Submissions by Ace_Avery (Clint Avery)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Words are my life. Writing poetry for 20 years. It's one of the greatest loves of mine. I have hopes of becoming a published/payed writer. Feel free to comment, or message me about my writing/questions you may have.I appreciate any interest in my work.
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Apr 2013 11:51pm
2nd Apr 2013 11:51pm
Forecast
I haven't written for days,
must be the change in weather;
so much storm on my mind.
Lightening strikes and rage
reign
over my burning thoughts;
sleep,
my only salvation.
Deprived of enlightenment,
stripped of my sanity,
trying to find comfort
in the age of technology.
....................dead
battery.
Then it hits me like euphoria;
the first breath
sucked
from the chamber
of my pipe.
Saliva dripping
from my mouth;
a trail of spit
leaking from my lips
into the garbage can...
must be the change in weather;
so much storm on my mind.
Lightening strikes and rage
reign
over my burning thoughts;
sleep,
my only salvation.
Deprived of enlightenment,
stripped of my sanity,
trying to find comfort
in the age of technology.
....................dead
battery.
Then it hits me like euphoria;
the first breath
sucked
from the chamber
of my pipe.
Saliva dripping
from my mouth;
a trail of spit
leaking from my lips
into the garbage can...
707 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
2nd Apr 2013 11:21pm
2nd Apr 2013 11:21pm
Fallen
When I found her
in the graffitied tunnel,
she was cut and bruised,
screaming and tattooed,
her top torn and bloody,
in such a state
of Hell,
and all I could see
was Heaven
in her dying
eyes.
My lips
pressed against hers;
breathe.
My hands
pushing against her
chest;
breathe.
Unresponsive,
silence,
no sirens,
the night;
breathe.
A Harlot
in the arms
of a Poet;
tragic.
in the graffitied tunnel,
she was cut and bruised,
screaming and tattooed,
her top torn and bloody,
in such a state
of Hell,
and all I could see
was Heaven
in her dying
eyes.
My lips
pressed against hers;
breathe.
My hands
pushing against her
chest;
breathe.
Unresponsive,
silence,
no sirens,
the night;
breathe.
A Harlot
in the arms
of a Poet;
tragic.
671 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Mar 2013 11:48pm
21st Mar 2013 11:48pm
Definition
Day, dream doses,
late night,
latex;
seduction and protection.
Black suits,
fiends for a fix;
a fist
full of cocaine
stained
hundred dollar bills
tucked
inside their custom fitted threads
and stitches.
Hollow men
with Hell in their hearts,
not like us Gentleman
who just like to talk,
while harder men
just like to box,
yet
the outcome
is always the same;
a man will pay
to feel power
so that he may define his name.
late night,
latex;
seduction and protection.
Black suits,
fiends for a fix;
a fist
full of cocaine
stained
hundred dollar bills
tucked
inside their custom fitted threads
and stitches.
Hollow men
with Hell in their hearts,
not like us Gentleman
who just like to talk,
while harder men
just like to box,
yet
the outcome
is always the same;
a man will pay
to feel power
so that he may define his name.
717 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Mar 2013 1:18am
15th Mar 2013 1:18am
The Poet
I walk in and she sees
me,
holding the door
open
for the girl behind
me;
all I see
is her clevage
from the corner
of my eye.
Cover blown,
but not the last
point of contact
before the days end.
Hours later,
she sees me,
I'm caught
unaware,
under a pheromone spell;
girl walking by says
"last night
I lost my virginity to it"
so I thought,
as the couple walked
by.
A slim figure
of speech,
it could be anything,
but I can't help
thinking erotically....
me,
holding the door
open
for the girl behind
me;
all I see
is her clevage
from the corner
of my eye.
Cover blown,
but not the last
point of contact
before the days end.
Hours later,
she sees me,
I'm caught
unaware,
under a pheromone spell;
girl walking by says
"last night
I lost my virginity to it"
so I thought,
as the couple walked
by.
A slim figure
of speech,
it could be anything,
but I can't help
thinking erotically....
632 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Mar 2013 00:28am
13th Mar 2013 00:28am
Oil Painting
It helps
when I can see
her
ink.
White
top,
torn,
blue
jeans,
bracelets bound to her
wrists.
I read over her knuckles;
four letter words
that hold my pen
to paper.
Her nails painted
with super hero smiles;
villians
disguised.
She wears a black heart
below her eye
to count the beats
beneath her
bruises.
Lips;
red
like the first time
the needle hit
a vein.
Crumbling
sidewalks, ...
when I can see
her
ink.
White
top,
torn,
blue
jeans,
bracelets bound to her
wrists.
I read over her knuckles;
four letter words
that hold my pen
to paper.
Her nails painted
with super hero smiles;
villians
disguised.
She wears a black heart
below her eye
to count the beats
beneath her
bruises.
Lips;
red
like the first time
the needle hit
a vein.
Crumbling
sidewalks, ...
