Submissions by Brendan_Pickett
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Jan 2010 9:02am
20th Jan 2010 9:02am
Long Days... Even Longer Nights...
Nights lasting Forever... Moon shines... Faint light casts oil-painting veneer over the room... all is un-shadow and half-hearted darkness... even with eyes-closed it will look exactly the same...
These Long Days and even Longer Nights... captive to thoughts that don't stop... won't stop... A Tense Brain Muscle... always calculating... calculating some inane ponderance... some artistic idea... some musical catchphrase... Feeling that everything must be recorded... every idea and utterance... Searching for Zen and Spirituality... Enlightenment can't be too far ahead... I can see the...
These Long Days and even Longer Nights... captive to thoughts that don't stop... won't stop... A Tense Brain Muscle... always calculating... calculating some inane ponderance... some artistic idea... some musical catchphrase... Feeling that everything must be recorded... every idea and utterance... Searching for Zen and Spirituality... Enlightenment can't be too far ahead... I can see the...
726 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Dec 2009 11:32pm
27th Dec 2009 11:32pm
Laws in the Dungeon of Servants
Castrate yourself upon arrival.
Skin a young virgin alive - then put on the skin and dance.
Stretch forth your hand - take the knife - and slay firstborn sons. Let not one house be without one dead.
Eat food as you would a loaf of bread; bake it
in the sight of the people, using human excrement
for fuel.
Rain a shower of lewd brimstone down on any man that shall put on a woman’s garments – for it is a detestable abomination.
Pour blood on men that lay with other men – surely put them to death with their blood upon their hands. Then see the end of those who...
Skin a young virgin alive - then put on the skin and dance.
Stretch forth your hand - take the knife - and slay firstborn sons. Let not one house be without one dead.
Eat food as you would a loaf of bread; bake it
in the sight of the people, using human excrement
for fuel.
Rain a shower of lewd brimstone down on any man that shall put on a woman’s garments – for it is a detestable abomination.
Pour blood on men that lay with other men – surely put them to death with their blood upon their hands. Then see the end of those who...
739 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
21st Dec 2009 3:07pm
21st Dec 2009 3:07pm
30
Drunken hungover waking in the afternoon
tired old winter... tired old me... now 30... just turned 30...
smoking fire to keep up some semblance of warmth
multiple clothes... layers and layers of clothes...
socks tights leggings skirt and trousers with
t-shirts tops jumpers knit-dress scarf and hat on top...
electric fan heater puffs out electric heat...
broken window leaks cold air in...
lungs extract plumes of hash...
gotta get my brew from the post office -
brew thats paid for by the welfare state...
30 and I'm still on the dole... now 30 and I...
tired old winter... tired old me... now 30... just turned 30...
smoking fire to keep up some semblance of warmth
multiple clothes... layers and layers of clothes...
socks tights leggings skirt and trousers with
t-shirts tops jumpers knit-dress scarf and hat on top...
electric fan heater puffs out electric heat...
broken window leaks cold air in...
lungs extract plumes of hash...
gotta get my brew from the post office -
brew thats paid for by the welfare state...
30 and I'm still on the dole... now 30 and I...
919 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
21st Dec 2009 2:22pm
21st Dec 2009 2:22pm
The Promised Land
My legal and tender bedroom eyes took my first real look at a magnificent sight:
The Promised Land… with a reasonable amount of tongue…
The place was teeming - But there weren't many Boy Brides between my upper legs.
Memories released themselves from anchors mired in my soul's deepest murky depths – furtive moments bubbling to breathe oxygen once again.
Dreams, waking and sleeping, engendered ultimate intimacy –
at least from the camera angle where many a Boy lands between my many legs.
Teams of many a Boy teeming… An astounding number of...
The Promised Land… with a reasonable amount of tongue…
The place was teeming - But there weren't many Boy Brides between my upper legs.
Memories released themselves from anchors mired in my soul's deepest murky depths – furtive moments bubbling to breathe oxygen once again.
