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#dALinkSystem is a Group dedicated to increasing artists exposure by helping others and themselves through a simple and effective "Linking" system.
The idea:

"Link another artists submission in your artist's comment box. It helps everyone's exposure and finds undiscovered art."

GOALS of The Link System:

1. increase self-exposure
2. increase a fellow Deviant's exposure
3. discover lost art on dA
4. find potential friends (the first 3 are important)

:trophy:DD WINNER:trophy:

The Link System User's Guide by TheFulkrumdALinkSystem How to Link Tut. by dALinkSystem

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:heart: Welcome to the sixth issue of Lit Linked! This is an article featuring ten literature pieces that have Linked to another deviation [or deviations].

dALinkSystem is a group dedicated towards increasing artists exposure by helping others and themselves through a simple and effective "Linking" system: Link another artist's submission in your artist's comment box. It helps everyone's exposure and finds undiscovered art.

Before I am 30Before I am 30,
I want to be free and independent;
I won't answer to anyone,
but my own conscience.
Before I am 30,
I want to live on my own;
Come home whenever late I want to,
without being scolded.
Before I am 30,
I will learn and grow a bit more;
although we never really stop to do that,
not while we're alive.
Before I am 30,
I am going to be me;
even if it's only for a short time,
and with nobody watching.

linked to

before I'm 30I want to dance in really high heels,
hear a new Modest Mouse cd,
write a poem like Sage Francis.
I want to be kissed by someone who means it –
need less medication
and no hospitals.
I want to read my work to someone who cries,
someone who laughs and someone who decides
to be a poet, even though they're still afraid.
I want to find the right words
to teach my daughter about love
and happiness and hope.
I want to be more practical most days
and more radical some days
and stand up to be counted
before I am 30I want to press my soul into his chest,
erase the shallow shape of me,
become a woman, dispossessed
of knowing a body my own.


Winter BluesA blanket fallen from the clouds
Covers the land as snow falls down,
So white, white as a wedding gown,
White, white as the burial shrouds.
The firs wear coats made of snow,
The solemn silence like mist soars
To mountain tops from valley floors,
Silence of graves does follow.
Lonely cart tracks slowly fade,
Now they only lead to nowhere,
Their origin is no longer there,
Soon they are but a white shade
A blanket fallen from the sky
Covers the peaceful land below
With the innocently white snow
Comes the cold that lets us die.

linked to

Winterly Blue by patriszkarch


The Forest Is My PrisonWhen I was young, the forest was where I would go when I could take the outside world no longer. It was where I would go to escape from the hardships of everyday life. The air was always cool and crisp enough to blow away the dark thoughts that floated through my mind. The wildflowers that grew there were my inspiration, my friends in times of need.  I would pick them, decorate my hair with them, wrap them in a handkerchief to take home and put in a vase. When they came to the ends of their lives I would press them into my little book. Their beauty was immortal. It was only after I had grown up that I came to realise that the forest was more than a refuge. I needed it, like an alcoholic needs wine. Without it I was miserable, depressed even. I needed my daily dose of the forest that kept me for its prisoner. I couldn't stray too far from the woodland, in case I needed it. The happy little wildflowers were no longer my friends but my wardens. The creatures my fellow prisoners.

linked to

The woodland prison by KatrinaCorrigan


FriendlessThere's a little boy who walks to school,
Nobody knows his name.
No matter what he tries to do,
It is always the same.
He keeps up with all the trends,
He knows them inside out.
Each one he pulls off perfectly,
Even that selfie-photo pout.
Each week he brings a box of muffins,
Though nobody knows why.
He used to try and hand them out,
Now he doesn't even try.
He shares the muffins with the crows
and eats them one by one.
For consuming that much sugar,
He sure looks miserable when he's done.
He looks down at the empty box
and you see a little smile.
The crows fly off and he lies down;
They'll all be full for quite a while.
The same routine, every week,
I think so that he can pretend,
That in the year that he's been here,
He's made at least one friend.

linked to

Who needs friends?
A good enemy is better than a best friend
A good enemy can't betray
A good enemy won't go away
A good enemy will be there at the end
A best friend will fail
A best friend tells you what to think
A best fiend pushes you to the brink
A best friend will bail
A good enemy pushes you forward
A good enemy tests your steel
A good enemy makes you real
A good enemy seeks no reward
A best friend makes demands
A best friend always judges
A best fiend holds grudges
A best friend won't withstand
With an enemy you know they hate you
With a friend you are not sure
To an enemy you can be true
When they run you through
It won't be from behind
A friend won't just let it end
Tell you they never liked you
Every story you tell they bend
Every wound you mend
They inflict two more
With enemies like these  who needs friends


Spirography and the Gift of PyrokenesisAlready I feel stiffened,
wrapped-round with my wedding-bangles—
                   a horror amidst spirographs,
the ballpoint-pen circles that have transcended themselves
into curling picture frames or paper cages.
In my gown I have become a pillar;
I have not tasted curried air,
but already a river will still my tastebuds,
the mirror into which I shall be sunk, prow-like,
with the ship,
                   and the curling pen-lines
that drift in my eyes prepare the currents
that will wash over me and make of me nothing.
Shiva I would rather be—
if I could I would pour my flaming heart
over my ashen and lace body,
leave its embers in the grass like seeds;
I would go up in smoke, no Helen for Troy,
only gasps making their own way for Calcutta.