650 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Mar 2013 8:59pm
11th Mar 2013 8:59pm
Contact Information
It's 6 a.m
we've been spinning
music since 11 p.m last night
on the edge of a cliff
running on a gas powered generator,
with no security,
and this guy who was snorting coke
at the front of our portable stage
a few hours ago
is looking for a fight.
My father and two
friends are with me,
we're all still fairly drunk
trying to pack up the gear
and this guy wants his money back,
says we didn't play any songs
he liked, although I recall playing
some insane metal tracks
around 3 a.m,
plus we...
we've been spinning
music since 11 p.m last night
on the edge of a cliff
running on a gas powered generator,
with no security,
and this guy who was snorting coke
at the front of our portable stage
a few hours ago
is looking for a fight.
My father and two
friends are with me,
we're all still fairly drunk
trying to pack up the gear
and this guy wants his money back,
says we didn't play any songs
he liked, although I recall playing
some insane metal tracks
around 3 a.m,
plus we...
673 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
10th Mar 2013 9:51pm
10th Mar 2013 9:51pm
Nightfall
Set your sobriety loose,
secure your carry on,
pocket change,
a dime,
booty, caboose,
airplane,
rocket range;
figure of speech,
her coke bottle frame.
Twist her top off,
bubbles and fizz,
trace the lines,
inject the rules,
play the game;
words written with fire,
scalded by rain.
Verbs like her desire;
falling
for a runaway love
without a name.
secure your carry on,
pocket change,
a dime,
booty, caboose,
airplane,
rocket range;
figure of speech,
her coke bottle frame.
Twist her top off,
bubbles and fizz,
trace the lines,
inject the rules,
play the game;
words written with fire,
scalded by rain.
Verbs like her desire;
falling
for a runaway love
without a name.
608 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Mar 2013 7:12pm
10th Mar 2013 7:12pm
Stains
The first time I walked into one
it was with two close friends,
my mom told me to take my father,
I laughed at the thought,
seeing as I was hesitant from the beginning.
I felt different,
in need of a stiff drink;
she poured me
a triple,
I asked for a single,
maybe she felt
my discomfort.
The boys and I played
a game of billiards,
waiting for the girls to light up
the dollar bill stage;
I started to feel a little
looser;
she took hold of the cold
metal pole.
I lost count of my drinks,
kept...
it was with two close friends,
my mom told me to take my father,
I laughed at the thought,
seeing as I was hesitant from the beginning.
I felt different,
in need of a stiff drink;
she poured me
a triple,
I asked for a single,
maybe she felt
my discomfort.
The boys and I played
a game of billiards,
waiting for the girls to light up
the dollar bill stage;
I started to feel a little
looser;
she took hold of the cold
metal pole.
I lost count of my drinks,
kept...
657 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
9th Mar 2013 00:03am
9th Mar 2013 00:03am
Cracking
Splintered fingers,
a dull box
cutter,
disposable pen,
no refills required,
caffeine surge,
sentences
stutter.
Pissed off
like a drunk fuck,
product damage,
written off,
struggling with sanity,
lack of productive time
left in the day.
Clock in,
clock out,
question vanity;
a poor man
molded of glass and clay.
The day finds its end
typing to the toll of five,
working in this minimum wage
Hell;
I used to feel alive.
a dull box
cutter,
disposable pen,
no refills required,
caffeine surge,
sentences
stutter.
Pissed off
like a drunk fuck,
product damage,
written off,
struggling with sanity,
lack of productive time
left in the day.
Clock in,
clock out,
question vanity;
a poor man
molded of glass and clay.
The day finds its end
typing to the toll of five,
working in this minimum wage
Hell;
I used to feel alive.
686 reads
5 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
8th Mar 2013 1:22am
8th Mar 2013 1:22am
Stale f**k
My words,
her legs;
that cunt.
Trashed,
lipstick smashed
cigarettes,
ashes smeared over the bathroom
stall;
dead poetry.
her legs;
that cunt.
Trashed,
lipstick smashed
cigarettes,
ashes smeared over the bathroom
stall;
dead poetry.
793 reads
3 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
6th Mar 2013 10:17pm
6th Mar 2013 10:17pm
Shooting Star
She was nervous
on the stage as a child,
the audience on the edge
of their cover charge chairs,
adorning eyes fixated
on her cute, little
dress
as she danced
beside
the play curtain.
The stage grew
on her,
as a teen she found comfort
in costumes and masks,
hiding from the lonely face
looking back
from far within
the vanity
mirror.
Soon she lost
interest
in the family orientated shows,
she needed a bigger thrill;
burlesque at eighteen.
Her parents had their issues,
concerns...
on the stage as a child,
the audience on the edge
of their cover charge chairs,
adorning eyes fixated
on her cute, little
dress
as she danced
beside
the play curtain.
The stage grew
on her,
as a teen she found comfort
in costumes and masks,
hiding from the lonely face
looking back
from far within
the vanity
mirror.
Soon she lost
interest
in the family orientated shows,
she needed a bigger thrill;
burlesque at eighteen.
Her parents had their issues,
concerns...
655 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Ace_Avery (Clint Avery)
