Submissions by BeulaDaisle
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
The blemished and uneven things are prettiest.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 11:45pm
30th Nov 2013 11:45pm
Sneezing
I’m building a shrine out of fiber and glass because light travels faster than whispering.
You never know the kind of things expel from our immune systems
Until you find yourself in surgery with strangers
And God only knows how many times you have to do this shit in different skin.
Along comes the light, completely unrehearsed
and its madness rushes down the spine leaving the heart literally breathless, jaw slacked and pupil blasted to abyss
…which then looks YOU in the eye and wonders if you’ll ever stare back
Because you learned quick and took it to...
You never know the kind of things expel from our immune systems
Until you find yourself in surgery with strangers
And God only knows how many times you have to do this shit in different skin.
Along comes the light, completely unrehearsed
and its madness rushes down the spine leaving the heart literally breathless, jaw slacked and pupil blasted to abyss
…which then looks YOU in the eye and wonders if you’ll ever stare back
Because you learned quick and took it to...
840 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 3:39pm
30th Nov 2013 3:39pm
the fine balance of enough
Writing became the only way I could balance myself, otherwise everything was chaos, indiscernible, unreliable, and flimsy. The pen was an anchor, the point on which everything came together and I had control over what came out.
I filled folders with loose writings, floppy disks, notebooks, napkins, chewing gum wrappers, my arms, legs and shoes became paper. Windows, mirrors, walls. Nothing was left virgin. Eventually I couldn't stop writing, I’d fall asleep with a mountain of words at my feet and wake up with volumes I couldn't remember. I became an awkward walking alphabet.
...
I filled folders with loose writings, floppy disks, notebooks, napkins, chewing gum wrappers, my arms, legs and shoes became paper. Windows, mirrors, walls. Nothing was left virgin. Eventually I couldn't stop writing, I’d fall asleep with a mountain of words at my feet and wake up with volumes I couldn't remember. I became an awkward walking alphabet.
...
799 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 3:13pm
30th Nov 2013 3:13pm
wjb
And what do I know?!
Did not wake with sleep on my shoulders
And what did I say?!
failure did fail me. Poems did push me. Buried
I shuffle under sheets keeping paper and its cheap skin
Passing, I don’t think I’m allowed here anymore.
I whore a great thought.
I remember jumping from cave to cave sharing whiskey and cocaine
I married you so that our talents can improve
And instead I poured the bank account into my liver
BURST
…When finally one of us committed suicide
Then they named their books and babies after...
Did not wake with sleep on my shoulders
And what did I say?!
failure did fail me. Poems did push me. Buried
I shuffle under sheets keeping paper and its cheap skin
Passing, I don’t think I’m allowed here anymore.
I whore a great thought.
I remember jumping from cave to cave sharing whiskey and cocaine
I married you so that our talents can improve
And instead I poured the bank account into my liver
BURST
…When finally one of us committed suicide
Then they named their books and babies after...
778 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2013 10:13pm
29th Nov 2013 10:13pm
Because of Jimmy Carter and Guinea Worms
I wonder how deep to dig this grave.
For the love of God it’s only been two days
and if I have to read another recipe you wrote
another cereal box prized word
TV show laugh track trigger
I swear on my vagina and everything holy in it…
This is MY typewriter and MY endless water
Keep the smoke and pimps away from me,
for I am hungry and will not relent.
And don’t think that I won’t waste this precious space,
one of two I get for every 8 hours,
to tell you that she doesn't love you
it’s all your parents fault
and you’ll...
For the love of God it’s only been two days
and if I have to read another recipe you wrote
another cereal box prized word
TV show laugh track trigger
I swear on my vagina and everything holy in it…
This is MY typewriter and MY endless water
Keep the smoke and pimps away from me,
for I am hungry and will not relent.
And don’t think that I won’t waste this precious space,
one of two I get for every 8 hours,
to tell you that she doesn't love you
it’s all your parents fault
and you’ll...
707 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2013 2:17pm
29th Nov 2013 2:17pm
Mulberry St.
I was accidental.
Words were loaded
Tongue in cheek
Charged.
At seventeen I stood
In front of a crowd
In midday spring
Shaking from my slavery
To roaring dreams.
I read to them
They nodded
While staring at ceilings
Shifting legs
Clearing throats with a “hmm” and a “yes”
Paranoid
bursting like a light bulb
hysterically silent and screaming from behind my eyes
with a bang
Sweating
Swearing at dead relatives.
How great it all has been
How smart I seem to be
How wise beyond my years
With...
Words were loaded
Tongue in cheek
Charged.
At seventeen I stood
In front of a crowd
In midday spring
Shaking from my slavery
To roaring dreams.
I read to them
They nodded
While staring at ceilings
Shifting legs
Clearing throats with a “hmm” and a “yes”
Paranoid
bursting like a light bulb
hysterically silent and screaming from behind my eyes
with a bang
Sweating
Swearing at dead relatives.
How great it all has been
How smart I seem to be
How wise beyond my years
With...
1306 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2013 1:55pm
29th Nov 2013 1:55pm
What I lost at the Romanian train station
A handful of beads designed to withstand the most ferocious of blizzards, sparkling under my sled.
Shooting my eyes across the prettiest hues, hints of miracles, traces of history left behind each boot print made to unsettle the wintery Eden in this
my other mystery.
