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.
LOVE POEM
Published
15th Apr 2022 00:40am
15th Apr 2022 00:40am
Trying to Talk with a Man
i never thought how it must feel
to have to be a mountain -
immovable, impassable -
when you don’t always feel like one
i never thought how it must hurt
when all that comes your way is cars
and you’ve been told to be a road,
though even roads can get potholes
i never dreamed that being you
was hard, too lost in my own pain.
that when you told me how it felt
to be sent back to stand
among the grease fryers, unseen,
as pretty ones were placed upfront,
that you weren’t just lying to me
to have to be a mountain -
immovable, impassable -
when you don’t always feel like one
i never thought how it must hurt
when all that comes your way is cars
and you’ve been told to be a road,
though even roads can get potholes
i never dreamed that being you
was hard, too lost in my own pain.
that when you told me how it felt
to be sent back to stand
among the grease fryers, unseen,
as pretty ones were placed upfront,
that you weren’t just lying to me
#masculinity
217 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Apr 2022 9:05pm
14th Apr 2022 9:05pm
empathy’s reflection
before you can be selfless
you must be selfish
before you can discard yourself
you must have a self to discard
you must be selfish
before you can discard yourself
you must have a self to discard
#love
398 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
14th Apr 2022 2:32pm
14th Apr 2022 2:32pm
From a Tommy to His Lover
I go to you, your pained and beating heart,
the organ and the Thing that makes you You,
with the tools that are at my disposal:
sight, sound, smell, and touch.
It is a surgical operation, each tool wielded
to open this and that vessel, to determine what's real.
But I do this so that I can also determine
what's real inside me: I find my beating heart
by finding yours, and eating it.
I see your body, shakily undressing itself
in the hard and unadorned light
of this rented room. In a guest house rented
from a woman who'd...
the organ and the Thing that makes you You,
with the tools that are at my disposal:
sight, sound, smell, and touch.
It is a surgical operation, each tool wielded
to open this and that vessel, to determine what's real.
But I do this so that I can also determine
what's real inside me: I find my beating heart
by finding yours, and eating it.
I see your body, shakily undressing itself
in the hard and unadorned light
of this rented room. In a guest house rented
from a woman who'd...
#love
#LGBT
365 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
13th Apr 2022 4:08pm
13th Apr 2022 4:08pm
Acts of Destruction
Many who have ongoing feelings of fear or anger or hopelessness are never assessed or treated. Too often, they get our attention only if they reach a behavioural crisis." - Sue Klebold
I am actualised in acts of destruction.
First it was frogs in the garden,
their insides glinting in the sun,
mouths formed around a painful O
like so many saints in relief.
Larger people came and went
all through my childhood, one marked "Mum"
and one marked "Dad",
though neither vessel justified
the emotional weight attached to those marks.
...
I am actualised in acts of destruction.
First it was frogs in the garden,
their insides glinting in the sun,
mouths formed around a painful O
like so many saints in relief.
Larger people came and went
all through my childhood, one marked "Mum"
and one marked "Dad",
though neither vessel justified
the emotional weight attached to those marks.
...
#evil
282 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
12th Apr 2022 11:51pm
12th Apr 2022 11:51pm
renunciation
I very much love those mysterious volumes, both ancient and modern, that have no definite author but have had and continue to have an intense life of their own… True miracles are the ones whose makers will never be known…” - Elena Ferrante, reclusive author
forged in the furnace of an eye,
seen somehow and thus validated,
I could be alone but feel real,
I thought.
true self, however, comes from awareness.
and with awareness comes no need
to be seen in a collective eye,
to be public at all.
you rely on yourself for validation, ...
forged in the furnace of an eye,
seen somehow and thus validated,
I could be alone but feel real,
I thought.
true self, however, comes from awareness.
and with awareness comes no need
to be seen in a collective eye,
to be public at all.
you rely on yourself for validation, ...
#LifeAsAWriter
#art
392 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Apr 2022 9:53pm
8th Apr 2022 9:53pm
Erotic Juvenilia
The fantasy, I realise now,
was always hugging, closeness,
touch.
Even when I tried to impress
with graphic renderings of cocks
and cunts and masturbation,
in truth it was always
touch.
Reflecting on my poetry of lust
and how it didn’t measure up
to any life experience,
and thus felt stupid, false,
the crude engine breaks open and
I see what made it run:
a wanting to be held.
And with it a perverted urge
to ground that wanting in fetish,
in shallowness and self-destruction. ...
was always hugging, closeness,
touch.
Even when I tried to impress
with graphic renderings of cocks
and cunts and masturbation,
in truth it was always
touch.
Reflecting on my poetry of lust
and how it didn’t measure up
to any life experience,
and thus felt stupid, false,
the crude engine breaks open and
I see what made it run:
a wanting to be held.
And with it a perverted urge
to ground that wanting in fetish,
in shallowness and self-destruction. ...
#love
#sex
309 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
8th Apr 2022 7:27pm
8th Apr 2022 7:27pm
An Apology to “Cutter” Poets
How can I show you the broken thing
that is me
and satisfy your need for art?
Poems about self-harm were ridiculed
even by those who were not bad,
who did not look upon the world
with cruel and selfish eyes.
The genre was called “cutting poems”,
and its practitioners “cutters”.
