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About Literature / Student SurreptitiousBloomerFemale/Philippines Recent Activity
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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

Eye of the dragon (on sale) by PixieCold Eye of the dragon (on sale) :iconpixiecold:PixieCold 3,154 157
The Things I Hate
I hate the things that I can't say.
That I woke up one morning
when I was five
to the discovery that my father had left without a goodbye hug.
That I learned hate
when I was six and we were moving;
I called our landlord Mr. Big Nose
and drew his way way too large
because he'd allowed our cats to run away without me.
That I began dreaming of death
later that year
right after my little brother died,
believing that I didn't belong in the life I had.
That I kicked my other brother in the head when he was three
because he walked in front of the swing...
there was no way I could have stopped,
but I didn't feel bad.
That I witnessed abuse when I was seven
and will never wipe my fear
of my mom's then-girlfriend's ex-husband's cruel hands from my mind.
That I assumed the role of parent
when I turned eight,
expected to take care of three little boys
when my mom and her girlfriend forgot we were there.
That my mom's girlfriend's eldest son terrified me
and bullied my brother and I both,
but we we
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 5 7
Single isn't Misery
"You don't have a boyfriend.
That's sad."
Of course,
this coming from a ten year old,
I only level my gaze upon her own,
smile lightheartedly,
and shake my head,
"No, it really isn't"
while deep down,
I'm agreeing just because
I'm the kind of girl
who thinks the world ends
each time I'm single,
just as I'm not lying to her
flat out
to save myself from the truth.
The reason my heart
screams in unison with her words
is because there are some things that I wish I could still have:
He made me laugh
like sorrow was nothing but dust,
even if just days before
he did something stupid and left my heart
treading in water that was too deep for it not to sink in.
He turned me in ribbons
and gift-wrapped life
so he could show me what it meant to live,
and living with him beside me
was almost like knowing that life wouldn't end
so long as we kept going strong.
He made me see the things
that no one else was able to,
especially if the things
he pointed out
(without actually doing anything)
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 4 3
Your Love Disappoints Me
"What is wrong with you, Jess?"  Your voice is cruel, frozen in the warm air.
I don't tell you there's a stain on my heart where your name used to be or that it hurts to even look at you now.
I don't tell you I don't want to remember.
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 16 18
Stepping Stones
I rip pages
out of poetry books,
the titles of
and Plath
and Dickinson
littering the floor
like trash,
and I wonder
if we don't all
wind up stepping stones
in the end.
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 36 45
Trail Blazing
Origami stars
trail fires across dark skies;
the autumn solstice.
:iconbetwixtthepages:betwixtthepages 13 18
Contest 12/19/12 - 1/10/13
so I've decided to throw another contest

the over-all theme is "space" (anyway you want to interpret it)
***you must also pick a more specific theme from this list:***
- stars
- empty
- blacker than night
- supernova
- no room to breath
- far away
- floating/ float
- moon
this contest is from 12/19/12 to 1/10/13
~please link your submission to this journal to be accepted (you can also submit it to the group, but that will not get it added to the contest)
~MUST include your specific theme in the description
read this journal:
have fun you guys :heart:
:iconanother-poetry-group:Another-Poetry-Group 3 27
Unexpected Love Contest! (UPDATED)
Hello  members!:wave:
Our group :iconSoul-Poets: is having a big poetry contest revolving around the concept of unexpected love.  Love between two beings that we (or your characters) wouldn't expect. It doesn't have to be a strict serious kind of poem, it can be fun as well.  Just  have fun and let your creative juices flow with this subject!
All submissions for the contest will be put into one folder called Unexpected Love Contest. This contest will be running until March 31st 11:59pm MST time, after that the submissions will be closed.
:bulletgreen:Contest Rules:bulletgreen:
-You must be a member of Soul-Poets to enter, joining the group is automatically accepted.
-You can only submit 2 contest entries
-The submission entry must be made for this specific contest, it cannot be made earlier than January 1st.
-You may submit any poem of any length that you choose, however if you choose a format of poetry that has strict rules then it will be judged accordingly (i.e. haiku)
:iconsoul-poets:Soul-Poets 7 30
Writing Tournament 2013 ~ Round I
Come one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, and more to be won! You all have until February 19th to enter.
The time is nigh for the Third Annual Writers--club Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! :la: It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! :typerhappy: First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the next round's theme. A new participants list with the surviving writers will be released upon the announcement of the new round.
To sign up, join the group as a member and add this blog entry to your favorites. From there, feel free to submit your entry to the Tournament Round 1 Folder.
:spotlight-left: :bulletred: Round I Theme:  Immin
:iconwriters--club:Writers--club 207 277
Mrs. Lubonek
Nobody knew how old the Luboneks were, but they’d lived at the top of Pecan Hill since before Cumberland was built, and the town grew up around them. Mr. Lubonek had a voice like gravel and always smelled of engine grease, sweat, and the gritty scent of someone whose friends were machines and whose family were the tools he kept in the shed. Mrs. Lubonek was airy as a bird and every bit as flighty, yet there was a sharp, witty glint in her eye that you only caught if you were looking for it.
The Luboneks lived a simple, dusty life atop Pecan Hill. Mr. Lubonek ran a small mechanic shop out of his garage and Mrs. Lubonek sold baked goods. Despite their humble background they were moderately successful in Cumberland, but you could never tell. Most people said they hid all their income in a ratty black doctor’s bag Mr. Lubonek kept just inside the front door. Or maybe the bag held Mrs. Lubonek’s pie recipes. Or maybe it held a treasure map or a severed hand or the secret t
:iconfrizzymissizzy:frizzymissizzy 43 41
Love is an open-ended question, maybe.
I don't want to fall in love but I do want to love you:
Love you like Fridays and three birthday cheers
Love you like wild schemes and spit on our fingers
I don't want a romance, I just want you near.
I want to love you like sailboats and daring adventures
Your friends and my friends and long, late night calls
I want to wander for six months and have my heart broken
Want you to show me it's never quite broken at all.
I want to love you like Plato and pizzas and parties
Sparklers when we're thirty, barefoot and still free
I want to love you on the sofa when you're dancing and dizzy
New books and bad movies, and you next to me.
Love is for all those who beg to be broken
It's a story to scare us, make us nod and behave.
When I'm lost in the night without purpose or car keys
I want to land on your doorstep; claim your warmth until day.
I want to love you like jumpers and chalk on the pavement
Poking fun at whatever, baking cakes the wrong way.
I've never seen something to want in sad love
:iconbonfirelights:bonfirelights 21 8
Tears In Heaven
Mommy looks just like an angel. She said she would be one soon and tells me not to be sad because she'll be looking over me where God is.
"I won't be able to teach you the things my mommy taught me, and the things her momma taught her," her dry hands felt soft on my cheek, "but maybe some day you'll have a new Mommy. Someone who can make your daddy smile again." She gazed at him from her hospital bed. He wanted to speak but choked back tears instead.
"But can't I make Daddy smile?"
It's been a year and a half, my memory of her is like air. I don't know if it's real or what I think I remember when I read the letters she left behind. He wouldn't look at me anymore. "You look just like your mother," he used to say, before Mommy went to Heaven. His thin dark-brown hair, her olive green eyes.
That was until First Grade when we met my teacher, "Mr. Martin, but you can call me Connor," he said to Daddy. He grinned and asked if there was a Missus Martin but Mr. Martin said 'No' and flashed tha
:iconrainbow-prairie:rainbow-prairie 333 77
Six year old Rose decided that today would be the day she asked her grandmother about the painting.
It always held her interest, magic upon a canvas. Perhaps it was the rich colors that shimmered under the perfect lighting. It could have been the girl captured within the painting. Maybe it was all of those things, but she had an idea on what it truly was—the eyes.
They were created by the tip of a brush, but carried more life than anything she had ever seen. Color of ice blue, they carried familiarity, warming the inside of her chest. The more she stared, the stronger it felt.
Rose entered her grandmother's living room to see her standing motionless below the giant painting, which stretched over four feet on the wall. Every day Rose spent the afternoon over here, her grandmother would stare at that painting, not a single world falling past her wrinkled lips.
Rose tugged on her grandmother's sleeve and asked," Grandma, how come you look at that painting every day?"
Her grandmother looke
:icondwkeiko:dwkeiko 11 8
A Butterfly Flapping Its Wings
The letter was clutched in strong fingers which, had they belonged to a lesser man, might have been trembling.
Application successful.
It wasn't happiness or elation that he felt. There was a vindication that scratched on the edges of his thoughts, but the only thing really resonating in his mind was, 'what now?' It was the first time in a long while since he had heard anything beside the scornful echoes of his father's words.
It was a dream.
Almost a decade had passed since they'd been said. He'd shyly expressed his fondness for art as a schoolboy, and his father had promptly crushed his meek hopes with an iron tongue. "Fool," he had said. "Dreamer, head in the clouds." He'd laughed then, coarse and cruel. "You'd never make it." And the next semester his star-gazer of a son had been enrolled into technical school.
It started with death.
Standing cold and numb as his father was buried, it was his mother that convinced him to apply that first time with her soft word
:icontreo-legigeo:Treo-LeGigeo 26 7
I'm Trying
I'm Trying.
What more do you want from me?
Can't you see I'm trying my hardest?
I'm trying to make something of myself.
I know nothing is promised and I may not be the fastest.
I know my attempts have not resulted in any form of wealth.
What more can I do to prove to you that this is what I want?
I can see you are finding it difficult to get past this.
You think there is more I can do to help myself.
You can see that I'm struggling; I never tried to mask this.
I want you to understand that this is something I must do for myself.
But all that I will ask for you is,
I hope that one day you will believe in me.
Believe in everything that I am trying to accomplish.
You don't have to necessarily agree with me.
But I promise that one day both you and the world will be astonished.
And on that day hopefully you will be able to see the drive in me.
Hopefully you will be able to see the fight in me.
Hopefully you will see the person that I am trying to be...come.
And all I will want you to say is
:iconkelalewis-morin:KelaLewis-Morin 61 12
I Will Wait For You
The letter came that fateful day,
To tear you and I apart.
The weeks before you were forced on your way,
Were a blur of a blackened art.
For months I agonised for your return to date,
In sorrow deep enough for fiction.
Until on the dreaded list I read of your fate:
"Missing In Action"
In years that passed, I waited alone,
While no news came of the part of myself.
Hordes of soldiers were flocking back home,
But your file just gathered dust on the shelf.
I knew not if you were dead or alive,
I knew not what to do.
I had closed my heart, praying you would survive,
To love again, seemed taboo.
Time flew by and my hope began to dwindle,
Though I still clutched at your small chance.
But soon all was left was a flickering candle,
Quivering in its uncertain dance.
What was I to think, I was torn,
Should I love again or retain my faith?
Surrender hope or stay lovelorn,
Or choose another to take your place?
My anguish one morn was put to an end,
When finally, I learned,
That I had to let go, cou
:icontreo-legigeo:Treo-LeGigeo 19 8



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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malaugusto Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2015   Photographer
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3wyl Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
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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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