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About Varied / Professional Core Member SierraFemale/United States Groups :iconspirit-of-the-yoruba: SPIRIT-OF-THE-YORUBA
EJIOGBE IS THE SUN - I I I I
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Deviant for 5 Years
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MIXED MEDIA MUSEUM

This is where my mixed genres museum will live. Traditional and non-Traditional art will be found here.


A busy night of cyberdreaming Chapter 12 by Eternatease

LUKE GOSS/PRINCE NUADANuada by Robyn-666
Luke Goss by elysiumgraphix



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RAPPER JZ Jay-Z by Bigboithomas84
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LL&P
Leonard Nimoy (1931-2015) by louissollune
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2PAC
2pac by Bigboithomas84
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YORUBA ART
ADVENTURES OF IJAPA by ololade
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HUMOR
CachorroMariachi by Catetas
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TALENTED ARTIST
Daenerys Targaryen by HarryOsborn-Art

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AMAZING ARTWORK Fire and Ruin by DemonicEssence

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PHENOMENAL MAPS
Sapience - Commission by Ramah-Palmer

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BEAUTIFUL POETRY adonisyou're awash in holy light when you stand in your room
bare skin bathed in the eery blue-white glow of your lamp,
shadows falling like scraps of black organza across the crevices of your hipbones and shoulder blades
delicately scratching away at your marble surface, bruises of
lilac-violet smeared like watercolour paint under your wide eyes, you're so
disaffected, i know, but isn't that beautiful?
it is to me; it is everything about the emptiness in your green-gold eyes sometimes
the vacancy that turns them a little cold and grey in the darkness, the death of life behind your gaze
that tells me you have seen the things hidden behind trap doors that no one was really meant to
it is the way your muscles ripple discordantly in your fragmented movements, like your bones sit
uncomfortably when you remember where they have broken, what they have done
you've lived life like a sailor at sea, treacherous waters abound but still you pursue them
and you've roamed further than the boundaries my mi

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Second Prize OC Contest Winner Noys by FeatherFactory

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Must See Digital Photorealistic Legolas (Orlando Bloom) LOTR by push-pulse

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Poetry TigressShe is the kind of girl who smothers herself in astronomy,
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.
But, it's the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can bleed.


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Literature Jamie's DeadJamie died today.
I don’t remember much about what had happened. Not much at all except the feel of his feverishly warm body thrusting against my own. The soft of his lips and the rough of his unshaven face, exploring the most sacred of places where only he⎯and he alone⎯was allowed to touch. I remember the rush of euphoria and colors dancing in my head, the sudden urge I had to show him how I loved him.
And before that, screaming and pure hatred. The blow of his palm across my face. The strong smell of alcohol filling up the small dingy space of our one bedroom apartment. I remember the sharp sting of a cigarette butt where it fell on my skin. Flickering fluorescent lights while Jamie pricked a needle into my veins. I remember how it had hurt at first, and how afterward, I didn’t mind at all. And neither did Jamie.
Before that, I remember Jamie growing colder. Jamie coming home late at night. Jamie refusing to talk. Jamie going off to places I didn’t know
Papers and Cake    Roses were a curious flower, rife with symbolic meaning yet rarely understood. Thorns and blossoms forming an artistic counterpoint, Lyra ceased fussing with the arrangement and finally turned up her face to acknowledge her tutor. It was a rare concession, but she’d grown bored with the basic exercises she’d already done and knew he wouldn't let her advance if she didn't listen to him drone on about what was next. Oddly, he made no move to launch into one of his speeches, and after a moment she realized he hadn't paid her any attention as she ignored him.
    “Sir.”
    Lyra felt no shame or irony at the reprimand in her voice. Her parents paid him good money; it was his duty to sit and allow her to torment him. Vexingly, he didn't so much as look up, and instead continued writing something in the slim notebook he always carried with him. She'd thought it was to take down his reports on her progress but judging fr


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Poetry Wind in my HairEven though I can't see you,
I feel you.
When I close my eyes I can feel your
gentle
kisses all over my body.
The way you move me is unlike
anyone ever has.
I am engulfed in your presence.
When you whistle
I feel it is me alone you are calling to.
Beckoning me
to join your immortal dance.
Spinning
in unison I dance with arms stretched
out
eyes closed tight.


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Traditional & Digital Art Robert Kneppler_updated by straycat27

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Prince Nuada ExileNot a whisper from down below
but nothing there is still.
A world of sharp, rough,
hard, cold things
erected by a single war cry
not even the loudest river
could ever silence.
From ancient darkness,
older than the stars
and all things eternal,
like a slumbering seed of gold
awaiting the royal blood
to spring back to life,
he will rise.
One solitary Elf Prince –
the bane of Man.


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Animals :bigthumb121353521:

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Poetry horizonthere was a season
when I was stronger.
when days lasted longer and wind filled my sails.
there was a reason
for love's trial and error.
ghosts in the mirror were yesterdays' tales.
the winds now are memory.
hope and illusion.
pain and confusion inherit my gold.
but I, I shall live on
the crusts stained with jelly,
filling my belly with morsels and mould.
there is yet a season,
with dragons returning,
the fires yet burning shall lift to the skies.
there must be a reason
to seek the horizons.
to sail for the islands with unclouded eyes.
my sails are of iron. the sun is my shepherd.
and I am the leopard.
the lion. the beast.
alone at the tiller. I seek no more portage.
the winds of an old rage
shall yet drive me east.
William F. DeVault.  all rights reserved.


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FanArt Want you by goldenrod1034

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Poetry, Prose Musing over the MoonI don't think that the moon
wanted to be
the moon
imagine a hot rock
released to its own path
by a collision
explosion
or monumental
fission fusion of creation
taking pace
among the stars
free
only soon
a sun with planets
slowly pulls 
cajoles
this liberated
piece of travel-rounded
mass
into a steady orbit
of obligations
light the night
guide the ships
pull the tides
make us wonder
let the wolves howl
night after night
repetitive
circling
wondering
about its freedom


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Gourd Lamps Gourd lamp bracket V night 7 by Calabarte

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Literature John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,
I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about John—John who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.
I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Of course," I said. "Don't you?"
He didn't answer. But it was Communion that day and he ate your body and drank your blood just like everyone else, and I thought he had to believe in you because you were inside of him.
I asked him once, Jesus Christ, I asked him if he believed in you and he said, "I want to. But everyone says I have


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Photography The way Home by Oer-Wout

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Traditional Portraits (some animated) George by justinsdrawings

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Traditional Art

Mature Content

Gelatin buttocks -Color- by javiermtz


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Traditional Art Shocked by wildjellybeans

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Poet's soul, warrior's hands, lover's eyes, killer's heart a secret kite, unfoldinga secret kite, unfolding
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there's no one like you, and i think you know it...
it's in the casual way you say the most wonderful things
in the simple darkness you cloak yourself
dancing away yet wanting to be caught
treating me as a dirty secret, your special pet
a beast on a silver chain, that can break free when it wants
yet strides by your side with the poise and dignity of a prince
i've always been a soldier, a killer, and so many other things
yet i've never wanted to be kept or owned
until now
i want you to be able to lay your head on my chest
while you idly toy with your scar that you made on me
my hands floating above your body, everywhere and nowhere
(yet always on my claim-mark-rune, my pyha, that relic of the first night together)
until the moment that i strike
my lips and tongue lapping delicately past my cracked and sharp teeth
taking your essence gently from it's font
yet rending the meat of your body in tiny little bites
knowing that they pierce


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Photography :bigthumb324912465:

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Traditional Do You Believe in Jesus? by JW-Jeong

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Literature/Poetry Dirt Beneath the Cobbles
London did not make itself an easy city to love; Christina knew that better than most. Keeping her eyes fixed to the cobbles underfoot, she forced herself to ignore the flood of people crowding into the streets, focusing on following the map tucked away in her memory. The 'In-Between' ran across the bridges of London. An area where the nobility could be found, braving the fetid air drifting across from the slums, gawking at the poor, worthless people who fell into the wrong side of London.
Pulling the rim of her hat lower Christina shrugged past the well dressed sightseers, slipping into the maze of narrow alleyways and filthy terraces which made up the slims. Sidestepping beggars; who huddled in doorways with outstretched palms, she gripped onto her collar, hiding behind the discoloured leather as she moved quickly. Here was where the unsavoury were kept out of sight. The laws set by men like Christina's father forbid those 'of less than pleasing appearance' to step onto the far banks


