Submissions by Atakti
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Turbulent waters ahead, sharks behind, shut up and paddle...
DARK POEM
Published
16th Jul 2020 9:07pm
16th Jul 2020 9:07pm
Penumbra
She weaves night waters into a silent cape
that lends elusive shimmers
to murky pleas.
In between ministries, she persistently pins stars,
replicates chaos.
No one forms devotion
snared in syntax.
Her glare snags comets;
her breath draws
tides.
Her jet hands stain veils yet
luminescence ripples her
amaranthine heart.
that lends elusive shimmers
to murky pleas.
In between ministries, she persistently pins stars,
replicates chaos.
No one forms devotion
snared in syntax.
Her glare snags comets;
her breath draws
tides.
Her jet hands stain veils yet
luminescence ripples her
amaranthine heart.
#dark
#power
#wisdom
707 reads
8 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
27th Jan 2018 3:53am
27th Jan 2018 3:53am
Corpus Flow
The roots drink deep of the black
bitter dirt. Adorned in violent richness,
its branches provide neither shelter
nor support to scrambling squirrels,
who twist for a baneful foothold.
A distant murk crawls in,
rank with false relief.
A post holds whole years,
jagged edges
broken and pointing.
bitter dirt. Adorned in violent richness,
its branches provide neither shelter
nor support to scrambling squirrels,
who twist for a baneful foothold.
A distant murk crawls in,
rank with false relief.
A post holds whole years,
jagged edges
broken and pointing.
#death
821 reads
10 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
13th Jan 2018 4:08am
13th Jan 2018 4:08am
Sing of Nothing
Jagged crashes drag me back
to breathing aloud,
the escape too brief
to heal me.
A bundle of blades, cruel
icicles cling;
my predictions
live inside.
The slats seep flashes
I’d rather miss.
Deep drifts wither,
drained to land.
Blind winds, slick
with uneasiness,
sing of nothing.
to breathing aloud,
the escape too brief
to heal me.
A bundle of blades, cruel
icicles cling;
my predictions
live inside.
The slats seep flashes
I’d rather miss.
Deep drifts wither,
drained to land.
Blind winds, slick
with uneasiness,
sing of nothing.
#PopCulture
826 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Dec 2015 11:23pm
12th Dec 2015 11:23pm
Grey
Faint longing drags fangs where I thought certainty would be.
It’s been several eclipses worth of recall and still you elude me.
Don’t you know the cliff crumbled beneath me and my breath
turned to milky illusions that reek of stale moments?
Neither sustain me.
Behind, the vault dial turns each clickety tick.
I pretend to lean back but it’s false mortar, ghost bricks.
The fall is denied. Without polar gravity I drift.
No direction, no landing. No broken bones.
No healing.
There is a bag of crystal shards.
One piece large enough to grasp...
It’s been several eclipses worth of recall and still you elude me.
Don’t you know the cliff crumbled beneath me and my breath
turned to milky illusions that reek of stale moments?
Neither sustain me.
Behind, the vault dial turns each clickety tick.
I pretend to lean back but it’s false mortar, ghost bricks.
The fall is denied. Without polar gravity I drift.
No direction, no landing. No broken bones.
No healing.
There is a bag of crystal shards.
One piece large enough to grasp...
979 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Oct 2015 3:43pm
12th Oct 2015 3:43pm
Laced
Silk word cocoons
incubate emotions
for knee-jerk puppets
under devious notions.
Strychnine whispers
on lingering strings
dance the cruel waltz,
twist their play-things.
Butterfly lashes
on beguiling eyes
and a lilting voice drips
crystal drop lies.
incubate emotions
for knee-jerk puppets
under devious notions.
Strychnine whispers
on lingering strings
dance the cruel waltz,
twist their play-things.
Butterfly lashes
on beguiling eyes
and a lilting voice drips
crystal drop lies.
1358 reads
29 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Jul 2015 4:51am
12th Jul 2015 4:51am
Faint Lines on a Map
We gather our longings
to outrace the howls of midnight
when hurriedly lit cigarettes trace
bitten intentions and half-chewed regrets.
The flavor of tomorrow has faded
even after you claimed disbelief
in muttered curses sprinkled
by the gypsy woman. You know the one.
She kept one bare plate to display
the bitterness, while grey butterflies
flickered above – small colors dried
and dropped, crumbled underfoot.
Impatience wore a cape of black,
a ruffle of fur and fangs nipping
then snarling at abandoned soles, ...
to outrace the howls of midnight
when hurriedly lit cigarettes trace
bitten intentions and half-chewed regrets.
The flavor of tomorrow has faded
even after you claimed disbelief
in muttered curses sprinkled
by the gypsy woman. You know the one.
She kept one bare plate to display
the bitterness, while grey butterflies
flickered above – small colors dried
and dropped, crumbled underfoot.
Impatience wore a cape of black,
a ruffle of fur and fangs nipping
then snarling at abandoned soles, ...
1034 reads
7 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
28th Jun 2015 10:37pm
28th Jun 2015 10:37pm
Scribal
Ink is silent.
Our comings and goings
will not cease for paper.
Smooth the sheet, inhale the thoughts.
The white grains meet your fingertips.
Twirl a script from around your wrist
and stain the blank to black.
