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STORY POEM / FICTION & NON-FICTION PROSE Nominations
Hello, DU poets!
As part of our final push to curate the best collection for our anthology, we’re opening up this thread for Story poems, Fiction and Non-Fiction Prose. Your input is invaluable to ensure we capture the diversity and depth of work that makes DU Poetry so special.
Here’s how you can contribute:
If you have a favourite poem in any of these categories, please post a link to the poem here in this thread.
The curators are working hard behind the scenes to review the nominations, but your help is crucial to fill out the remaining categories.
Thank you all for your contributions!
As part of our final push to curate the best collection for our anthology, we’re opening up this thread for Story poems, Fiction and Non-Fiction Prose. Your input is invaluable to ensure we capture the diversity and depth of work that makes DU Poetry so special.
Here’s how you can contribute:
If you have a favourite poem in any of these categories, please post a link to the poem here in this thread.
The curators are working hard behind the scenes to review the nominations, but your help is crucial to fill out the remaining categories.
Thank you all for your contributions!
Rural Springs, Florida
Let's just say that I didn't have an ideal childhood. Why at fourteen, that the reason my bedroom window was boarded up was to keep so much sunlight out, while I hid from the days. It wasn't because the glass had long been broken out, trying to escape. And don't ask why there was a hook and latch lock on the outside of the door. I was told back then it was because I sleep walked. Although I don't recall an episode of that. I was always quite aware of my attempts to flee.
Or that the reason the bed was gone was because I had set it on fire, with a lighter I had stolen from my aunt, one day when she had came to visit, and to get some pills. I had set the mattress against my bedroom door, hoping it would burn through it, taking the door apart in a fury of flames. The same type of fire inside my brain.
After that fiasco, I would find enough of a bundle of something, and make a suitable sleeping spot, to get me through another couple of years.
Nowadays, these decades since, when women crack their bones on my bed, exclaiming how hard of a mattress I have, I don't explain anything. It's too much trouble telling them how some punishments stay with us, as a reminder of our lessons to not disobey.
But back to when I was still a kid. Once I was old enough to not be contained, but unprepared for freedoms at fourteen, I still made it home most the evenings. Still too young to travel too far from the wolf den, too long. But I was learning pretty quick.
As for Mickey, she was thirteen and still more boy than girl, at that age. Although some boys had figured out her difference by now, and exploited it. She'd let them, just to get to hang around. Sticking with a pack had its advantages, with sometimes a payment due of whatever value could be had. I'd steal cigarettes to share, mindless of the brand, we would smoke anything. Mickey just shared herself. And that was somehow more rewarding to the other boys.
My first time wasn't what I thought it would be. No reckoning of joy or enlightenment of how wonderful such things could be. It was an afternoon of hanging out with the group of us mutts. Mickey was putting out. I wasn't wanting any part of the goings on in the bedroom. In my head, I had been having visions of how I thought sex should be, with Lita, the tall blonde at school. Although Lita was from another existence that I'd never be in. Still, it was my dream. I was allowed to keep those, all to myself.
But, things just happen. I was fourth in line, that day with Mickey. I doubted she really noticed much difference by then. Between the numbers and the amateur drinking, things were blurs. All I really remembered from any of it, was that brief moment when everything stopped, while her and I fumbled with each other. She looked so far into my eyes that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. "My name is Michelle". And then she grabbed my ass and bashed me so hard into her that all my options left me, and went inside her.
I wondered if she had shared that much with any of the other guys. Probably not. They just got sex.
The next day was my first motorcycle wreck. Riding a dirt bike on a no name street, as Mrs Hindley ran a stop sign, just to punish me for my lawbreaking. I'm sure it wasn't really the reason. She was old, so stop signs blended in after years of travelling the same monotonous roads.
Lita became my caretaker, at school. My foot was crammed back together in a cast, to reform into a hopefully suitable thing for a shoe. Lita only did it to carry my books, since I was released early from classes, to get a head start as I crutched to the next class. But, we talked. Hallways have a way of closing people in. Odd how kids always rebel, somehow. To her, I was everything that her parents had warned her about. And yes, she was the poster pinned up on the wall in my brain.
As the weeks went on, and my foot got better, her parents never found out. About all of the times that she had snuck me into her bedroom, late at night, through her window. Her window wasn't boarded up like mine. I lost count, how many times she let me in. And inside her.
At seventeen, wildness hadn't left me. I still preferred the familiarity of my own area near my den. I belonged with the other mutts, no matter how much Lita tried to clean me up. Even the shoes I was wearing were a gift from her, the past Christmas. Some popular brand that I had no knowledge of.
