Submissions by Atakti
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Turbulent waters ahead, sharks behind, shut up and paddle...
DARK POEM
Published
21st Mar 2015 7:38am
21st Mar 2015 7:38am
The Hills Lie
The past grows bony fingers
that stretch and cast an ice shadow
lingering on my throat.
The creeping chill was seeded seasons ago
in my rush through frosted daffodils,
swaying defiant and brush-stroked in vibrancy.
Impatience fluttered its winking white wings,
enticed me further in, where every fleeting choice
took root in blood rich soil, under twisted branches.
The illusion of warmth, a false sun has set
in shades of regret behind hollow hills
crowned in far-flung rays of grey that dimmed and died.
They rose from black...
that stretch and cast an ice shadow
lingering on my throat.
The creeping chill was seeded seasons ago
in my rush through frosted daffodils,
swaying defiant and brush-stroked in vibrancy.
Impatience fluttered its winking white wings,
enticed me further in, where every fleeting choice
took root in blood rich soil, under twisted branches.
The illusion of warmth, a false sun has set
in shades of regret behind hollow hills
crowned in far-flung rays of grey that dimmed and died.
They rose from black...
987 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Feb 2015 2:56pm
20th Feb 2015 2:56pm
paranoid
not there, not where I left it –
blank box, empty lies
I swear, that’s where I had it
cable trails and dust tracks
inside treacherous walls
beneath deafening eyes
blank box, empty lies
I swear, that’s where I had it
cable trails and dust tracks
inside treacherous walls
beneath deafening eyes
1080 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
18th Feb 2015 7:40pm
18th Feb 2015 7:40pm
Flicker God
An embrace, its liquid gold runs upwards,
kindles lost fragments, igniting all.
Revolution's rage pays tribute
to my lord's rumbled ruling.
Scorched reach to the burning core —
the whirled shapes lie and promise,
life-breather,
firemaker.
kindles lost fragments, igniting all.
Revolution's rage pays tribute
to my lord's rumbled ruling.
Scorched reach to the burning core —
the whirled shapes lie and promise,
life-breather,
firemaker.
1031 reads
7 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Feb 2015 5:53am
12th Feb 2015 5:53am
Chimerical [ii]
Part 2
The smell settles like a layer of grease on your face. Your eyes are locked on the far side of the room, on the shadow crouched over. You put your hand up for the light switch, but it's gone. The wall, the door, is gone and the sudden emptiness behind you grips your pulse and squeezes.
"Wake up, wake up," you mutter.
The black surrounds you but for a faint glow from a weak streetlight, flickering in a sickly dishwater glow a hundred feet away.
Something metal clangs in the distance, but you are still staring at the first shadow, trying to...
The smell settles like a layer of grease on your face. Your eyes are locked on the far side of the room, on the shadow crouched over. You put your hand up for the light switch, but it's gone. The wall, the door, is gone and the sudden emptiness behind you grips your pulse and squeezes.
"Wake up, wake up," you mutter.
The black surrounds you but for a faint glow from a weak streetlight, flickering in a sickly dishwater glow a hundred feet away.
Something metal clangs in the distance, but you are still staring at the first shadow, trying to...
812 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
11th Feb 2015 8:53pm
11th Feb 2015 8:53pm
Chimerical
Part 1
You're asleep, at home in bed. The new mattress is just the way you like it, the pillow is fluffed and the sheets are fresh on. It's been a hard, long day, but a good one. You got much done, including a few errands that had been pending. The day was crisp but sunny, perfect for walking in town.
Dinner was good, even healthy. You had a hot shower, and managed to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be able to kick ass all over again. Knowing that as your eyes closed put a small smile on your face. And now you are in such a deep,...
You're asleep, at home in bed. The new mattress is just the way you like it, the pillow is fluffed and the sheets are fresh on. It's been a hard, long day, but a good one. You got much done, including a few errands that had been pending. The day was crisp but sunny, perfect for walking in town.
Dinner was good, even healthy. You had a hot shower, and managed to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be able to kick ass all over again. Knowing that as your eyes closed put a small smile on your face. And now you are in such a deep,...
905 reads
7 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
22nd Jan 2015 11:17pm
22nd Jan 2015 11:17pm
Unravelled
His limp cuts me in half, watching its rhythms.
What else could steal tree songs
from the back of my eyes?
Ponderous knuckles clutch gnarled wood,
which lacks the years his hands have weathered.
Time is a comfortable barrier between us.
The leaves twirl, light and dark, flashing
the relief of knowing my story remains
unravelled from his.
What else could steal tree songs
from the back of my eyes?
Ponderous knuckles clutch gnarled wood,
which lacks the years his hands have weathered.
Time is a comfortable barrier between us.
The leaves twirl, light and dark, flashing
the relief of knowing my story remains
unravelled from his.
793 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Jan 2015 6:07am
14th Jan 2015 6:07am
Rare
Peach transience
betrays lust and loins.
Bite and suck,
those juices leave us
thirstier.
The fluttering timid
place the fruit basket
upon a pedestal,
then bemoan decay.
On the plane of real,
our crystal sanity plays
songs of the soul.
betrays lust and loins.