Stiff backed and leaning against the giant walls made callous from my wishes to love more,
to see more,
to never leave this place,
reaching for a sweater left forgotten like a heart on the clothesline, left to bleed for no one and nothing but the aftermath and nothing but the memory...
Shooting my eyes across the prettiest hues, hints of miracles, traces of history left behind each boot print made to unsettle the wintery Eden in this
my other mystery.
Stiff backed and leaning against the giant walls made callous from my wishes to love more,
to see more,
to never leave this place,
reaching for a sweater left forgotten like a heart on the clothesline, left to bleed for no one and nothing but the aftermath and nothing but the memory...
922 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2013 3:01am
29th Nov 2013 3:01am
Books
Never mind how my teeth have rotted from the letters of words you put in my head
Or the way my scar still itches from the time we burned our notebooks on the tracks
What's important is the false pretense of misery we bred
Starving under radio towers
Standing next to electrified fences wanting summer
Or just some spring so the garbage won't freeze
Cough
Cough
Dying
Cough
All for the dead men we thought we knew. Meanwhile the very few that loved us suffered in a way we wished for, wrote for.
Or the way my scar still itches from the time we burned our notebooks on the tracks
What's important is the false pretense of misery we bred
Starving under radio towers
Standing next to electrified fences wanting summer
Or just some spring so the garbage won't freeze
Cough
Cough
Dying
Cough
All for the dead men we thought we knew. Meanwhile the very few that loved us suffered in a way we wished for, wrote for.
762 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2013 00:19am
29th Nov 2013 00:19am
My dead is stupid religion
When I was a little girl my hero was a crotchety foul mouthed junkie who liked clean socks and boy whores.
It must've been the communists I couldn't stand, what else would make a dumpster dirty needled hooker out of me?
Or
It could've been worse.
It must've been the communists I couldn't stand, what else would make a dumpster dirty needled hooker out of me?
Or
It could've been worse.
751 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Nov 2013 2:57pm
28th Nov 2013 2:57pm
.
Birds positioned on tight power lines, waiting for substance above the prettiest refinery perfuming smoke out of its tower.
I pass by quickly
Holding a rattle
Waking the faint illuminations out of the teeth of buildings.
These are our seeds
Our thoughts
Impressed throughout a century.
My death is a private one
Stretching me over disfigured branches and their elated prayers
Reaching only the tired necks of street lamps.
Yes
Street lamps that I have cowered under in moments of divinity
in early nights
In epiphanies....
I pass by quickly
Holding a rattle
Waking the faint illuminations out of the teeth of buildings.
These are our seeds
Our thoughts
Impressed throughout a century.
My death is a private one
Stretching me over disfigured branches and their elated prayers
Reaching only the tired necks of street lamps.
Yes
Street lamps that I have cowered under in moments of divinity
in early nights
In epiphanies....
822 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Nov 2013 2:36pm
28th Nov 2013 2:36pm
Happy Meal
I've been eating cheeseburger happy meals to navigate through a Séance conjuring a ten year old girl.
She knew of a place where woodworms couldn't occupy and there she settled with a lie so sweet as to trick the universe back into its sleep.
The light would come and eat her shadow, swallowing her until she became the very thing that gives it its fire.
She knew of a place where woodworms couldn't occupy and there she settled with a lie so sweet as to trick the universe back into its sleep.
The light would come and eat her shadow, swallowing her until she became the very thing that gives it its fire.
675 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Nov 2013 3:48pm
27th Nov 2013 3:48pm
Cigarette Boxes
To outdoor mall windows
And coffee shop novelists
Keeping their recipes in order
There's no room anywhere anymore
One of these days in a secret moment of excessive genius
I'll just burst
Politely
Followed by the quiet of my lips parting to the rhythm of a thought
Debris of words collecting in my jaw and I'll edit this for as long as I’m still breathing.
I have memorized the east coast accent crows have harking
From atop the walking signals thundering to the sound of a band made of
Tin pales
Clay pots
And cigarette boxes
...
And coffee shop novelists
Keeping their recipes in order
There's no room anywhere anymore
One of these days in a secret moment of excessive genius
I'll just burst
Politely
Followed by the quiet of my lips parting to the rhythm of a thought
Debris of words collecting in my jaw and I'll edit this for as long as I’m still breathing.
I have memorized the east coast accent crows have harking
From atop the walking signals thundering to the sound of a band made of
Tin pales
Clay pots
And cigarette boxes
...
787 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Nov 2013 3:26pm
27th Nov 2013 3:26pm
Ginsberg Rising
like the flowering poverty every boy feels
Allen loved to find himself in breast pockets on Broadway
On Kerouac’s neck
Behind Neal’s knee kneeling under bridges
Fire escapes against red skies and grocery store isles spying Angels in denim.
Down by the river banks where you watched them fall in, soaking in the light of Blakes heaven or Walts beard.
Traces of silver and matzos in his jazz infused blood
Without him there be no Pomes recorded in my alley way heart, in our street junk dumpster bookstore therapy.
Give thanks to his love...
Allen loved to find himself in breast pockets on Broadway
On Kerouac’s neck
Behind Neal’s knee kneeling under bridges
Fire escapes against red skies and grocery store isles spying Angels in denim.
Down by the river banks where you watched them fall in, soaking in the light of Blakes heaven or Walts beard.
Traces of silver and matzos in his jazz infused blood
Without him there be no Pomes recorded in my alley way heart, in our street junk dumpster bookstore therapy.
Give thanks to his love...
803 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by BeulaDaisle
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