Submissions by Alviola
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th May 2021 1:48am
20th May 2021 1:48am
The Flasher
I scream with my eyes the dents
of my chest but with my eyes
At every passing woman I wave
with the rum of my words and flash
the pose of a Biafran child
proffering a mind to pet
and a head to lay in the hollow
that your thighs form.
Poem and painting are mine
of my chest but with my eyes
At every passing woman I wave
with the rum of my words and flash
the pose of a Biafran child
proffering a mind to pet
and a head to lay in the hollow
that your thighs form.
Poem and painting are mine
#relationships
#addiction
#vanity
#LookingForLove
#obsession
417 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th May 2021 5:55pm
16th May 2021 5:55pm
The jew king whispers to his hands at night
What sort of man is this
scarfed with the red of a race
he is so hard to kill
their young though are easy
I bomb the beach and they vanish to a mist
but the grown man is stubborn and sturdy
he is willing to be broadsword of his belief
willing to die as long as he takes
a few of my people with him
he I cannot destroy for he is legion
like roaches and there are more
in the recesses and the walls of the country
I have taken from them
always ready to stain the air to take it back
I have rained my best bombs on him...
scarfed with the red of a race
he is so hard to kill
their young though are easy
I bomb the beach and they vanish to a mist
but the grown man is stubborn and sturdy
he is willing to be broadsword of his belief
willing to die as long as he takes
a few of my people with him
he I cannot destroy for he is legion
like roaches and there are more
in the recesses and the walls of the country
I have taken from them
always ready to stain the air to take it back
I have rained my best bombs on him...
#war
#death
338 reads
6 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
15th May 2021 6:21am
15th May 2021 6:21am
The Color of Someday
It is the color of clothes aghast,
of veiled mothers with frozen mouths
thumping chests with eyes to deaf sky.
A mile away, the angry jew waves
his hand with the flourish of humph,
and children on a beach vanish
Here bullets shred, a father carries
the body of his child in a bag
normally for frozen tenderloin
How many springs of this color still
lie quiet? It blooms, from fathers to sons
to many, the color of reckoning.
of veiled mothers with frozen mouths
thumping chests with eyes to deaf sky.
A mile away, the angry jew waves
his hand with the flourish of humph,
and children on a beach vanish
Here bullets shred, a father carries
the body of his child in a bag
normally for frozen tenderloin
How many springs of this color still
lie quiet? It blooms, from fathers to sons
to many, the color of reckoning.
#freedom
525 reads
7 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
21st Mar 2021 8:52pm
21st Mar 2021 8:52pm
They vanish with the virus
There is a clanging to our living,
gongs and chimes accompany us,
a tangle of the said and loud thoughts,
bedlam and babel announce us
as we enter rooms and other people's lives.
But there is no swoosh, no poof, no wake
of rustling, no feathers, no pandemonium
when people vanish with the virus,
he was beside you with the purr and murmur
of fondness and then no longer.
We know them, their names rolled out
of our mouths like beautiful and mama,
their cheeks we have palmed and pinched,
their thoughts we...
gongs and chimes accompany us,
a tangle of the said and loud thoughts,
bedlam and babel announce us
as we enter rooms and other people's lives.
But there is no swoosh, no poof, no wake
of rustling, no feathers, no pandemonium
when people vanish with the virus,
he was beside you with the purr and murmur
of fondness and then no longer.
We know them, their names rolled out
of our mouths like beautiful and mama,
their cheeks we have palmed and pinched,
their thoughts we...
#death
#pandemic
501 reads
11 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Mar 2021 5:32pm
10th Mar 2021 5:32pm
Wallflowers
The shy and the sensitive,
that was said of us, the sort
that withers in soirees and dances
between boys and girls' schools.
There were men made for these,
they would go party-hopping
before deciding which combo
they preferred, where to preen all night.
The room would be lined with chairs,
everybody sat with their backs
against the wall -- except these men,
they do not slouch or sit, for they were
comfortable in their swagger,
the room was mapped by popularity:
a forest of the handsome corralling ...
that was said of us, the sort
that withers in soirees and dances
between boys and girls' schools.
There were men made for these,
they would go party-hopping
before deciding which combo
they preferred, where to preen all night.
The room would be lined with chairs,
everybody sat with their backs
against the wall -- except these men,
they do not slouch or sit, for they were
comfortable in their swagger,
the room was mapped by popularity:
a forest of the handsome corralling ...
#school
#dance
740 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
8th Mar 2021 7:12pm
8th Mar 2021 7:12pm
There's a girl sitting on the floor in a dark room somewhere
It is never really dark,
there in the room where the girl
sobs without sound confiding
in a pillow gripped tight
as a person, she is slumped
against the wall in the dark
that she wishes were darker,
wishing less of the world,
wishing the thunderstorms
climbing up the stairs will walk
past her room and the houselights
will not seep under the door.