Bite and suck,
those juices leave us
thirstier.
The fluttering timid
place the fruit basket
upon a pedestal,
then bemoan decay.
On the plane of real,
our crystal sanity plays
songs of the soul.
919 reads
11 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
29th Dec 2014 10:20am
29th Dec 2014 10:20am
Minus Five
Find me love in this concrete tomb,
an eternal womb, wet and dark, unyielding.
"This here is my place,
space five-oh-two."
Echoes and light stop at minus one,
but the cold follows me down to minus five.
"Could you spare some change
please?
Change, it's strange
what it might do.
"I've a fiver to my name.
Oh, and tuppence."
Spare me, change me. Life changed
around me.
Car-less emptiness
in the evenings
brings oil stains and quiet.
Electric dawn takes dreams...
an eternal womb, wet and dark, unyielding.
"This here is my place,
space five-oh-two."
Echoes and light stop at minus one,
but the cold follows me down to minus five.
"Could you spare some change
please?
Change, it's strange
what it might do.
"I've a fiver to my name.
Oh, and tuppence."
Spare me, change me. Life changed
around me.
Car-less emptiness
in the evenings
brings oil stains and quiet.
Electric dawn takes dreams...
909 reads
9 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
29th Dec 2014 10:18am
29th Dec 2014 10:18am
Obsidian Cœur
The carved jade, the silk weavings,
the candles, flowers, jars, and incense,
stand as honor guards to the calm.
Generations of veneration
smile in mock immunity.
He could borrow rage,
booze-filled howls and a hard-on
for notoriety, a stupor for the weak.
Sober, skin cold on sacred stone,
he converts the temple, yin to yang,
holiness to rubble.
Cracks, dust, colors ashed,
hammering thoughts to grunts,
he emerges, his palm gritted
around the dark sphere, obsidian cœur.
The ball drinks light and shines....
the candles, flowers, jars, and incense,
stand as honor guards to the calm.
Generations of veneration
smile in mock immunity.
He could borrow rage,
booze-filled howls and a hard-on
for notoriety, a stupor for the weak.
Sober, skin cold on sacred stone,
he converts the temple, yin to yang,
holiness to rubble.
Cracks, dust, colors ashed,
hammering thoughts to grunts,
he emerges, his palm gritted
around the dark sphere, obsidian cœur.
The ball drinks light and shines....
910 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
16th Dec 2014 8:09pm
16th Dec 2014 8:09pm
Numbers
I count the hours until bedtime, weary afternoons
idling at traffic lights. I count the days until the weekend
with my son’s cartoons, my Sunday crossword.
A slam shakes the car, spins us round,
I see white — the airbag. The moment stretches
then snaps back, the road gone, a river born, afloat.
“Mommy!” I hold my son, hold tight to his little limbs,
our car swirling round, waters rising in grey sullies.
There’s a driver in the next car — help us!
What’s wrong with him?
He screams nothing, the windows
shut in sound and death…
...
idling at traffic lights. I count the days until the weekend
with my son’s cartoons, my Sunday crossword.
A slam shakes the car, spins us round,
I see white — the airbag. The moment stretches
then snaps back, the road gone, a river born, afloat.
“Mommy!” I hold my son, hold tight to his little limbs,
our car swirling round, waters rising in grey sullies.
There’s a driver in the next car — help us!
What’s wrong with him?
He screams nothing, the windows
shut in sound and death…
...
908 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th Dec 2014 11:03pm
14th Dec 2014 11:03pm
Foreign Tongue
She pulls the toy penguin
from the dumpster
and smiles at it.
This is what power looks like
in its purest form.
My thoughts disintegrate
under the winter sun,
pale shadows found
on cold afternoons.
Her pose remains
in my mind.
I borrow the sadness
she discards.
from the dumpster
and smiles at it.
This is what power looks like
in its purest form.
My thoughts disintegrate
under the winter sun,
pale shadows found
on cold afternoons.
Her pose remains
in my mind.
I borrow the sadness
she discards.
866 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th Dec 2014 6:56am
9th Dec 2014 6:56am
Mortal Binds
Unfurling our fitful waking in the abyss plummet of night,
the descent from the death zone exacts a brutal fare,
where its skeletal air unveiled infinity and mortal binds,
our lorn cockerel call is the slam of the wind.
Our mountainous faith lies with the Icefall Docs –
they carry connate songs of burden downwards.
Faith lies briefly. It rises with uncaged heart beats
and the edge of a breath drawn days before.
Crampons clank on ladders, leather bound hands grasping
fixed ropes, fixed hopes on these slopes through
the ‘Ballroom of...
the descent from the death zone exacts a brutal fare,
where its skeletal air unveiled infinity and mortal binds,
our lorn cockerel call is the slam of the wind.
Our mountainous faith lies with the Icefall Docs –
they carry connate songs of burden downwards.
Faith lies briefly. It rises with uncaged heart beats
and the edge of a breath drawn days before.
Crampons clank on ladders, leather bound hands grasping
fixed ropes, fixed hopes on these slopes through
the ‘Ballroom of...
785 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Atakti
