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 2015 5:41pm
2nd Apr 2015 5:41pm
Staying Hidden
I saw you hiding there
behind your curtain
of love and loss.
I knew you
couldn't
feel or lose
feeling
all over again,
so I didn't
move,
hoping you wouldn't
see me
hiding behind my wall
of pain and regret.
behind your curtain
of love and loss.
I knew you
couldn't
feel or lose
feeling
all over again,
so I didn't
move,
hoping you wouldn't
see me
hiding behind my wall
of pain and regret.
740 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Mar 2015 00:07am
27th Mar 2015 00:07am
Not Entitled
They believe
in Religion,
yet their faith lies
in the Almighty Dollar,
and that's the "God" they entrust.
They look down
from atop their high rising
skyscrappers,
while the working poor
scrape by as they're thrown
underneath the moving bus.
Get an education,
raise a family,
buy a car and a house,
build up your debt,
pay your taxes
to fatten their pockets,
but be quiet,
as a little mouse.
Don't speak up
against them
or question what purpose
they claim to serve,
just sit...
in Religion,
yet their faith lies
in the Almighty Dollar,
and that's the "God" they entrust.
They look down
from atop their high rising
skyscrappers,
while the working poor
scrape by as they're thrown
underneath the moving bus.
Get an education,
raise a family,
buy a car and a house,
build up your debt,
pay your taxes
to fatten their pockets,
but be quiet,
as a little mouse.
Don't speak up
against them
or question what purpose
they claim to serve,
just sit...
653 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
26th Mar 2015 11:00pm
26th Mar 2015 11:00pm
Figures of Life
This life has become a long
list of numbers.
The hours I work,
hours I rest and write,
the money I make,
money I take
out to pay
all these rising bills,
and the money I waste
on boundless bottles of booze.
The shirt, shoe and pant size
I wear,
my changing body
weight,
and the distance I cover
in the run of a day.
The channels I switch
on the television,
the dishes I wash
in the sink,
and the amount of times
I wonder how to live
without having
to think about numbers.
list of numbers.
The hours I work,
hours I rest and write,
the money I make,
money I take
out to pay
all these rising bills,
and the money I waste
on boundless bottles of booze.
The shirt, shoe and pant size
I wear,
my changing body
weight,
and the distance I cover
in the run of a day.
The channels I switch
on the television,
the dishes I wash
in the sink,
and the amount of times
I wonder how to live
without having
to think about numbers.
600 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Mar 2015 8:38pm
22nd Mar 2015 8:38pm
Rotten Kiss
There are nights I feel
the words welling up
from deep inside me,
but they do not
take form,
or shape themselves
into anything
beautiful,
rather they make me
sick to my stomach,
because sometimes love leaves
a rotten taste on the lips
that will not go away
no matter how many
women I kiss.
the words welling up
from deep inside me,
but they do not
take form,
or shape themselves
into anything
beautiful,
rather they make me
sick to my stomach,
because sometimes love leaves
a rotten taste on the lips
that will not go away
no matter how many
women I kiss.
551 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Mar 2015 6:27pm
18th Mar 2015 6:27pm
Spilt
I've become unstable,
at a loss of all self
control,
my hands are still
shaking,
alcohol influenced
fits of aggression
have ended with violent outbursts;
who is this villian holding the broken
bottle?
at a loss of all self
control,
my hands are still
shaking,
alcohol influenced
fits of aggression
have ended with violent outbursts;
who is this villian holding the broken
bottle?
601 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
11th Mar 2015 4:50pm
11th Mar 2015 4:50pm
Jukebox
..and the drink, it's good,
maybe better than good,
better than God,
or that God damn woman
that left me last week
for the drunk bum sitting next
to me at the bar.
What luck I have,
is that what they call it?
To hell with her sets of lips
and his working fuck face,
I don't know if I'll see
another wet woman
in this place all night.
At least I got my cool,
yeah baby,
and a dime left
for the jukebox.
*Inspired by Charles Bukowski's "Notes of A Dirty Old Man".
maybe better than good,
better than God,
or that God damn woman
that left me last week
for the drunk bum sitting next
to me at the bar.
What luck I have,
is that what they call it?
To hell with her sets of lips
and his working fuck face,
I don't know if I'll see
another wet woman
in this place all night.
At least I got my cool,
yeah baby,
and a dime left
for the jukebox.
*Inspired by Charles Bukowski's "Notes of A Dirty Old Man".
541 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Mar 2015 3:29pm
9th Mar 2015 3:29pm
Heat
Other "writers", or so think
themselves that,
bore me like an empty glass,
like the sex scene
in every romance novel
I've ever fingered through
to get off
from having to sit
through another arguement
with my woman.