You cannot see the face
of the girl in the dark room,
only that it glistens when
she moves, when she hits her head
against the wall as she sits, ...
there in the room where the girl
sobs without sound confiding
in a pillow gripped tight
as a person, she is slumped
against the wall in the dark
that she wishes were darker,
wishing less of the world,
wishing the thunderstorms
climbing up the stairs will walk
past her room and the houselights
will not seep under the door.
You cannot see the face
of the girl in the dark room,
only that it glistens when
she moves, when she hits her head
against the wall as she sits, ...
#sadness
#suicide
#God #despair
#God #despair
446 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2021 7:00am
3rd Mar 2021 7:00am
I call it 'Houseblindness'
Guarding the house is a dark green grass
clambering about, threatening to swallow
the wrought iron gate; thinking it trellis,
there is a mottling on the bedroom wall,
designed by the moisture in the air,
flourishing but only if I look away,
the crack on the red wall of the dining room
is longer or it seems to be longer
when lit by the amber afternoon sun,
At some point in our aging, failures fade,
each one, from sight and from care.
soon enough, and kindly, they disappear.
The...
clambering about, threatening to swallow
the wrought iron gate; thinking it trellis,
there is a mottling on the bedroom wall,
designed by the moisture in the air,
flourishing but only if I look away,
the crack on the red wall of the dining room
is longer or it seems to be longer
when lit by the amber afternoon sun,
At some point in our aging, failures fade,
each one, from sight and from care.
soon enough, and kindly, they disappear.
The...
#aging
321 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2021 6:39pm
2nd Mar 2021 6:39pm
Preferring Forgettable
I am imagining I am
ensconced at the back of the car
on my way to grapple with the day,
there is a current of air on my knuckles,
the cold reaching into the recesses
between bones, the fingers complain,
the mind is an indecisive bee,
alighting onto this problem and that,
hovering over the nightmare I woke to,
sleep has been like this new style
of swimming, you try to trouble
the surface as little as possible,
you make the smallest of waves,
you do not sink to the dark parts,
never the head above the...
ensconced at the back of the car
on my way to grapple with the day,
there is a current of air on my knuckles,
the cold reaching into the recesses
between bones, the fingers complain,
the mind is an indecisive bee,
alighting onto this problem and that,
hovering over the nightmare I woke to,
sleep has been like this new style
of swimming, you try to trouble
the surface as little as possible,
you make the smallest of waves,
you do not sink to the dark parts,
never the head above the...
#pandemic
429 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Feb 2021 11:24am
26th Feb 2021 11:24am
The God in the Afternoon Sky
I smell your existence in the souls
Of leaves rising from a tiny fire
Kept alive by a neighbor assigned
By ritual to keep a few square feet
Of his corner of the world tidy
I hear you in the warbler hidden
In the mango tree outside my window
One of many providing the leaves
the neighbor sweeps for the little fire
That he stares at every afternoon
I see your thinking as I wallow
In the sun-baked calm, there is
No laughter in the park today
Your sun declares the swing and slides
Untouchable, keeps...
Of leaves rising from a tiny fire
Kept alive by a neighbor assigned
By ritual to keep a few square feet
Of his corner of the world tidy
I hear you in the warbler hidden
In the mango tree outside my window
One of many providing the leaves
the neighbor sweeps for the little fire
That he stares at every afternoon
I see your thinking as I wallow
In the sun-baked calm, there is
No laughter in the park today
Your sun declares the swing and slides
Untouchable, keeps...
#God
375 reads
8 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Feb 2021 9:39am
25th Feb 2021 9:39am
Living at Home in Covid Climate
There are furrows on the wooden floor
deepening daily running from bed
to bath to breakfast table deeper
where I pivot on my heels to switch
on the desk light and overhead fan
like the furrows of a rice paddy
but on narra wood and deepened daily.
Later I will kneel beside her bed
to wake her but always for a while
I will watch her sleep, her small breathing
the trough on the floor leads and stops where
there is a deeper recess shaped and smoothed
where I kneel to watch her smiling
in her dreams...
deepening daily running from bed
to bath to breakfast table deeper
where I pivot on my heels to switch
on the desk light and overhead fan
like the furrows of a rice paddy
but on narra wood and deepened daily.
Later I will kneel beside her bed
to wake her but always for a while
I will watch her sleep, her small breathing
the trough on the floor leads and stops where
there is a deeper recess shaped and smoothed
where I kneel to watch her smiling
in her dreams...
#love
#pandemic
363 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2021 4:00pm
23rd Feb 2021 4:00pm
I am the Chest of all Men
#men
#masculinity
764 reads
11 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2021 3:31pm
23rd Feb 2021 3:31pm
An Off-course Wind
#freedom
#escape
536 reads
7 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Alviola