The party at Clay's house, I should have avoided. I hadn't been around much since my accident, three years prior. Everyone had grown either some or a lot. Mickey was there, looking like a Michelle. But she was already drunk. A wasted Barbie. Her blue eye shadow doing nothing to help the dark recesses around her eyes. It was like where daylight goes to die.
Within a couple of hours, Clay had her in a back bedroom, she was unconscious. He came out of the room, a smile breaking his face into something grotesque. Bragging how she didn't even wake up when he jammed into her ass. He smacked Donny on the shoulder and told him to go for it. While I, reading eyes, noticed a few others already doing the mental line up.
Annette spoke up. She yelled a no and a what the fuck you guys. She said to just leave Mickey alone. But it was Clay's house; His rules. He scoffed her off, as Annette cried for her friend being sacrificed yet again.
To this day, like I've always been, I forget that I don't weigh two hundred pounds, like Clay did. He was a big guy. But back then, my one-forty gained sixty pounds of rage, in an instant. Take every dangerous animal that you've ever heard of, and blend their blood, and their mindset. You get a me.
I chose a side. Annette's. Some things really have no choice. Sometimes it is just time, when life lines up all your dominoes in a row of certain doom. You know the result, it's going to be bad. But you do it anyway.
As Clay and I argued, I felt Annette slip a gun into the back of my pants. There was no mistaking what it was. I had held many guns by then. Blame the natures of the beasts that I had grew up around. Shooting is simpler, in certain situations. It saves you blood, just not theirs.
When I pulled it out, Clay was surrounded by his crew. I felt a little bad for them. I had five shots in the .38 snub, I only needed one for Clay. So I may have to do whatever, to get him clear of obstacles.
He laughed. He called me a pussy and dared me to pull the trigger. He mocked the fact that I was defending the absent honor of a whore. But maybe, I told myself, I was giving her some back.
My anger had me shaking. The barrel of the gun seemed indecisive. Clay noticed, commenting on how my chickenshit fingers couldn't pull the trigger.
When I had my wreck three years before, I didn't remember hearing anything. Not the horn. Not the brakes, or the tires laying their life out on the road in black streaks of rubber blood. Or the crunch of a puny motorcycle being wadded up into scrap in a half-second. And not my bones, confirming how brittle they really were.
I remember the front grill of her car. Evil clown chrome, as a last haunt before my demise.
That's how Clay's face looked, as I pulled the trigger. I was aiming for his face. I wanted to erase it, from this earth. But in my wavering frustration, I got him in the shoulder. I can never describe how loud it was, in that room. The explosion of a bullet from a gun, in such tight quarters, is a cannon inside your ears. As if everyone gets shot with sound, and it's damaging. Everyone freezes for a long second, thinking if it was them. Because you're in a moment of pure shock, and your mind is checking on your body.
Annette and April tried to calmly take the gun from me, as Clay screamed like a cat being eaten alive by a hawk. His friends alternated between staring at him, as he rolled around the red pool engulfing him on the floor, and at me, a stone statue, not quite sure how to move next.
The good thing about rural towns, is even the police are pretty good guys. I knew both of them. And they knew me. I wasn't a bad guy. I just had that little spell of a bad upbringing. My glitches had a name, somewhere in some medical journal. Our library didn't have those type of books. And forget from television, that was just some box that mom would pawn on Mondays, get it out on Fridays, if dad brought her some money.
On the fourth day of my incarceration, an Army recruiter came to visit me. He was from Orlando, the big city. I had been there a few times, to steal nicer cars a time or ten. He told me that he talked to the court, he could get me out. But I'd have to join the military. Even though I was still legally a minor, I could get a waiver. A second one, the first being for the assault charge. Soon to be only a misdemeanor. He said he could help me get my life on track. Put some order to things. But I'd have to take some tests, to show I'm mentally capable. They can't have crazies running around with guns. Even though that's what you become.
Amazement, that was his response at my test results. He said that I was genius level, and that no one has ever scored so high for him. He remarked that he'd get a hell of a bonus by signing me up, and that he'd give me a cut of it. He said that I could pick any job that I wanted, with those scores. I asked for whatever gets me to shooting things, and blowing things up. He asked, a bit hysterically, if was I serious. Dead serious.
Infantry was the basic beginning for me. But I didn't want to be a domino. So I took the best of the worst results of whatever awaited me, and pushed my luck. Recon. Be the shadow, until it's time to bite.
The decades passed. My Army life long since behind me. But still, belonging nowhere. I was that piece of the puzzle that never got put back into the box. And as the boxes stacked up, it no longer mattered.
I'd ride my motorcycle, to anywhere. Spend a day or two, then head for another nowhere.
