Submissions by Betty
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
“Nothing will come of nothing, speak again.” King Lear (1:1)
EROTIC POEM
Published
14th May 2013 11:10pm
14th May 2013 11:10pm
Aural sex
Heat haze shimmers around my legs,
the soles of my shoes
melt into the tarmac
as the Boeing at the end of the runway
punches it.
Fists clenched,
chest heaving,
I dare the fucker
to knock me down
as it barrels closer,
faster,
an unstoppable
object forcing my
peripheral vision to widen
as I become a
speck
before its vastness.
It hits 250,
255,
260,
the nose lifts
just before it hits,
engines roar like a full-body slam
as it rears over me. ...
the soles of my shoes
melt into the tarmac
as the Boeing at the end of the runway
punches it.
Fists clenched,
chest heaving,
I dare the fucker
to knock me down
as it barrels closer,
faster,
an unstoppable
object forcing my
peripheral vision to widen
as I become a
speck
before its vastness.
It hits 250,
255,
260,
the nose lifts
just before it hits,
engines roar like a full-body slam
as it rears over me. ...
1160 reads
14 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
5th May 2013 5:12am
5th May 2013 5:12am
Until the sun takes a flaming shit
I think I need to take better care of myself,
because I want to be the last person on earth.
Pretty ambitious, if I do say so myself.
The sun will burn out in, oh,
four, five billion years;
but in a mere three billion years,
the oceans will boil up in a swan song;
a final cloudy testament that
we ... were here.
I need to be here when that happens.
We left a mark beyond the landfills,
deeper than the filth and the scourges
More than a mark,
I think we left some
strange pocket of exhale,
a litany of unsaid...
because I want to be the last person on earth.
Pretty ambitious, if I do say so myself.
The sun will burn out in, oh,
four, five billion years;
but in a mere three billion years,
the oceans will boil up in a swan song;
a final cloudy testament that
we ... were here.
I need to be here when that happens.
We left a mark beyond the landfills,
deeper than the filth and the scourges
More than a mark,
I think we left some
strange pocket of exhale,
a litany of unsaid...
1204 reads
10 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
30th Apr 2013 4:22am
30th Apr 2013 4:22am
Love letters
I kept a scrap of paper in my pocket today
so that I wouldn’t forget the clarity
of the moment
I read your love letter
I was on the back porch,
drinking coffee,
feet propped up on a deck chair,
one smooth leg peeking
out from my lace-trimmed
gold satin
robe
I was thinking of you,
thinking of me,
wanting you
(the way I do)
thinking became too much
of a challenge,
and there wasn’t much of it happening
as I tried to adjust to the stunned
reclamation of my body
as it centered around
your desire...
so that I wouldn’t forget the clarity
of the moment
I read your love letter
I was on the back porch,
drinking coffee,
feet propped up on a deck chair,
one smooth leg peeking
out from my lace-trimmed
gold satin
robe
I was thinking of you,
thinking of me,
wanting you
(the way I do)
thinking became too much
of a challenge,
and there wasn’t much of it happening
as I tried to adjust to the stunned
reclamation of my body
as it centered around
your desire...
1237 reads
18 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Jan 2013 10:34pm
25th Jan 2013 10:34pm
f**k blinking
Right now I’d shoot Ritalin in my eyelids,
stuff them with Botox,
or Clorox,
or silly putty,
(anything, anything)
to keep them wide open.
Because when they close
I’m hunted by
your lips
traveling my
silk-clad thigh.
I had to do without the
eyelid injections
and so instead
I amputated my leg,
(ran my damn stocking and everything)
thinking that might
help me find relief.
I cut it the fuck off
with that rusty box cutter
you left in the junk drawer,
so that I’d stop trying to ...
stuff them with Botox,
or Clorox,
or silly putty,
(anything, anything)
to keep them wide open.
Because when they close
I’m hunted by
your lips
traveling my
silk-clad thigh.
I had to do without the
eyelid injections
and so instead
I amputated my leg,
(ran my damn stocking and everything)
thinking that might
help me find relief.
I cut it the fuck off
with that rusty box cutter
you left in the junk drawer,
so that I’d stop trying to ...
1038 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Jan 2013 2:33pm
25th Jan 2013 2:33pm
Gaiman's gods
the sea boils and
my eyes roll back in my head,
toil dripping down my thighs
like madness
I reach for
the clotted murk
and wrest new worlds
into existence
for
you
my chest heaves
as you drag me
by my hair
to an altar built
on our verdant nightmare
and leave,
no longer able to
believe.
I am less
without your faith
than I was
when you chained me
down
ripped me open
and left me for the scavengers
for then
I could be reborn
for then ...
my eyes roll back in my head,
toil dripping down my thighs
like madness
I reach for
the clotted murk
and wrest new worlds
into existence
for
you
my chest heaves
as you drag me
by my hair
to an altar built
on our verdant nightmare
and leave,
no longer able to
believe.
I am less
without your faith
than I was
when you chained me
down
ripped me open
and left me for the scavengers
for then
I could be reborn
for then ...
850 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Jan 2013 2:31pm
25th Jan 2013 2:31pm
dadaist
Sitting in a hewn rocking chair under some bastardized H.G. Wells sky
I pricked my finger with the needle again,
and couldn't notice.
I kept my eyes screwed shut,
blocking the blindness
from the horizon-stealing sun
as its incalescence
crawled across my shoulders,
leaving a trail
that smelled like ...
a kiss pressed
against the line of your jaw.
I spread my old-fashioned
embroidery hoop over my skirts
fumbled for my shawl
and pulled it tighter
around me.
It was cold,
and there were no...
I pricked my finger with the needle again,
and couldn't notice.
I kept my eyes screwed shut,
blocking the blindness
from the horizon-stealing sun
as its incalescence
crawled across my shoulders,
leaving a trail
that smelled like ...
a kiss pressed
against the line of your jaw.
I spread my old-fashioned
embroidery hoop over my skirts
fumbled for my shawl
and pulled it tighter
around me.
It was cold,
and there were no...
891 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Betty