Dreams, waking and sleeping, engendered ultimate intimacy –
at least from the camera angle where many a Boy lands between my many legs.
Teams of many a Boy teeming… An astounding number of...
901 reads
3 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th Dec 2009 6:33pm
16th Dec 2009 6:33pm
Square-Cut City
Square-Cut City
Settled out of court and founded by Roman Traders as a good place to do business Square-Cut City has existed suckling Power for centuries. Ghosts travail the streets historically - murdered children swig Gin in dreams – Dead Fingers point from Ghosts encased in statues - and a High Profile Banker throws himself from a High Rise Restaurant in a Champagne Death Leap of Suicide.
One of the Legion of Happy Fascist Dust-Bin Men is sent to clean up the remains – itty bitty bits of Banker Brain – itty bitty bits of Pin Stripes and shards of Crystal Glass...
Settled out of court and founded by Roman Traders as a good place to do business Square-Cut City has existed suckling Power for centuries. Ghosts travail the streets historically - murdered children swig Gin in dreams – Dead Fingers point from Ghosts encased in statues - and a High Profile Banker throws himself from a High Rise Restaurant in a Champagne Death Leap of Suicide.
One of the Legion of Happy Fascist Dust-Bin Men is sent to clean up the remains – itty bitty bits of Banker Brain – itty bitty bits of Pin Stripes and shards of Crystal Glass...
898 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th Dec 2009 6:31pm
16th Dec 2009 6:31pm
Bank
Bank
Gold leafed Eros looks down from his precipice – glistening in scorching heat of a summer afternoon – looking down on the proles and grey flannel suits – wonders why he is atop a Money Control Centre – re-aims his arrow to the sky and never fires it.
Granite Urns full of nothing but themselves guard the fuck off Victorian walls which have only two entrances, a front and rear – the rear is hidden on a back road next to a chapel, out of sight, surrounded by builders in bright neon yellow protective gear with their helmets showing, talking on walkie-talkies, ogling...
Gold leafed Eros looks down from his precipice – glistening in scorching heat of a summer afternoon – looking down on the proles and grey flannel suits – wonders why he is atop a Money Control Centre – re-aims his arrow to the sky and never fires it.
Granite Urns full of nothing but themselves guard the fuck off Victorian walls which have only two entrances, a front and rear – the rear is hidden on a back road next to a chapel, out of sight, surrounded by builders in bright neon yellow protective gear with their helmets showing, talking on walkie-talkies, ogling...
998 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Dec 2009 5:15pm
15th Dec 2009 5:15pm
Workers of the World...
Workers of the world: Relax – Kick Back –
Do not slave yourself for a Landlord
Do not slave yourself for a Mortgage
Play around - do nothing – be lazy
You’ll consume less and be more creative
Don’t waste your time in an Office
Because if you are – you’re a loser
You have lost your life –
Give up Job – instead do real work –
The work that makes you happy
The work which is your play
Sing a Silly Song – go drink with all your friends –
Be Merry all the time – and not just in your “free-time”
Relax and Be Lazy –...
Do not slave yourself for a Landlord
Do not slave yourself for a Mortgage
Play around - do nothing – be lazy
You’ll consume less and be more creative
Don’t waste your time in an Office
Because if you are – you’re a loser
You have lost your life –
Give up Job – instead do real work –
The work that makes you happy
The work which is your play
Sing a Silly Song – go drink with all your friends –
Be Merry all the time – and not just in your “free-time”
Relax and Be Lazy –...
896 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Dec 2009 5:10pm
15th Dec 2009 5:10pm
Word-Archery
Word-Archery…
Loose your Word and Let it Hit "It"
Loose your Bow and Fire Sixty a Minute
Without effort to be always on Target
Without thought, Always Of the Moment
Loose your Word and Let it Hit "It"
Loose your Bow and Fire Sixty a Minute
Without effort to be always on Target
Without thought, Always Of the Moment
920 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Brendan_Pickett
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