Eventually, my hometown, just to ride through and add new pictures with my regrets. My old house, brightly painted and landscaped. Every street paved and named. My street is now called Jericho Lane. Because Jerry lost his leg to an alligator, at the pond, back in '88, I think it was.
Stopping at The Frosty Mug, the first bar I had ever drank in. Even though I was seventeen at the time, I was grown up enough to be allowed in there. That, or because my dad was sleeping with one of the bartenders. The one who would set her tits on the bar when she served you a beer. Her sheer tops were never a hindrance to a view.
Tentatively, I now lean on the bar at the first edge when you walk in. Nothing has changed about the place. As if I had just left it last night. Yet it's been decades.
Pleasant girl, seemingly, tending to the early evening crowd. I order a shot of Beam and a draft beer. Any kind would do. It's all shit, really.
To my right, a shoulder-shove; Some man with an aged face. Looking like someone I probably once knew. Holy hell, Father Tom? It was him. He was such a good kid back then. He never read or listened to any rules. He was born knowing them. We used to kid him about being a preacher some day. How his calling was predestined. But, he ended up with Mickey's sister (As he's telling me) and she messed him up.
He grinned and said guess who, as my left shoulder gets a nudge. A decades worn Mickey smiles, says hello, and that she knows my eyes from anywhere. She's probably already lying, because I have this scar on my cheek. A retained gift from my wreck with Mrs Hindley. Some people have said how it gives me character. But I didn't want to look like a villain. Thankfully, it's been only a part time role over the years.
Mickey does the catch-up small talk. She had moved, to Ohio, with some guy from East High school. Didn't work out. Came back to take care of her mother, who died and left Mickey the house. Three kids, still in Ohio. Good ones, never were any trouble.
She's a CNA now, taking care of people our parent's ages, if we had any still alive. Not many of our old friends around. Just her and Tom.
She tells me about Clay. He had gotten ten years at Starke, for what he'd done to her and for the drugs they found in his house that night. Then he moved to Georgia, she heard. Became some type of farmer.
I tried my best to listen to her. I tried to not stare at the blue eye shadow that she obviously still favors. It should be orange. Let the fire stay, around her eyes. I guess somehow she's always been positive, keeping a summer sky right above her eyes.
"Look". She turns around and pulls her shirt down below her shoulder. A tattoo. A simple one. A name.
My name. Enclosed in angel wings, like disguised quotations.
I couldn't help but touch it. Permanent. Like a past. Just some people see it differently. Any wings I've wore were leather, tattered, from the sun and wind fighting me, while I aimed right for them on my motorcycle. I'd head straight towards where I thought God might be hiding, so I could kick his ass. I was pretty sure that I could. I had a rage given to me from a depth that God had long forgotten about. I came from the gang of cast asides, just like the devil. Maybe sometimes I played both sides, a right for a wrong. Never mind that it took two wrongs, all along, to make it right. But in my head, I made things correct.
Mickey tells me that she hasn't been in this bar in months. And ironically I show up. She says that she always knew that she would see me again. That karma plays its hand eventually, when the stakes are merciful.
She's not seeing anyone. Am I dating anyone. How long am I in town. Do I want to see what she's done with her mom's house. Did I rent a hotel.
All of my answers were a no or a silently stared reply.
Some people are potential roadkill. They get hit, they're stuck in the road, broken and immobile, in misery. Waiting for the next vehicle to hopefully come finish them off. It might take years. But they wait. Their life remains in that road, as decades go around them.
Mickey is still there, in that road. Trying to stand, but she's still pretty hurt. A little help, is all. She won't ask outright. So she signals with the signs that she has. A smile. Eyes bleeding blue. A hand on my hand, that had held the gun that shot her demon. We weren't even eighteen then. Damn, how old that one evening made us. Since then, I've always been the oldest, wherever I go, no matter when anyone else was born.
She changes tone. "Do you remember that day we had sex?"
"We were just kids".
"I know. But you were different".
"How. I was the fourth".
"The way you looked at me. You fucked me with sad eyes. It hurt my heart".
"We were just kids, Mickey".
"Not really. Not then.
And then you went and shot that motherfucker Clay, three years later. You
did it for me".
"I did it because he's a piece of shit".
"Can't I have my version? That it was for me, for how they always treated
me?"
"That's fine. I'm glad you turned out okay".
"Who the hell said I was okay?"
I turned away from that. Tom had somehow slipped out and left us to our renderings. I needed him back. A diversion. All I had was my third shot of whiskey, to block my face with. So I sipped it slow.
Mickey again took my hand, slowly turned me back to her. Then she insisted on staring much too deeply into my eyes. My light blue eyes, with dark moons hanging underneath them. And her brown eyes, with blue halos hovering just above them.