linked to

Firestarter by AnitaAnti


Don't Anchor, Adorea keen sunlight anchors to the sea in your window
where a manner of rain wraps a fading flush of earth
with the crush of warm blushes. where you adore,
closer, where your skin is agitated, the distance of
your spine – in there, a wind is always blowing –
and the way a passion settles is never moored,
and with the way the passion moves
you flow glow how you glow

linked to

Femme 138 by sagittariusgallery


Department of MiraclesWe promised this ascension would be spontaneous,
and full of light.

linked to

_ by Ellceris


What I Learned in High SchoolFor my father.
somebody told me
there's more to life
than breathing.
driving myself home
(read: four walls
and so many mistakes)
I remember crackly gold leaf piles
Daddy's bear hugs, raspy laugh
whiskey at Thanksgiving
bourbon kisses on Christmas
Black Label goodnights
year round.
in eighteen years
I have learned
that peace, if it's real,
abandoned the stars.
they keep shining,
like death is a myth
who knew bravery
could be so breath-
driving myself home
(read: frustration has an address)
red light lets green have a go.
engine stutters;
head meets steering wheel
& I laugh because
it's the small deaths
that linger.
graduation night.
alone, satisfied
wandering Oakland Bay's
rocky shore
I bid sanctuary
a grateful farewell.
whales wave to me,
fins graced
by white moonlight.
I name them all
driving myself home
(read: four walls
and so many mistakes
to make) I remember
gum stuck in the asphalt,
air swimming with heat,
awkward, hasty hug

linked to

have you seen your fatherhugging the cat, my mother asks
& I laugh because I have. the
cat hugs him back, wraps his paws
around my father's neck, rubs
his face against the bristle
of my father's greying beard. &
I imagine my father whispering
sweetly to him & the cat's
low rumble in reply. just yesterday
they were fighting, my father
threatening to drown him
in the lake, cradling a
bird with broken wings.
he loves them, every
bird & ground squirrel,
buries them & storms around
all day. but by night they are
embracing, my father & his cat,
making peace between themselves
too low for our ears. these
things I cannot hear, but see
& feel: my father's
endless well of love. his grief.
the fold of his strong & forgiving
arms. these are the things
that I have learnt from him.


Music and SilenceThere is nothing quite so beautiful as watching shards of rain cut through the haze of the pollution that litters this air, washing away every intricate speck of smog and letting me see the nuances between the everyday and its replacement. Seeing the pearlescent droplets settled on my lashes, and through them, watching your distorted image shift in the singing wind, following the beat of the rain's pitter patter as you twist and sway, your arms waving like a flag in the wind.
I'm watching you but I don't see you because the rain is drowning my senses, leaving me spinning in circles trying to decide which way is up, and the music and silence that are too loud for my fragility make me speak louder, filling the air with my bated breath and eloquent commentary of tonight and yesteryear. I have to take a break, let the beat resonate through my bones and sinew, and work off the haze in my mind as I spin and roll my body through the air, feeling the eyes on me like a drug that makes me move m

linked to

i write gimmicks, not poetrymy        lotharian
heart          beats
                        my skull
                        (a cranial


to Yellow Plumto Yellow Plum (in blue
china bowl):
     afternoon's slit of sun slips
     between thick curtains
     & woos you to ripeness.
     it chooses you
     not for flecks of honey-russet
     held low in your seam of shadows,
     nor your symmetry & swell;
     but because
     you slink in shade, sink
     behind green pear & clementine
     & cannot hide
     from each spear of light
     that ricochets
     even now
     nested warm
     against these lips
     even now:
     a tea-stain stone
     hugging close
     the trashbin floor.

linked to

Swollen cherrystrum away, summer winds 'round her lusty neck, 
longing for the rose of berries
in the humming wood. her sultry songs 
rouse a lover in the rust. 
sweet dew on lips sinks as trickles 
soft on skin. her little steps all flitter 
to shutters of fever flush. 
mist eyes and steam mouth melt and taste
the sweeter guilt. 

Not quite sure how to link?

Here are a few tutorials to get you started:

The Link System User's Guide by TheFulkrum dALinkSystem How to Link Tut. by dALinkSystem dALinkSystem User's Manual by dALinkSystem

:dalove: I will be accepting suggestions for pieces to feature, but they must link to someone else's work as per dALinkSystem's submission guidelines. It does not have to link to another literature deviation, they do not have to be a member of the group, nor does the piece have to be submitted to the group.

:dalove: If you have any questions, concerns or comments regarding dALinkSystem, linking, or this article please send me, IrrevocableFate, a note!

The Link System Stamp1 by TheFulkrum

More Journal Entries

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Keep going. We got more, I swear it!


Add a Comment:
philippeL Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hello, I was not sure that this group was still active :)
Thank you for accepting my submission :wave:
(1 Reply)
pengirl389265 Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
So, can we submit art that is linked with other art? Are there limited submissions or anything?
TamaraKane Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you for allowing me to join! Yay! :party:
JenWriting Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Is this group active? My submission expired :(
BatmanWithBunnyEars Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2013   General Artist
Does a link still count if it leads to somebody's work off-site?
(1 Reply)
Add a Comment: