Winter White beauty is falling from the heavens. The ground is covered by its grace. Everything is pure white. The silence has consumed the day. Peace has stabbed our souls. The trees crack as cold embrace them. The sun shines over the whit snow. The ice shines as the sun goes down. The cold red lights of the sun fade away in the snow. Night comes to the land. Cold strikes the ground. And snow, the snow continues to fall. Winter winds blow out side. The snow covers all. And all becomes white.

by ~willyoudieforme

How did you develop a passion for writing?

Where do you find writing ideas?

What’s helped most in honing your writing craft?

Who inspires you?

What are some of your passions?

How can bloggers write better?

How much time do you spend writing?

A deviously deviant of only two years, Fiona Eve of France (~Golden-Leaves) has put quite a dent in our Devaintart Community. Her gallery consists of an astounding collection of poetry, as well as anywhere from photography to traditional media. I was lucky enough that she had time to come online and interview her, she is a very interesting individual. 


Do you have any non-literature creative activities?
I indulge in classical music, singing, hiking, nature activities, and drawing. I also love languages, and teaching myself. 


When did you first start writing? What encouraged you to write or express yourself in this form of art?
I first started writing since I was able to write, in elementary school. I was a really creative, imaginative little kid, and it was wonderful to write down my thoughts and express myself in that way. My dad also served as an inspiration as well, writing poetry his whole life, himself. 


Is there any type of poetry that you like to write more then the other types?
I love writing classical poetry, such as sonnets. Dark poetry (with a sad, sweet touch) is also a favorite. 


What inspires you to write?
Everything and anything! A sad movie, a hug from my sister, a storm outside, or just plain silence. 


Do you write for yourself or for those around you? Have you ever written a poem that was too personal to post on DA? What was it like?
Some poems are for myself, some are for others. But when I think about it, ALL of my poems could be for someone else, since people relate to most of them. 
I wrote a poem once, describing the things I disliked about myself. It was very brutal and harsh, and I decided not to post it on dA. There have been others, of course, not posted, but they were mostly to do with family and personal things I don't want people to read. 


Do you have any other poets that you look up to?
Oh, yes. My favorite is Emily Dickinson, along with John Donne, Robert Frost, Shakespeare, and Shelley. Oh! And my father, as well.  


Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you get out of that art block?
Yes, I've had art blocks. When that happens, I don't force it. If I'm not feeling inspired, or lousy about myself, than nothing I write will be any good. I'm just patient, and wait until it comes to me.


What would you say to someone who starting to write poetry? Do you have any pointers?
- don't tell yourself you can't write. you may never be published or famous, but if writing poetry helps express your heart's feelings, than go for it!
- READ! mon dieu, if people only knew how much inspiration and help I get from classic authors, or well-written poetry. Better yet, you have a greater command of vocabulary, and can use words in rhyming with much more ease.
- if you want to write less-descriptive poetry, the choose less than ten words (that may or may not be similar with each other), and write your poem using ONLY those words in as creative a way as possible. 




Is there else that you would like to add?
No, other than "thank you" for letting me do this, and a big smile to everyon e in the group out there. You're all poets, whether you think so or not!   


She is a truly inspiring individual and we hope that she keeps on posting all of her amazing artwork for years to come. 


Read poems by ~GoldenLeaves here.

SHE IS...

She is all gentle gecko guile
And sweet serpent smiles;

A velvet massage of words
She wears on her heart like birds;

Against her soul's skin she weaves
Emotion from her fingers to her feet;

With the chestnut allure of her hair
She charms the Silence without a care;

In the mirror I see her wide doe-eyes
Scattering petals of every hue in the Sky;

A muse turning hurt into healing
With her pen inking out deep feeling;

She is the eclipse in a cauldron tossed
With inspiration, so eloquently flossed;

And I know her, I see her everyday,
She is me and with me she will stay.

How I Measure Love You asked me how much I love you. On a scale from one to ten. I whispered, "Infinity." Because if I took a brush, dipped in our love, and painted a line made of whispered wishes, and passionate kisses, and tried to measure how much I love you, it would stretch to the outer reaches of the universe. And everyone would see that line, twisting and curving, in shades of happy tears and butterfly wings, and say that someone crazy must have spent all that time painting it. Or someone in love. It would cross oceans on the backs of fish, and cover cities, countries, and continents, eventually breaching the atmosphere, to play connect the dots with the stars.  It would ricochet off comet tails,  and weave playfully between Saturn's rings. It would paint the universe in colors, vivid neons, and pale pastels, that people could see, when they looked up into the night sky. Like the northern lights, our love could light up the Heavens. It would paint the tips of wheat plants, dyeing the field in shades of swaying beauty. It would coat the canopies of the tallest trees, so you could only really see its artistry from the sky. It would wind through lost mountain roads, so that only the locals, and young couples, lost in each others eyes, could appreciate the delicacy of that one hidden spot. The business men, with their eyes only on their work, would pause when they stumble across that line. See something besides their next paycheck, or the inside of their cubicle. And maybe it would help them see that love can sometimes be more important than their salary. And single mothers, whose exasperated sighs, are coated in spilled spaghetti,  and muddy feet, will see it. And maybe it will restore their faith that they can find beauty in the little things.  But only you and I will know what it really means, when billions of people look up in the sky, and wonder where it came from. Only you and I will know its true meaning. And when I've painted every corner of the universe, traveled across this planet, to the next, I'll paint that line to you. I'll knock on your door, that paintbrush still dripping at my side, and finally throw myself into your arms. And as the paint dries, in a figure eight around our bodies, held as one, my line will finally be done. Because the only path I needed to trace, to show you how much I love you, was the one that stretched from me to you.

by *SoImStillUnsure

Desire A whispered secret in the hollow of your ear. Though it be pleasurable, it is something you should fear. Delicious essence of a pale soul Calls my blood to your control. Grim seduction tangled in mindful delusion My sin lingers in the dew drop web of confusion. Speak. Hear. Taste. Swallowed remnant of absinthe continuously drips A sweet cloying nectar from your lips. Trace the gentle contours of given form. Drink in the sensuous emotion we've borne. Revel in the throes of tumulus rebellion Twisting and falling into conscious oblivion. Look. Sense. Want. Listen as I tune my fine instrument Upon fluttering heartstrings in gentle lament. Mesmerize and memorize your raw desire Reaction to fatal attraction of ice and fire. Together our power becomes invincible But one will succumb to the inevitable. Possess. Steal. Destroy.  Forbidden contact an oracle cannot condone For this precious act must be atoned. Withered determination to quench the lust Hungering eyes grasp for misguided trust. Nemesis you may seek, yet am I the foe? Body frozen in stale movement and left without an echo. Wish. Crave. Desire.

by ~Apocolypse-Eternity