Maybe roadkill recognizes its own kind. She reminded me, by saying "You can take those boards off your windows by now. It's all right. You're going to make it okay too".
I didn't fight back, when she kissed me. A fight it was, although I didn't protest as much as my brain asked me to. Fine then. Wake what is best left to stay unconscious. I put my hand behind her head and pulled her close, as our mouths crushed into an unforgiving mash of fuck it all. Of oral fucking to where every single good and bad thought, and every dire consequence, wanted paid back. And so damn earnestly.
"Come with me".
She led me out back and leaned against the wall, pulling me to her with her hands and a leg and her mouth. This was beyond kissing. It was a lifetime of wrong roads joining. Two wrongs, trying to find some righteousness.
She pulled at my shirt, as she slid down her own. Reminding me that she was most definitely a Michelle now. We took turns kissing on what was exposed on each of us. Each a heaving birdcage holding back a trapped falcon inside. And talons, she had them. I had to tell her to go easy as she tore at my pants. She started to kiss lower but I stopped her. Don't bother. I spun her around and tried my best to rip her jeans to shreds from the top down. She helped, saving herself a fasten, or the zipper. I wasn't being courteous.
With my arm on the wall, to buffer her head, I pounded us and our names into the concrete with every force of nature I've acquired over the years. All totalled, a fucking hurricane. Welcome back, me.
"Holy shit. Holy shit!"
She braced herself best she could, but she was no match for this. Not alone. My arm saved her head, as my elbow took the brunt. I never felt it, when the skin gave way, and the blood began to smear upon the wall. I saw it, but didn't stop. I thought about rubbing it into some kind of animal painting, as I slaughtered her from behind. But things were too frantic. I couldn't steady anything, except my cock gliding inside her.
"I've missed you".
Of all the things to say, right now, and all this time. What the hell.
"You don't even know me".
"Yeah? I knew you'd be back".
I only got angrier. Mad at everything up until this moment. We, me and her, can suffer together. This one more time. I ducked my head against her neck and came slowly. Letting it work it's way to where it wanted to return to. Decades long. In a matter of a few insane minutes.
We split the next few minutes kissing and gathering ourselves together. Her giggling some and me thinking about sitting down soon, because my legs were shot. Maybe I smiled a little. I did. I can't control every function, after all.
I noticed an old man, sitting under a tree, over on a smoking bench. Well, shit. Okay. So he got a free show. He held up his lit cigarette, perhaps as an offering for payment. I laughed; Soon enough, God I really wanted one.
Michelle saw what I was laughing at; Oh my god.
"So, do you want to go see how I fixed up the house? You can get cleaned
up a bit."
"Sure".
I followed her car as she made her way through the town streets. Not too far. I vaguely remembered some of it, but so much had changed. I didn't bother reading any street names. They weren't there before, anyway. Times sure change. Sometimes, so do people.
I didn't recognize her house at all. It was perfect. The porch light illuminated a swing that didn't even have rusted chains yet. Everything looked brand new. Well kept, at the least.
"Well, here we are. Remember it?"
"Not this. This is beautiful".
~~~
Written by Styxian
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Caterpillar'd
I watched the “roley-poley” bug wind
into a tight armadillo-like ball.,
rolling down the slanted stem, when,
I accidentally bumped it. Sorry.
I spied this succulent leaf yesterday
from afar and I was not watching or
looking out for anything but my early
morning meal.
Too often, I am so focused on my
surroundings during my journey,
I Think; I wonder if all this thinking
Prevents me from catching up to her.
Slowly now, I peered over the edge to see
the bug land safely to the Garden floor,
uncoiling and scuttling off to it’s own
Destination.
Not nearly sated enough, I returned to the task
of munching.
A shadow canopied over me suddenly
and I knew it was her, my love ----
more awakened and already transformed ----
Flew in to greet me and see how I was fairing.
“ Hi my Beautiful Love! “
My usual greeting as I strained my plump self
up to behold my winged Beauty.
She said she waits for me; one day we
will fly together tasting all of what the next
Life has to offer.
I have a nagging fear that my slow wit
and living holds her back from her own
growing discovering writ and giving ----
though I dare not reveal for a greater fear
of her leaving (me forever).
She must really love me a lot to allow me
to grow at my own sloooooooow pace.
In the moment,
I am blind to what she sees in me.
Psychic gifts are surfacing for her and
her energy is amazing!
All I know is that while I plod along
at my slow methodical pace, she
assures me of a transformation one day,
a day her Brilliance will be matched
and melded to my own.
Each day and night
she graces me with her presence and I
find myself powerless and I
ne’er fail to fall deeply into her, anew.
I know my destiny:
To heal nature, lovingly.
