Submissions by Alois_inwriting02 (Alois Cyprien d Bayeux)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
SELF POEM
Published
27th Nov 2024 6:42am
27th Nov 2024 6:42am
Puer Aeternus, or the lost boy
My puissance drips from
thorns of a blackberry
blossom—
always enamored
by the ephemeral elegance,
I suppose.
and whose fucking
laurels am I to
be
resting upon,
exactly?
tripped up in
double Dutch
propped up on
a
broken
crutch…
An unwieldy pen
twirling
between my digits
hangs suspended:
the A-Bomb.
If dropped, its
heavy particulate
matter will
irradiate the smog
that blankets thick over my
anaretic brain.
thorns of a blackberry
blossom—
always enamored
by the ephemeral elegance,
I suppose.
and whose fucking
laurels am I to
be
resting upon,
exactly?
tripped up in
double Dutch
propped up on
a
broken
crutch…
An unwieldy pen
twirling
between my digits
hangs suspended:
the A-Bomb.
If dropped, its
heavy particulate
matter will
irradiate the smog
that blankets thick over my
anaretic brain.
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
24 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Nov 2024 6:28am
27th Nov 2024 6:28am
Power’s dynamic.
The
primitive, shrill–
deafening roar of
abject terror
hums its
quiet requiem
these days.
Still omnipresent;
diluted that it may
remain with
Every
man, woman, husband, wife, and
outcast alike.
primitive, shrill–
deafening roar of
abject terror
hums its
quiet requiem
these days.
Still omnipresent;
diluted that it may
remain with
Every
man, woman, husband, wife, and
outcast alike.
#manipulation
35 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Nov 2024 5:35am
19th Nov 2024 5:35am
el Corrido de una joven Pendejo
A hurricane of hatred;
naďve, indignant rebellion left
what's left
high and
dry— stranded on a foggy
sea.
An all consuming misery
without vector.
barely surviving on a
dwindling,
rationed hope of concinnity.
I lie asleep yet in ever crescendoing
conscious agony.
Head now spinning,
ensnared in a web of my own
spinning.
Refuges of repose turned stale;
sterile with the spinning of the
world.
Warm, disorienting prison
edified upon shifting sands stands,
still.
...
naďve, indignant rebellion left
what's left
high and
dry— stranded on a foggy
sea.
An all consuming misery
without vector.
barely surviving on a
dwindling,
rationed hope of concinnity.
I lie asleep yet in ever crescendoing
conscious agony.
Head now spinning,
ensnared in a web of my own
spinning.
Refuges of repose turned stale;
sterile with the spinning of the
world.
Warm, disorienting prison
edified upon shifting sands stands,
still.
...
#bittersweet
#escape
#fate #temptation
#fate #temptation
52 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
18th Nov 2024 6:54am
18th Nov 2024 6:54am
Chasing _____
On the road home, a familiar, yet
majestic scene—
made same as any
other in the
absence of daylight.
This unfulfilled longing
still
lingers as a pair of scuffed black dress shoes
pass under a humming neon sign that
watches over the
pothole-riddled
parking lot of Casa Mexico.
He’s seated alone
tonight,
and with no roof
of
words to shelter him from the
Rain, he stares blankly at a Spanish poster until the arrival of his food.
He tips well— they treat him well in
like fashion.
He...
majestic scene—
made same as any
other in the
absence of daylight.
This unfulfilled longing
still
lingers as a pair of scuffed black dress shoes
pass under a humming neon sign that
watches over the
pothole-riddled
parking lot of Casa Mexico.
He’s seated alone
tonight,
and with no roof
of
words to shelter him from the
Rain, he stares blankly at a Spanish poster until the arrival of his food.
He tips well— they treat him well in
like fashion.
He...
#apathy
#emptiness
83 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Nov 2024 5:18am
15th Nov 2024 5:18am
Avid Readers Staring into Glory at 1600 Central; myself
They rest atop a smoothly weathered rock with intials carved in its face from a time long since quietly forsaken where amidst the dying leaves they bask in a chasm of words between better left unsaid as it’s nourished by the tacit bond of the experience the two share and the sun recedes in jaded capitulation behind the foothills to the sunken west. Before I can indulge an internal inkling of misanthropic malice with which to cast aspersions she reaches her rays as if to lay a calming hand o’er my heart.
I
start away, sauntering
without aim. Soon I’...
I
start away, sauntering
without aim. Soon I’...
#fall
#narrative
52 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Nov 2024 5:09am
11th Nov 2024 5:09am
Young Man’s Game
Will Mother Maybelle
miss
me
when I’ve
gone?
Perhaps not.
Regardless-
In no more than
twelve
years
Time, there’ll be a
new, fresh-
faced upstart.
and while my hopes so dear
rest neath the willow
as his horizons begin to clear
may no one remember for to shed a
solitary tear.
Still I’ll leave
pieces
of
me
true to a foregone narrative—
long ago
conceived.
Thus, here on my
mind is
ever inscribed this ...
miss
me
when I’ve
gone?
Perhaps not.
Regardless-
In no more than
twelve
years
Time, there’ll be a
new, fresh-
faced upstart.
and while my hopes so dear
rest neath the willow
as his horizons begin to clear
may no one remember for to shed a
solitary tear.
Still I’ll leave
pieces
of
me
true to a foregone narrative—
long ago
conceived.
Thus, here on my
mind is
ever inscribed this ...
#consumerism
#fate
39 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
5th Nov 2024 4:49pm
5th Nov 2024 4:49pm
honey, the Kid ain’t alright
Dopesick, drug addled
Brain zaps, sinking in logical traps-
Blinded by the perceived righteousness of my own path—
a Will long since fettered unwillingly
espousing the
same
self-deceiving
hypocrisy I detest
mini seizures, the slippery slope’s
steeper,
fuck, my knees hurt.