Flow the notions to the nib and sculpt them
onto the waiting page. Rest.
The words will remain trapped
until softened eyes nourish them.
The ink silently awaits
the reader who next frees it
into a dance of its own.
The dance is scribal.
Our comings and goings
will not cease for paper.
Smooth the sheet, inhale the thoughts.
The white grains meet your fingertips.
Twirl a script from around your wrist
and stain the blank to black.
Flow the notions to the nib and sculpt them
onto the waiting page. Rest.
The words will remain trapped
until softened eyes nourish them.
The ink silently awaits
the reader who next frees it
into a dance of its own.
The dance is scribal.
1337 reads
20 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
24th Jun 2015 10:48pm
24th Jun 2015 10:48pm
Muted
The shades are an obstruction
driving through the tunnel.
I can’t take them off,
they’re prescription.
I see the lights
and the shape of things.
I keep my foot steady
and breathe slowly.
It’s only a car.
driving through the tunnel.
I can’t take them off,
they’re prescription.
I see the lights
and the shape of things.
I keep my foot steady
and breathe slowly.
It’s only a car.
1089 reads
8 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
29th May 2015 5:29pm
29th May 2015 5:29pm
Val
She wears the evening with a thigh-high slit,
cigarette smoke wrapped around her shoulders like armor.
With a slow blink, she leans back,
dark tresses splashing her bare shoulder.
Val watches as he circles closer, aware of all moves
like a chess master knows the first pawn play.
She lets him smile his way into buying her a drink. She sips it,
her gaze lingering past the rim into his eyes, drinking her in.
She lights another gasper and crosses her legs,
flash frying electricity that short circuits his senses.
Her lips dance around a laugh...
cigarette smoke wrapped around her shoulders like armor.
With a slow blink, she leans back,
dark tresses splashing her bare shoulder.
Val watches as he circles closer, aware of all moves
like a chess master knows the first pawn play.
She lets him smile his way into buying her a drink. She sips it,
her gaze lingering past the rim into his eyes, drinking her in.
She lights another gasper and crosses her legs,
flash frying electricity that short circuits his senses.
Her lips dance around a laugh...
2327 reads
20 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
10th May 2015 4:16pm
10th May 2015 4:16pm
Empty Hands
I left home four thousand days ago,
on a trip planned for just seven.
"See you soon!" we said,
and parked the car at the airport.
A few hundred phone calls reduced my life
measurements to eight by six foot long
in white brickwork.
Lights on, off, bells and clangs chop and slice our time.
The night persists in its viciousness,
bringing me faces of my mother, my father, my wife, my children.
Too easily the strain marks their mouths,
the distance shreds their nerves.
Their despair sits bitterly on...
on a trip planned for just seven.
"See you soon!" we said,
and parked the car at the airport.
A few hundred phone calls reduced my life
measurements to eight by six foot long
in white brickwork.
Lights on, off, bells and clangs chop and slice our time.
The night persists in its viciousness,
bringing me faces of my mother, my father, my wife, my children.
Too easily the strain marks their mouths,
the distance shreds their nerves.
Their despair sits bitterly on...
1157 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
8th Apr 2015 6:45am
8th Apr 2015 6:45am
Misnamed
Shaded lines through male hands
is the blend of she and his, not hers,
swirling through known picture frames
and all nod and move on.
She never was in the thick of it.
She slipped in sometimes,
tried on a few paint-strokes
borrowed from the masterpieces everyone stops to look at.
She accorded shades of red, arched limbs and full lips,
skin alight with whispers and licked flames
because this is the palette of the sun spilled.
The black of smoked blades left him astride
a firebrand, hands scorched, grasping at her.
The knives...
is the blend of she and his, not hers,
swirling through known picture frames
and all nod and move on.
She never was in the thick of it.
She slipped in sometimes,
tried on a few paint-strokes
borrowed from the masterpieces everyone stops to look at.
She accorded shades of red, arched limbs and full lips,
skin alight with whispers and licked flames
because this is the palette of the sun spilled.
The black of smoked blades left him astride
a firebrand, hands scorched, grasping at her.
The knives...
1118 reads
10 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Mar 2015 7:56pm
30th Mar 2015 7:56pm
Holy Crap
Well, not many know this,
but on the first Easter morn
the story is nothin' like that one
when Jesus Christ was born.
There was a bunny diggin'
cuz that's what bunnies do
when they're not busy nibblin' or
havin' threeway hoppity screws.
Poor bunny dug up Jesus
from his resurrection nap.
His poor heart nearly stopped
and he pooped a few bunny craps.
Well, Jesus brushed the dirt off,
saw fur tremblin' at his feet.
"Aww bunny, those smell real bad,
lemme work them up a treat."
He passed...
but on the first Easter morn
the story is nothin' like that one
when Jesus Christ was born.
There was a bunny diggin'
cuz that's what bunnies do
when they're not busy nibblin' or
havin' threeway hoppity screws.
Poor bunny dug up Jesus
from his resurrection nap.
His poor heart nearly stopped
and he pooped a few bunny craps.
Well, Jesus brushed the dirt off,
saw fur tremblin' at his feet.
"Aww bunny, those smell real bad,
lemme work them up a treat."
He passed...
#Easter
#funny
1299 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Atakti