But not before I die.
A deep coma I’ll endure;
a dream of leaves munched gone by.
Will I laugh? Cry? (or) Sigh?
A near death experience
and the lowest vibration on the scale,
I suspect.
The one day of resurrect,
Awakened and ALIVE!
I will finally be
and be with my love and together
we’ll fly and who knows how long
this transformed forever after will last!
Mindfully, as time comes to a crawl,
we will heal other life …
lives
Until we are guided to the next. . .
Enough daydreaming ~
“Did You find my favorite flower today, my Love?”
“Not yet, Tallen. No Periwinkles today.
Maybe they wait
for You
(teehee)”
into a tight armadillo-like ball.,
rolling down the slanted stem, when,
I accidentally bumped it. Sorry.
I spied this succulent leaf yesterday
from afar and I was not watching or
looking out for anything but my early
morning meal.
Too often, I am so focused on my
surroundings during my journey,
I Think; I wonder if all this thinking
Prevents me from catching up to her.
Slowly now, I peered over the edge to see
the bug land safely to the Garden floor,
uncoiling and scuttling off to it’s own
Destination.
Not nearly sated enough, I returned to the task
of munching.
A shadow canopied over me suddenly
and I knew it was her, my love ----
more awakened and already transformed ----
Flew in to greet me and see how I was fairing.
“ Hi my Beautiful Love! “
My usual greeting as I strained my plump self
up to behold my winged Beauty.
She said she waits for me; one day we
will fly together tasting all of what the next
Life has to offer.
I have a nagging fear that my slow wit
and living holds her back from her own
growing discovering writ and giving ----
though I dare not reveal for a greater fear
of her leaving (me forever).
She must really love me a lot to allow me
to grow at my own sloooooooow pace.
In the moment,
I am blind to what she sees in me.
Psychic gifts are surfacing for her and
her energy is amazing!
All I know is that while I plod along
at my slow methodical pace, she
assures me of a transformation one day,
a day her Brilliance will be matched
and melded to my own.
Each day and night
she graces me with her presence and I
find myself powerless and I
ne’er fail to fall deeply into her, anew.
I know my destiny:
To heal nature, lovingly.
But not before I die.
A deep coma I’ll endure;
a dream of leaves munched gone by.
Will I laugh? Cry? (or) Sigh?
A near death experience
and the lowest vibration on the scale,
I suspect.
The one day of resurrect,
Awakened and ALIVE!
I will finally be
and be with my love and together
we’ll fly and who knows how long
this transformed forever after will last!
Mindfully, as time comes to a crawl,
we will heal other life …
lives
Until we are guided to the next. . .
Enough daydreaming ~
“Did You find my favorite flower today, my Love?”
“Not yet, Tallen. No Periwinkles today.
Maybe they wait
for You
(teehee)”
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
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Impromptu Bloom
One day I found a large seed laying by the edge of the tarred two lane road
on my way to no particular destination; I enjoy driving to somewhere without
a map for it often adds mystery and adventure when life becomes too routine.
The seed was large enough and its contrasting coloration instantly caught my
eye and I pulled over to the side of its side of the road.
When I got home I planted the seed hoping and somewhat excited to find out
what rewards it would yield! After more than a year of everything I could think of
I kind of forgot all about the seed that produced nothing.
I think it was one morning for me, afternoon for her, I met the love of my life
although I did not know it yet. After some flirting and foolish banter I invited her
home for a cup of tea. To my delight, she agreed.
While I was boiling the water, she noticed the empty pot with soil and plant food
and inquired about it. I told her it was just an old seed that probably was dead.
She took it and as soon as her delicate fingers touched the soil something began
to rise out of the soil!
She said she had a gift to help plants to grow but only when another kindred
Spirit who was gentle and sensitive started the process. I was impressed and
Excited that her spirit caused this seed to produce life.
I realized she could not
Have done it without me…Wow!
I think this is going to be the beginning of a growing relationship.
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
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Discovery
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
(the bike owner is not on cue-obvious for her age like some kinda sexual, emotional setback that never recovered or realized-more than mal adjusted which ok yea that can happen; heard theories but she asked the dr..how was she (fem stud) even able to communicate my information? Hold on, now; she got sharp quick for that element see what I'm saying? Dr says we gave her pen and paper and she was actually able to write it out; that's something. He needed therapy from all of us judging from his face.)
Phoenecia - Melfad (2001)
A discovery in medical imaging reveals that;
undetected, crudely normalized abnormalities
in the solar system can sustain themselves quickly
fueling the veins with alloy like dye
habitable zones-super fluid,
yet it still takes 3 people
to scan a space body into
nebula-owl-obliging “material evidence” with the
ear piercing future of health: survival.
now clearing that 1 person-
newly pressurized and re-arranged to
sparsely: casually (slowly) fetch for uses.
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
Space
(the bike owner is not on cue-obvious for her age like some kinda sexual, emotional setback that never recovered or realized-more than mal adjusted which ok yea that can happen; heard theories but she asked the dr..how was she (fem stud) even able to communicate my information? Hold on, now; she got sharp quick for that element see what I'm saying? Dr says we gave her pen and paper and she was actually able to write it out; that's something. He needed therapy from all of us judging from his face.)
Phoenecia - Melfad (2001)
A discovery in medical imaging reveals that;
undetected, crudely normalized abnormalities
in the solar system can sustain themselves quickly
fueling the veins with alloy like dye
habitable zones-super fluid,
yet it still takes 3 people
to scan a space body into
nebula-owl-obliging “material evidence” with the
ear piercing future of health: survival.
now clearing that 1 person-
newly pressurized and re-arranged to
sparsely: casually (slowly) fetch for uses.
Written by Nari
(Laura Jean)
Go To Page
Sylvan Wisdom
refreshing and warm
these raindrops that fall
drifting as faery wings resting
upon a maze of greenery
where pastel flowers bloom and
emerald shoots dance upon the
earth their dance of life
underneath the sodden leaves
where little birds run for cover
while the king watches from his throne
as everything keeps changing
yet remains the same
the old oak tree
has stood through
the test of Gods time...
he knows he stands alone
after the rain has quenched
the thirst of the earth
bees and butterflies flit and
flutter silently through his branches
a lone squirrel caresses his bark
chirping eagerly as he runs down
sniffing about at the new scents
brought forth in a burst of life
just as all of nature
whispers her loving tune
wild and free in
an orbiting forest
the old oak tree still stands
through many seasons
the chill of the winter, the heat of the summer
he knows he stands alone...
these raindrops that fall
drifting as faery wings resting
upon a maze of greenery
where pastel flowers bloom and
emerald shoots dance upon the
earth their dance of life
underneath the sodden leaves
where little birds run for cover
while the king watches from his throne
as everything keeps changing
yet remains the same
the old oak tree
has stood through
the test of Gods time...
he knows he stands alone
after the rain has quenched
the thirst of the earth
bees and butterflies flit and
flutter silently through his branches
a lone squirrel caresses his bark
chirping eagerly as he runs down
sniffing about at the new scents
brought forth in a burst of life
just as all of nature
whispers her loving tune
wild and free in
an orbiting forest
the old oak tree still stands
through many seasons
the chill of the winter, the heat of the summer
he knows he stands alone...
Written by BlackVelvetRose
(Ragdoll Raven)
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the day of the dead
The day of The Dead.
The cemetery in Loule is on top of a hill, today
early spring the steep hillside is full of luscious
yellow flowers. Not like ripe lemons, more like
Swiss butter, from the rich milk of cows, will bells
and horns; sturdy feet able to carry big, rose-pink
udders and be milked by smiling maidens with
strong arms creamy white as a Valkyrie’s bosom
What you didn’t see- all this life- when blinded
by the intensity of every sunlit flower came
from rotting coffins, the few days in early spring
when the dead are let out, sway on a hillside and
soak up the sun.
The cemetery in Loule is on top of a hill, today
early spring the steep hillside is full of luscious
yellow flowers. Not like ripe lemons, more like
Swiss butter, from the rich milk of cows, will bells
and horns; sturdy feet able to carry big, rose-pink
udders and be milked by smiling maidens with
strong arms creamy white as a Valkyrie’s bosom
What you didn’t see- all this life- when blinded
by the intensity of every sunlit flower came
from rotting coffins, the few days in early spring
when the dead are let out, sway on a hillside and
soak up the sun.
Written by oskar
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going mad
Dear Anne Sexton,
reading you at 4am is like rosary beads on a feverish tummy
I'm writing on graph paper
because I can't find anything else
except pages and pages of beauty
in which to reside
so I write my own
and summon your ghost
i can feel the dying in me collide with the sky
the hard wood against my spine
that bruises in grave lilies
is it true that a man has 3 great loves in his life?
1.
his mother
with breasts like empty flasks
blinking sagely at the hiddenmost cupboards
of regret
regret is a fairytale cottage
with a stout wishing well
that sparkles in the summer sun
where she is still a girl
she sprinkles the beanstalk seeds in turned soul
attempting to grow a child
to keep her eyes
from falling out
she felt him torn from her
the day he became a man
2.
a fawn eyed little girl
that's thin
and untouched by the moonlight
a ripe plum of a fairy
perhaps she will drown before he can explore her
salty wound
of a mouth
a mouth that will blossom always in youth
and loving him
he will never find a beauty like hers
faded in the radiance of the sun
preserved in salt and dreaming
heaven,
for her,
is neverland
3.
the death bride
whom I wish most to be
a thin veil of dragonfly wings and snowflakes
he will hold my hand
as life escapes me
i will listen to his grief with profound understanding
and a vague sense of contempt
i will reach for his hand from behind a blanket of stars
and call him to me
as the worms wriggle in me as fallen apples
sopping with neglect
i will be the calm and calamity
rising from my bed of sea flowers like a sea witch
to let you glimpse the ghostly white of my wrists
my neck
and more
i will shine like a siren of Olde
a cruel and selfish lighthouse
calling you home
and you will follow
because you think too much of me
because you need this cedar box
to dig out from beneath
and emerge
in a dripping heaven
you long to kiss my tiny peach rose bud again
to rot within my garden of secrets
as a kiss behind my knee
i am god
and you are mine
i will kiss your head
and give you wings
I think we are not so different, you and I.
Anne.
Can I call you Anne?
when you sing of lonely starfish and blueberry cream mornings
fat and bloated with irish whiskey and lark songs
a triumphant Icarus
i bleed from your chest
your soul blooming watercolor reds onto your panties
i want to kiss your bare shoulder
i listen for the lines that connect me to you
not like star-crossed lovers
because we both know THE END
of those kinds of romances
but i want to stick my finger in that wormhole pie
of beauty in your cheek
to make your eyes less vacant
haunted and wandering
i would give you poetry that does not mourn
or watch from the window
for an inevitable rain
that will blur the chalk lines of your smile
i will bring you sunflowers
to bring the light into your den
a proud yellow
that will look pretty against your eyes
you have the milky pink eyes of a Mildred
the sinking eyes of a god gone mad
your lips
colored in
like shivering red dahlia sunsets
blood horizons where we slept barefoot
and woke up
gypsies
at least we have someplace to dream
pickled formaldehyde pretties that we are,
white bats suckled on cactus flowers and our own blindness,
the opium becomes us
it is tickling our bandaged wings
we dance and drink gin
stroll with the moon on our backs
we part like a smile
with a smile
with a heart full of poems that will never be writ
perhaps it is foolish of me to be angry with you
for taking your life
long before I had a chance to become
a fertile rose tickling your hipbones
soft and awakening
those eyes turning grey with slush and exhaust
before we could be intimate pen pals
on magnolia stationary
or heavy cream parchment
tear stained pages
slitting our wrists with ophelia
sharing
becoming
believing
discovering
having a reason to wake up tomorrow
to search the world
for hope
and steal it
that it may glow like a firefly in a shuttered candlebox
lull us to sleep
No one writes letters anymore
i think all women like us need to feel free
we need to be reminded
how to be alive
to be shaken violently
and once the snow globe settles
to be kissed under the stars
a confessional
the kind of love making that makes you know you're beautiful
and needed
the heart, it screams
dip your toes into the silver of me
won't you love me
become me
an answer
to the prayer in my soul?
i know people before me
before i was born
ate your sorrow
like apples dipped in witch's brew
the strange opaque alchemy of chrysanthemums and witch hazel,
snowdrops and elephant ears
you sold their emptiness back to them
for the price of words
of your soul
a daisy pressed paper thin
two for a penny princes stuffed their faces with you
fat globes for eyes
perhaps we are sisters
and i will lift your chin
like a drooping bough, give you more
than water to vomit
maybe i will write of us in an eternal spring
instead of the last pink blossoms
of a winter eaten tree
we will be field mice
white petticoats showing
our hair dancing naked in the dandelion weeds
we will only have princes of our choosing
and even then
we'll call only
when we're feeling
quite cruel and useless
bored with paradise
because the clouds aren't exactly like an oil painting
where chubby angels lay
their lips like hearts
like Oscar Wilde's
God used to make mouths for kissing
he don't anymore
the angels come from factories
the angels are sad
i feel sore with loving you so completely
even your death
your torn sails flying without you
you are laughing with a belly of fire
pale yellow moths have become your hair
the flowers are dying
the bells are tinkling
and the ribbons
are cut
I am so sorry, but
nothing will ever be the same again
nothing will ever be the same again
Written by sooterella
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This poet is, unfortunately, no longer with us in this life. I feel she ought to get a few final looks. I've saved a few to maybe post on her FB wall in the future. I won't forget you, Kristy
SonderNinja said:
This poet is, unfortunately, no longer with us in this life. I feel she ought to get a few final looks. I've saved a few to maybe post on her FB wall in the future. I won't forget you, Kristy
Hi, Benjamin. I am the curator of the memorial section for the DU anthology. Do you have a link to her obituary? I'll message you.
