Submissions by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write poetry on a range of subjects and in a range of styles. My privacy is extremely important to me, though I hope that you enjoy my work and that I enjoy yours.
SELF POEM
Published
25th May 2022 1:58am
25th May 2022 1:58am
People
People are exhausting.
They’re filled with assumptions
and resentments that have nothing
to do with you, but which they’ll make
your problem anyway,
most often without
even realising.
They’re filled with assumptions
and resentments that have nothing
to do with you, but which they’ll make
your problem anyway,
most often without
even realising.
#loneliness
442 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th May 2022 3:47pm
24th May 2022 3:47pm
The West Borough of Eden
Some years ago
when Westboro
was all the rage
in documentary
I watched one with
my mum,
and ever since
Fred Phelps has been
a fascinating man to me,
him and his twisted family.
The loving rictus on
his grandchild’s face as she -
a girl in her late teens, I think -
raked leaves in the yard
and tried to convince the BBC
with a smile that must
have been painful
that she was happy there.
The little boy holding a sign
incredibly vulgar,
a sign describing anal sex,
pelted with a...
when Westboro
was all the rage
in documentary
I watched one with
my mum,
and ever since
Fred Phelps has been
a fascinating man to me,
him and his twisted family.
The loving rictus on
his grandchild’s face as she -
a girl in her late teens, I think -
raked leaves in the yard
and tried to convince the BBC
with a smile that must
have been painful
that she was happy there.
The little boy holding a sign
incredibly vulgar,
a sign describing anal sex,
pelted with a...
#love
#hate
#gay #religion
#gay #religion
232 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
22nd May 2022 9:59pm
22nd May 2022 9:59pm
For a Sweetheart
I sometimes think about daisies
growing in the snowy fields
and in the slush beside rivers.
What light is in each pin
of yellowest pollen! I say daisies,
I might be describing another flower...
but she’ll always be daisy to me.
growing in the snowy fields
and in the slush beside rivers.
What light is in each pin
of yellowest pollen! I say daisies,
I might be describing another flower...
but she’ll always be daisy to me.
#love
289 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
21st May 2022 10:06pm
21st May 2022 10:06pm
Recluse
Once when I was a kid
a girl in my class told me
that one day I’d be
a reclusive writer,
that she could see me in
a cabin in the woods
turning out novels.
(Or maybe the cabin was my idea.)
I realise, now, how oddly right she was.
My life’s tension has always been
the need to tell a truth,
to hug the human race as if
it was my own father,
Saint Mary and Narcissus rolled in one.
a girl in my class told me
that one day I’d be
a reclusive writer,
that she could see me in
a cabin in the woods
turning out novels.
(Or maybe the cabin was my idea.)
I realise, now, how oddly right she was.
My life’s tension has always been
the need to tell a truth,
to hug the human race as if
it was my own father,
Saint Mary and Narcissus rolled in one.
#loneliness
217 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
21st May 2022 5:22pm
21st May 2022 5:22pm
Why I'd Like to Weep
I realise now that what I want
is not a ball of gold,
the literal and symbolic sceptre.
It's not a man, either,
though one to share the darkness of the night
would be a gift as yet unmade.
It is, rather, to drown
in absolute beauty,
wracked with sobs before Titian...
to strangle and choke
on finest caviar,
the buffets of the soul and sense.
Grown in filth
and raised in violence,
the unthinking brutality
of uncompleted minds
and withered hearts,
I'd like the little deaths to come ...
is not a ball of gold,
the literal and symbolic sceptre.
It's not a man, either,
though one to share the darkness of the night
would be a gift as yet unmade.
It is, rather, to drown
in absolute beauty,
wracked with sobs before Titian...
to strangle and choke
on finest caviar,
the buffets of the soul and sense.
Grown in filth
and raised in violence,
the unthinking brutality
of uncompleted minds
and withered hearts,
I'd like the little deaths to come ...
#spiritual
#art
#culture
188 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
21st May 2022 9:53am
21st May 2022 9:53am
Greed
I've never been so hungry,
said the woman to the left,
her girlfriends' arms and hands
gently restraining her.
Her eyes are wide
with jealousy and fear.
The spirit unseen flies overall,
conferring what she's hungry for.
The greed of those who'd seize it
for themselves... piercing
the feathered breast
with arrowed eyes, gleaming.
said the woman to the left,
her girlfriends' arms and hands
gently restraining her.
Her eyes are wide
with jealousy and fear.
The spirit unseen flies overall,
conferring what she's hungry for.