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Poetry, et al If I Were a PoetIf I were a poet I'd spin you a line
An embroidery of words etched in silvery twine
A tapestry woven of rhythm and rhyme
And stitch it all up with each tittle and jot
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.
If I were a poet I'd cook you a stew
A lyrical soup, a most nourishing brew
With couplets for gravy and iamb for my rue
And boil it in a pentameter pot
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.
If I were a poet we'd take to the seas
With paragraph sails and a literate breeze
And sail on our starship to far galaxies
We'd keep captain's logs of the treasures we sought
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.
If I were a poet I'd write you a page
Full of musical wisdom so rhyming and sage
A verse to let open the door to your cage
And give you the taste of the freedoms you've sought
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.


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Traditional Art :bigthumb130743669:

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Photography & Traditional Aurora Brutality by Trichardsen

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Digital Beauty Warning by patriciabrennan

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Melalina's Profile Picture
Melalina
Sierra
Artist | Professional | Varied
United States
That's a picture of my drum group, MUSIC OVER MATTER, running a drum circle in Philly. I am basically a crafts person. I make instruments known as sekeres. Sekeres are percussion instruments made with gourds (of various sizes and shapes) and strung with a net of colorful beads and/or shells. The instrument originated in Nigeria, Africa. They are played by musicians from many genres all over the world. I have a story about sekere published on DeviantArt. fav.me/d45s4gw


I also dabble in authoring. I have written widely different subjects here on dA - semi autobiographical, porno/erotica (published and removed by Stan and dA) - but my new favorite is fan fiction.

I do draw, but it is not my specialty. It takes me forever to get drawings right and they still don't quite measure up. I'll stick to crafts.
Interests

Visitors

:iconfroxalt:
froxalt
Feb 23, 2017
8:45 am
:iconskylar-b-multifandom:
Skylar-B-Multifandom
Feb 20, 2017
3:41 pm
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LualaDy
Feb 19, 2017
11:47 pm
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TOMHEYBURN
Feb 19, 2017
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bloodyfreak06
Feb 18, 2017
10:09 am

LLAMA FOR LLAMA

Gimme a Llama, I'll give you one back.
I don't need points; 'tis llamas I lack.

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MY TRADITIONAL ART MUSEUM

This is my collection of traditional art. These pieces will remain while other pieces will be added over time.


Michael Jackson. Smile. by zimnika7tall tim by SittingBuddha
Gilfalas by halrod Custom double switch plate by dogzillalives Model VI by DChernovModular Origami Big Swan #1 by origamimodulowe Matt Who? - pencil portrait by Cataclysm-X

Mature Content

Still living in the Past by JairoxD
SMILEY D by Estebelle AD by lei-la-la Derbyshire Autumn by AnnMarieBone 1 by LaurinhaOliveira The sweetest thing by SabinasArts

Mature Content

Dimples by Life-takers-crayons
conversations by Slawekgruca

Mature Content

Ray by mjranum
Still Life 92 by Mosz reis 6 by dushky Believe by Laurasshadesofgrey Ziellos by scheinbar Burn by RhynWilliams

Mature Content

Keith by DeviantMind22
Speed Drawing Smallest Cat by 8DFineArt Jackson by Ev-sta The Chimera by RICARDO-GIRALDEZ Hor by plazas A Short Silence by hyper-tom Egg Natural version II by URM

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Comments


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:icontomheyburn:
TOMHEYBURN Featured By Owner 5 days ago   Traditional Artist
Thanks for adding my latest Jeremy Brett to your FAME collection. Appreciated.
Reply
:iconunderstoodadmin:
UnderstoodAdmin Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for your donation towards the contest at Understood-Accepted ! It is very much appreciated.
:fish:
J
Reply
:iconmidnighttiger8140:
MidnightTiger8140 Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you very much for faving my artwork! I really appreciate your support ^_^
Best wishes for the new year :D
Reply
:iconcencetheya:
Cencetheya Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you :hug:
Reply
:iconartin2007:
artin2007 Featured By Owner Edited Nov 19, 2016  Professional General Artist
btw I noticed that after a submission to
ContributeArts was declined,
my membership was terminated. I naively asked
to join again. Is that appropriate?
Reply
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