They never have enough grit,
roughness like a fist fight,
no blood and bruises,
just clean shoes
and t-shirts.
Meanwhile,
I can't find my own
torn under-
shirt and my feet
are caked with dry
mud and shit.
Who cares?
Another drink
and I'll be back
on...
themselves that,
bore me like an empty glass,
like the sex scene
in every romance novel
I've ever fingered through
to get off
from having to sit
through another arguement
with my woman.
They never have enough grit,
roughness like a fist fight,
no blood and bruises,
just clean shoes
and t-shirts.
Meanwhile,
I can't find my own
torn under-
shirt and my feet
are caked with dry
mud and shit.
Who cares?
Another drink
and I'll be back
on...
564 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Mar 2015 5:47pm
8th Mar 2015 5:47pm
Hideous Form
I used to think
a man
was viewed only by the flesh,
now I know
I'm just a monster
living in detest
of what I've become;
a hideous form
of a human who can't live
another day without
feeling pain,
even if it gives me pleasure
for only a moment,
so I pray upon
the midnight moon
to release me
from the night
where darkness reigns King
over my desires.
*Inspired by reading Fyodor Dostoevsky's "Notes from Underground".
a man
was viewed only by the flesh,
now I know
I'm just a monster
living in detest
of what I've become;
a hideous form
of a human who can't live
another day without
feeling pain,
even if it gives me pleasure
for only a moment,
so I pray upon
the midnight moon
to release me
from the night
where darkness reigns King
over my desires.
*Inspired by reading Fyodor Dostoevsky's "Notes from Underground".
691 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Mar 2015 5:44pm
8th Mar 2015 5:44pm
Ruins
We are such creatures
of change and acceptance.
One day we are peace keepers,
the other
war lords.
We heal and yet,
we cut.
We help to feed
and then we starve
those who we chose
to name our kin.
Is there any use
fighting
to save
any
one
anymore?
You would not believe,
or even comprehend
how quickly our kind
can change given
a particular circumstance
that calls for chaos
even if one thought
they could never
cause any harm.
We will be
our own ruin,...
of change and acceptance.
One day we are peace keepers,
the other
war lords.
We heal and yet,
we cut.
We help to feed
and then we starve
those who we chose
to name our kin.
Is there any use
fighting
to save
any
one
anymore?
You would not believe,
or even comprehend
how quickly our kind
can change given
a particular circumstance
that calls for chaos
even if one thought
they could never
cause any harm.
We will be
our own ruin,...
596 reads
3 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2015 10:53pm
3rd Mar 2015 10:53pm
Word Play
I tried to take small
s
t
e
p
s
down the street,
to give her more time
a a r
p t
from the whole
FIGHT!
but I couldn't
STOP.
myself from r..u..n..n..i..n..g..
back to tell her
that I was sorry,
I forgot
my cell on the coffee table.
s
t
e
p
s
down the street,
to give her more time
a a r
p t
from the whole
FIGHT!
but I couldn't
STOP.
myself from r..u..n..n..i..n..g..
back to tell her
that I was sorry,
I forgot
my cell on the coffee table.
602 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Feb 2015 5:01pm
16th Feb 2015 5:01pm
Storm Stayed
Love can become a snowstorm
when it gets too cold and it feels
like there is no way to get
out of the house without
crawling through an open window.
The winds intensify and the drifts
get higher, and spread
further apart.
It's almost impossible
to find strength to dig
through the deep snow,
so that you can see
the open road.
You get buried beneath it all,
not knowing
what to do next;
shovel out,
or wait
for the storm to pass.
when it gets too cold and it feels
like there is no way to get
out of the house without
crawling through an open window.
The winds intensify and the drifts
get higher, and spread
further apart.
It's almost impossible
to find strength to dig
through the deep snow,
so that you can see
the open road.
You get buried beneath it all,
not knowing
what to do next;
shovel out,
or wait
for the storm to pass.
647 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Feb 2015 10:51pm
11th Feb 2015 10:51pm
Washing Machine
He was a heavy drunk
just like my father,
but no matter how
bad things got,
I didn't have the heart
to push him away.
I tried to stop
counting the nights
he left me alone
with the children
and gave his love to the bottle.
He used to be my everything,
but now all I've been holding
onto is the loose lint
that falls from the pockets
of his dirty jeans
when I clean them
in the washing machine.
just like my father,
but no matter how
bad things got,
I didn't have the heart
to push him away.
I tried to stop
counting the nights
he left me alone
with the children
and gave his love to the bottle.
He used to be my everything,
but now all I've been holding
onto is the loose lint
that falls from the pockets
of his dirty jeans
when I clean them
in the washing machine.
641 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Ace_Avery (Clint Avery)