The greed of those who'd seize it
for themselves... piercing
the feathered breast
with arrowed eyes, gleaming.
#greed
214 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st May 2022 9:02am
21st May 2022 9:02am
A Tenderness Extreme
I just wanna use your love tonight...
And I don't wanna lose your love tonight...
The Outfields
Without experience, I'm lost.
Without a fundamental trust, I'm doomed
to walk the earth like Cain.
I know that love may never be
the interaction of a pair of dancing dolls,
upon a stage dressed up to look like Venice, 1389.
But all I want, I think, is kindness in
and of the night. A furtive coupling.
A tenderness extreme enough to satisfy the day.
And I don't wanna lose your love tonight...
The Outfields
Without experience, I'm lost.
Without a fundamental trust, I'm doomed
to walk the earth like Cain.
I know that love may never be
the interaction of a pair of dancing dolls,
upon a stage dressed up to look like Venice, 1389.
But all I want, I think, is kindness in
and of the night. A furtive coupling.
A tenderness extreme enough to satisfy the day.
#love
201 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th May 2022 10:47pm
20th May 2022 10:47pm
History’s Offal
My father liked to joke
about atrocities.
Faggots burning
in English fields.
The story of a Naval officer
whose guts were fried in front of him,
for “disobedience”.
The “love camps” of the Nazi age.
I’d wonder sometimes
if all men were like him,
licking their chops
at history’s offal.
Before sensing that I
was a man
like that as well.
about atrocities.
Faggots burning
in English fields.
The story of a Naval officer
whose guts were fried in front of him,
for “disobedience”.
The “love camps” of the Nazi age.
I’d wonder sometimes
if all men were like him,
licking their chops
at history’s offal.
Before sensing that I
was a man
like that as well.
#horror
311 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
20th May 2022 12:36pm
20th May 2022 12:36pm
On art v artist
I suppose, in the end, I couldn’t care less
whatever it is you think and feel,
since you’ve never bothered to know it yourself.
Your twittering is just
a hoarse cacophony of noise,
trying to separate me
from honest engagement with art.
Barbarian fouling the feast,
your endless whining hasn’t once
protected lives or seen off hate,
whatever mask you’re wearing now.
whatever it is you think and feel,
since you’ve never bothered to know it yourself.
Your twittering is just
a hoarse cacophony of noise,
trying to separate me
from honest engagement with art.
Barbarian fouling the feast,
your endless whining hasn’t once
protected lives or seen off hate,
whatever mask you’re wearing now.
#art
194 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th May 2022 12:35pm
20th May 2022 12:35pm
On storybook villains
the moustaches they twirl
are always just a mask
hiding a true intent somewhere.
with form-obsessed visage
they cackle like children.
how it must hurt
in rictuses of joy,
to strain the muscles constantly
in paranoiac hate.
the top hat hiding lack of skull.
are always just a mask
hiding a true intent somewhere.
with form-obsessed visage
they cackle like children.
how it must hurt
in rictuses of joy,
to strain the muscles constantly
in paranoiac hate.
the top hat hiding lack of skull.
#evil
189 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
19th May 2022 11:32pm
19th May 2022 11:32pm
whatever the sun truly is
there is both life
and no life after death.
each of us is part
of some unfathomably large
being, testing and maturing itself,
its parts. until one day
it can stand alone,
in the light of whatever
the sun truly is.
and no life after death.
each of us is part
of some unfathomably large
being, testing and maturing itself,
its parts. until one day
it can stand alone,
in the light of whatever
the sun truly is.
#sun
#philosophical
238 reads
1 Comment
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
19th May 2022 11:30pm
19th May 2022 11:30pm
Notes for an Essay
..I rejected many pieces of mainstream queer media for the same reason that I did Brokeback Mountain, even though I like the short story that the latter was based on...
...The film starred very attractive Hollywood men and I’ve always resented how conventional ideas of male beauty have defined the gay male narrative...
...That’s why Brokeback Mountain has always worked better for me as a short story, because in the story the men looked like poor, rural, unconventionally attractive, “ugly” men leading a hard and difficult life, made even harder and more difficult by the...
...The film starred very attractive Hollywood men and I’ve always resented how conventional ideas of male beauty have defined the gay male narrative...
...That’s why Brokeback Mountain has always worked better for me as a short story, because in the story the men looked like poor, rural, unconventionally attractive, “ugly” men leading a hard and difficult life, made even harder and more difficult by the...
#LGBT
227 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