Drawing closer to a yawning primeval Void that
ever patiently beckons my return.
The very essence of It is atomized in my
arteries, asphyxiating erythrocytes in Epicurean Entanglements
...
Brain zaps, sinking in logical traps-
Blinded by the perceived righteousness of my own path—
a Will long since fettered unwillingly
espousing the
same
self-deceiving
hypocrisy I detest
mini seizures, the slippery slope’s
steeper,
fuck, my knees hurt.
Drawing closer to a yawning primeval Void that
ever patiently beckons my return.
The very essence of It is atomized in my
arteries, asphyxiating erythrocytes in Epicurean Entanglements
...
#anxiety
#denial
#loneliness
#shame
#addiction
105 reads
6 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
19th Jun 2024 1:53am
19th Jun 2024 1:53am
An Evening with a "Midnight Cowboy"
Moldy
Must—
Permeating the jovial air of the
eight
decade old
brick
barracks.
The sun’s begun to set to the west of wintry north chicago,
casting the clouds
in light that
renders in variegated
hues-
amorphous,
cotton
candy
clouds.
Our cowboy,
outfitted in his pristine
Cracker Jack Whites
turns from his window,
sauntering down the passageway.
a crowd’s congregated in the head,
his buddy from brooklyn’s...
Must—
Permeating the jovial air of the
eight
decade old
brick
barracks.
The sun’s begun to set to the west of wintry north chicago,
casting the clouds
in light that
renders in variegated
hues-
amorphous,
cotton
candy
clouds.
Our cowboy,
outfitted in his pristine
Cracker Jack Whites
turns from his window,
sauntering down the passageway.
a crowd’s congregated in the head,
his buddy from brooklyn’s...
#prose
92 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Jun 2024 5:18am
18th Jun 2024 5:18am
Beatnik Bugmen
And
the rest of us measure time’s
tentative
tick in workweeks.
Minutes, hours, long–
months,
years
short.
Dry up palms coated with caked old grease
as the
righteously
fucked file down
easy street to
Rip the
nails off the coke fiends and
Break the
thumbs of the bassists and
Deck those singers in their throats.
The kids are annoying;
swat their ice cream cones.
Shirt-cock it to your dad’s funeral
Piss in the fountain at the Louvre—
(so...
the rest of us measure time’s
tentative
tick in workweeks.
Minutes, hours, long–
months,
years
short.
Dry up palms coated with caked old grease
as the
righteously
fucked file down
easy street to
Rip the
nails off the coke fiends and
Break the
thumbs of the bassists and
Deck those singers in their throats.
The kids are annoying;
swat their ice cream cones.
Shirt-cock it to your dad’s funeral
Piss in the fountain at the Louvre—
(so...
#humankind
97 reads
2 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
4th Jun 2024 00:53am
4th Jun 2024 00:53am
Meat Grinder
A long black sedan fires
all eight cylinders
as its occupant
barrels around a
backend go-between,
approaching a bridge over
foggy waters.
A buzzard
sits in
wait
atop a telephone
pole,
wings
outstretched–
whether bidding welcome or adieu,
this
rank stranger finds the
gesture
befitting.
while–
the economy ticks on in an
odd time like that of a broken
clock,
spurring our
left
feet to
dance on.
all eight cylinders
as its occupant
barrels around a
backend go-between,
approaching a bridge over
foggy waters.
A buzzard
sits in
wait
atop a telephone
pole,
wings
outstretched–
whether bidding welcome or adieu,
this
rank stranger finds the
gesture
befitting.
while–
the economy ticks on in an
odd time like that of a broken
clock,
spurring our
left
feet to
dance on.
#escape
162 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th May 2024 1:31am
27th May 2024 1:31am
An Admonition to the Young Men
I was told a story once:
That of an
elephant
raised in
captivity.
Like the others, he was
robust,
stout.
Vivacious–
one thrash of his left foreleg contained within more
vigor
than what the old ones could even
dream of
remembering.
For his imprisonment
round a stake in a
suburban backyard, only the
strongest,
Grade One-Hundred
chains would
suffice.
Next year, perhaps Grade Eighty.
And the next, hauling line–
And the next
And the next ...
That of an
elephant
raised in
captivity.
Like the others, he was
robust,
stout.
Vivacious–
one thrash of his left foreleg contained within more
vigor
than what the old ones could even
dream of
remembering.
For his imprisonment
round a stake in a
suburban backyard, only the
strongest,
Grade One-Hundred
chains would
suffice.
Next year, perhaps Grade Eighty.
And the next, hauling line–
And the next
And the next ...
#curse
#freedom
#hell #TruthOfLife
#hell #TruthOfLife
175 reads
2 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
27th May 2024 1:29am
27th May 2024 1:29am
Dreams from the Pen
The Jailor’s incessant
yammering
diminishes before dissolving
wholly into the
static
air.
I regress to the
labyrinthine
confines of my
role– starkly
solitary
solipsistic
observer.
Looking through the backs of my
eyes
I see through the blinds a
Young debutante making merry among a
delegation of peers–
redressing on a neighbor’s dock.
One of the men
backflips into the emerald waters as
another stands–
tilting his head back to the vast,
verdant
expanse between...
yammering
diminishes before dissolving
wholly into the
static
air.
I regress to the
labyrinthine
confines of my
role– starkly
solitary
solipsistic
observer.
Looking through the backs of my
eyes
I see through the blinds a
Young debutante making merry among a
delegation of peers–
redressing on a neighbor’s dock.
One of the men
backflips into the emerald waters as
another stands–
tilting his head back to the vast,
verdant
expanse between...
#dreams
#escape
#freedom
121 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Alois_inwriting02 (Alois Cyprien d Bayeux)
