watching: The Men Who Built America
  • Drinking: Milk shake


I'm also Filipino so YAAAY! :) 1. I liked the structure and the organization of the poem. Its free flowing. The imagery was great and there was a lot of impact by the end of it. 2. Everything made perfect sense! 3. When I first read this, I thought it was kind of like a rendition of 'The Host' since ...

I liked the poem. Though everytime I read this line feels a bit off. 'to all these careless bystanders.' In the beginning I think you should describe the man of 'make-believe' or what it means to you to create more depth or meaning. In terms of imagery I liked these lines: I laugh and smile, let the...


SurreptitiousBloomer's Profile Picture

Artist | Student | Literature
I'm a 16 year old who aspires to make a career in the literary world :)


:iconpixiecold: :icontreo-legigeo: :iconhugqueen: :iconwinterkate: :iconsilverinkblot: :iconflummo:


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Akai-karasu Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks a lot for the fav on [link] :3
flummo Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2013  Student Writer
Thanks for the :+fav:s :heart:
SurreptitiousBloomer Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2013  Student Writer
You are welcome =D
HugQueen Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2013   Writer
KarlyNoelleAbreu Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for adding "The Prince's Last Wife" to your favorites.
SurreptitiousBloomer Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2013  Student Writer
You're welcome
Laeneris Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2013  Student Writer
Hi there! I'm just dropping by to tell you that I've read some of your stories and liked them, so please consider me a new watcher! I think that you definitely have what it takes for a career in the literary world. :heart:
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