Uniformly, they were young,
and so their lines of doggerel dismissed
as fleeting self-absorption forged
inside a mind preening.
Regardless of whether they innovated,
or wrought their tidings in cliche,
they came to our table
with bags full...
that is me
and satisfy your need for art?
Poems about self-harm were ridiculed
even by those who were not bad,
who did not look upon the world
with cruel and selfish eyes.
The genre was called “cutting poems”,
and its practitioners “cutters”.
Uniformly, they were young,
and so their lines of doggerel dismissed
as fleeting self-absorption forged
inside a mind preening.
Regardless of whether they innovated,
or wrought their tidings in cliche,
they came to our table
with bags full...
#MentalHealth
290 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
5th Apr 2022 11:56pm
5th Apr 2022 11:56pm
Remains
Talking to my grandmother
via video call from her place
in a nursing home,
I reflect on how little she knows
but how much she still remembers.
Facts like “this is my grandson”
have gone, along with teaching me tennis
and playing Jenga on long afternoons.
But the rhythms of our conversations
are still there. Chriupping “hello!”,
she chirups back and we grin
like birds on a telephone wire.
The melody lingers as if struggling
to play through a fog of static.
I picture our phone calls from ten years ago,
and...
via video call from her place
in a nursing home,
I reflect on how little she knows
but how much she still remembers.
Facts like “this is my grandson”
have gone, along with teaching me tennis
and playing Jenga on long afternoons.
But the rhythms of our conversations
are still there. Chriupping “hello!”,
she chirups back and we grin
like birds on a telephone wire.
The melody lingers as if struggling
to play through a fog of static.
I picture our phone calls from ten years ago,
and...
#family
330 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Apr 2022 12:49pm
4th Apr 2022 12:49pm
Reflections on Therapy
i
the backlog of my brain
has been unstopped
and all that's flowing out
is clearing my lines of thought
like shit expelled from pipes
allowing the water of time and new input
to flow freely
ii
it feels like giving birth to myself
though without pain
seeing my mind and body whole
not in fragments on the floor
the backlog of my brain
has been unstopped
and all that's flowing out
is clearing my lines of thought
like shit expelled from pipes
allowing the water of time and new input
to flow freely
ii
it feels like giving birth to myself
though without pain
seeing my mind and body whole
not in fragments on the floor
#healing
241 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
2nd Apr 2022 3:00pm
2nd Apr 2022 3:00pm
These Satanic Instruments
We yearn, of course, to understand.
How else can you avoid what you fear
if not by knowing it? Poetry is many things,
I guess. Including an instrument of philosophy.
And how we make sense of reality involves
our sense of evil. The way through the woods
is knotted with vines, the path grown dim
with all that seeks to obscure it.
Hell is not a punishment, but a tool
for distinguishing evil, just as sin
belongs to logic less than soul,
or what we know with what’s invisible.
The smell of sulphur, brimstone, flames ...
How else can you avoid what you fear
if not by knowing it? Poetry is many things,
I guess. Including an instrument of philosophy.
And how we make sense of reality involves
our sense of evil. The way through the woods
is knotted with vines, the path grown dim
with all that seeks to obscure it.
Hell is not a punishment, but a tool
for distinguishing evil, just as sin
belongs to logic less than soul,
or what we know with what’s invisible.
The smell of sulphur, brimstone, flames ...
#spiritual
210 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
31st Mar 2022 4:29pm
31st Mar 2022 4:29pm
Charlotte, Manning
I
Hair and makeup, glasses, beards,
the winking of an April sun
at large carnations on a hat,
a tie-pin and a charm bracelet.
The tools we use to make ourselves.
To make apparent what's inside,
and so then realise
the feelings that make us human.
Too long we've narrowed into graves
the expressions of Man and Woman,
ignoring all outside, between,
and flowing like a river to the truth.
II
As with most issues,
I interpret my feelings
on this through the eyes
of pulp...
Hair and makeup, glasses, beards,
the winking of an April sun
at large carnations on a hat,
a tie-pin and a charm bracelet.
The tools we use to make ourselves.
To make apparent what's inside,
and so then realise
the feelings that make us human.
Too long we've narrowed into graves
the expressions of Man and Woman,
ignoring all outside, between,
and flowing like a river to the truth.
II
As with most issues,
I interpret my feelings
on this through the eyes
of pulp...
#LGBT
#transgender
376 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
31st Mar 2022 00:00am
31st Mar 2022 00:00am
the terrible mercy
GO WARN THE CHILDREN OF GOD OF THE TERRIBLE SPEED OF MERCY. - Flannery O’Connor
when you feel ugly in your bones
and like love’s just a thing
that other people have
be warned of the terrible speed
the wildfire storming down
sometimes it comes to you
like some disastrous event
a stroke or heart attack
but know that it’s the speed
of terrible mercy
a cruel but kind epiphany
that Christ is in your damage
and your hope
when you feel ugly in your bones
and like love’s just a thing
that other people have
be warned of the terrible speed
the wildfire storming down
sometimes it comes to you
like some disastrous event
a stroke or heart attack
but know that it’s the speed
of terrible mercy
a cruel but kind epiphany
that Christ is in your damage
and your hope
#spiritual
222 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