This poet is, unfortunately, no longer with us in this life. I feel she ought to get a few final looks. I've saved a few to maybe post on her FB wall in the future. I won't forget you, Kristy
Hi, Benjamin. I am the curator of the memorial section for the DU anthology. Do you have a link to her obituary? I'll message you.
The Ghostwriter
Every single letter
I’ve written to you is a fabrication.
Did you think
I'm capable of writing
such beautiful poetry
with perfect metaphors
smiling at similes.
Waiting patiently for your reply
night after night
reluctantly reposed with one eye
reconstructing
every form like an architectural masterpiece
building bridges without a blueprint.
This world we speak of
is a fabrication
Spinning theories:
yin and yang at war
reclining opposites
heads and tails
black and white
in the elusive shape of
9
circling the circumference of ideology.
All the imagery painted in the origami pages
are a fabrication:
I shook the book upside down
not a single petal fell to the ground
from a sky that is perfectly blue
and a sea reflecting its mood
perspicacious yet abstruse
conspiracy.
These hands you see in my photograph
delicate and dainty
never held a pen nor sculpted the land
silhouette of two moons
conjoined
in Kafkaesque labyrinth.
Hundred years from now
I refuse to remember you
and
the comfortable silence
between your words
heartfelt sentimentality
two strangers in parallel universe
writing haphazardly
That too is a fabrication in this story.
Written by Layla
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(Misc. category)
If you listen carefully
You can hear Mother Nature descant
It's a sound so naturally
"Alluring and Puissant."
Every living thing has a vocal of its own
A bird tweets "yet" hear the running streams
A place they call home
Around Trees that are Queens...
Winds and rain invite others to attend
Enjoying the event
In a moment all is regarded as a friend
After it calms an orchestra is sent
Now ready to begin...
Crickets play their violin
The beauty in the sound
But then toads croak in
"Wow just look around!"
Wolves sneak upon to hear their howls
as the moon shines bright
Present now are mesmerizing white owls
"Just how Gala is this Night?"
Spiders don't stay behind
as they weave their webs
To rhythm as the raindrops skim its lines
Echoes that reach even mountainscapes
Suddenly all is silent at the same term
And in seconds, drums are then heard
"Why is it a woodpecker?"
"Rocking like a real drummer?"
Well rock on redhead fella
Maybe you'll be talented to play the mbira
"EVERYONE LOOK ARRIBA!"
This is so fascinating and entertaining
The chanting of wildlife
There's nothing that needs explaining
Other than to know it's all perfect and nice
If you listen prudently to its true hidden heart
You'll hear the sound of a sacred gold harp
The one gift that gives it "God's Hand Art".
"Blessing it all right from Genesis start."
In the deep end of my heart
A gloaming cold river streams
Icy water that only flows in the dark
Where I keep my special dreams
Royal to it's throne exquisite art
Hear echoes of memories that sustain
The past without a name
Pure happiness now a beautiful pain
I want it to downpour tons of rain
Caress my agonizing brain
I only want to know if my king has finally came!!!
If only there be hope but only gets caliginous
No care cause the vicious despair
Waiting on downhearted wishes
Closing my swollen eyes I see his stare
And as I open them he vanishes
Into thin air....
I can't be anywhere but there
It is where....
I belong.....
Hearing music of misery songs
For how long???
Dry it before I drown
I cry myself to death
I must be a queen cause I wear a crown
It's made of tears holding it with just my breath
There is no sun or moon that goes up or down
See me wear this long train river gown
Hold my hand and save me baby
Don't let it kill me
Come with your sun
Gun me your love before I'm gone
Baby Hold me to forever
Don't let it become a never
Come with your sun
Let's run with love before I'm gone
Crown made of tears, sapphire blue
Each droplet a reminder of sorrow and rue
A weight on my head, heavy and true
But beauty and strength it imbues
For every tear is a testament
To the courage within my spirit's firmament
Broken heart pieces found under water
Heavy gravity and its getting deeper
I release many tears they go further
I'm waiting for you to be near
Waiting in this dour circle
Too numb to feel fear
If only there be hope but only gets caliginous
No care cause the vicious despair
Waiting on downhearted wishes
Closing my swollen eyes I see his stare
And as I open them he vanishes
Into thin air.....
I can't be anywhere but there
It is where....
I belong.....
Hearing music of misery songs
For how long?
Dry it before I drown
I cry myself to death
I must be a queen cause I wear a crown
It's made of tears holding it with just my breath
There is no sun or moon that goes up or down
See me wear this long train river gown
