Submissions by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
ANGER POEM
Published
18th Nov 2009 6:24pm
18th Nov 2009 6:24pm
Impulse session #1
I am only barely distracted
by the small globules of fat
created by the cheese
that melts within my soup,
mainly I am a loosely focussed
aspiring weight.
Those shiny, happy
plastic fuckers:
The dancers,
the believers,
the rhyming poets,
the fantasy writers,
the television viewers
the cliche groups
of music worshippers.
All of them,
absorbing the same air as me
as I writhe with a withdrawn
physical frustration
whilst my mind acts differently:
I throw them through windows
crush their voice...
by the small globules of fat
created by the cheese
that melts within my soup,
mainly I am a loosely focussed
aspiring weight.
Those shiny, happy
plastic fuckers:
The dancers,
the believers,
the rhyming poets,
the fantasy writers,
the television viewers
the cliche groups
of music worshippers.
All of them,
absorbing the same air as me
as I writhe with a withdrawn
physical frustration
whilst my mind acts differently:
I throw them through windows
crush their voice...
#anger
#confessional
#LifeAsAWriter
#SelfReflection
#WritingPoetry
922 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
17th Nov 2009 11:41am
17th Nov 2009 11:41am
Looking Back (2)
If you haven’t seen these streets or ever really looked at your own, then you will not know what you have missed and avoided. It is neither kind nor cruel, enjoyable or unbearable, but it pays to be drunk, if only a little… Just enough to smooth out the edges and apply focus where it is needed. It’s very important to understand the glares, but never let them topple you. Keep a cigarette lit, as a distraction, if you need it. Jangle your change in your pocked – if you have any – but not too loudly; they are people here with nothing who will take anything. I’ve had friends who play with their...
#fiction
#LifeAsAWriter
#prose #WritingPoetry
#prose #WritingPoetry
1042 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
17th Nov 2009 11:26am
17th Nov 2009 11:26am
Looking Back (1)
Sitting in the stale air of the small café, I begin to miss how much softer it seemed when the room was heavy with smoke. The coffee and the cigarettes allowed me to feel content and almost appear as if I was not alone. Now we stand awkwardly outside; silent strangers huddled together, our lonely, half drunk coffee cups waiting for us at the table.
It’s been a long two years of playing the public enemy, but I spend my days in here and I hound the bars at night. They say that it is not much of a life: Scraping together the rent with odd jobs and a few articles published in bad...
It’s been a long two years of playing the public enemy, but I spend my days in here and I hound the bars at night. They say that it is not much of a life: Scraping together the rent with odd jobs and a few articles published in bad...
#fiction
#LifeAsAWriter
#prose #WritingPoetry
#prose #WritingPoetry
1015 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Nov 2009 6:10pm
12th Nov 2009 6:10pm
Advice from an empty bottle (2)
I write from a bottle
so that I can be assured
that I do not dress the word
or replace my emotion
with floral metaphor.
The poets are guilty
just like the dogmatists:
Their harsh reality is cloaked
with escapism,
as they run away
to fictional meadows
where they sing with angels
and dance with Vivaldi,
drinking homemade lemonade
and eating chocolate cup cakes.
A dainty life
full of the easiest
of ingredients:
Denial.
so that I can be assured
that I do not dress the word
or replace my emotion
with floral metaphor.
The poets are guilty
just like the dogmatists:
Their harsh reality is cloaked
with escapism,
as they run away
to fictional meadows
where they sing with angels
and dance with Vivaldi,
drinking homemade lemonade
and eating chocolate cup cakes.
A dainty life
full of the easiest
of ingredients:
Denial.
#addiction
#alcohol
#drugs
#music
#WritingPoetry
1012 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
11th Nov 2009 6:38pm
11th Nov 2009 6:38pm
I don't write love poems
She has addictively soft skin
and eyes that search
and are searched,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She has all the class
when it comes to culture
and all the front
for the rest,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She was by my side
with perfection
when I lost my father
and her body is decorated
with fine pieces of art,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
I believe that she worries,
because of the conditions that we met,
they may be similar conditions
to how we part,
and...
and eyes that search
and are searched,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She has all the class
when it comes to culture
and all the front
for the rest,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
She was by my side
with perfection
when I lost my father
and her body is decorated
with fine pieces of art,
but…
I don’t write love poems.
I believe that she worries,
because of the conditions that we met,
they may be similar conditions
to how we part,
and...
#LifeAsAWriter
#LifeCycle
#love
#myself
#SelfReflection
2837 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Nov 2009 2:57pm
11th Nov 2009 2:57pm
Drink it up.
I sit by the radiator,
now warm,
looking out over and under
everyone.
Sometimes we can take in
too much;
like the common mouthed idiot
offering life coaching
in a lack of life.
Then there's a rush of absentees
as I look up
and find them all gone...
It wasn't anything I said,
just the things that I didn't.
There is an ex-girlfriend
showing an ex-boyfriend
what she is listening to,
but he doesn't care...
He knows, like me
that we'll be just fine
without them.
I give it sixty seconds...
now warm,
looking out over and under
everyone.
Sometimes we can take in
too much;
like the common mouthed idiot
offering life coaching
in a lack of life.
Then there's a rush of absentees
as I look up
and find them all gone...
It wasn't anything I said,
just the things that I didn't.
There is an ex-girlfriend
showing an ex-boyfriend
what she is listening to,
but he doesn't care...
He knows, like me
that we'll be just fine
without them.
I give it sixty seconds...
#alcohol
#meditation
#memories #relationships
#memories #relationships
1059 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Nov 2009 4:19pm
7th Nov 2009 4:19pm
My f**king pet rat
For six years,
since I was eighteen,
I have been carrying a white rat
inside my left breast pocket
in a long grey coat.
I have paid attention to no one,
just that rat.
When I fucked
two rape victims
who thought they loved me
in two nights,
the rat was there.
The rat was there
when I told them
to ignore the guilt
and remember that
no one needs to know.
The rat was there,
stronger than ever
when I got drunk
and fucked her
in the back of her partner's car
right on the seat where her child...
since I was eighteen,
I have been carrying a white rat
inside my left breast pocket
in a long grey coat.
I have paid attention to no one,
just that rat.
When I fucked
two rape victims
who thought they loved me
in two nights,
the rat was there.
The rat was there
when I told them
to ignore the guilt
and remember that
no one needs to know.
The rat was there,
stronger than ever
when I got drunk
and fucked her
in the back of her partner's car
right on the seat where her child...
#anger
#confessional
#identity
#memories
#SelfReflection
1047 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Nov 2009 1:33pm
7th Nov 2009 1:33pm
A little bit of everything
So, I am sat...
not much of anything
with little use
and no love.
All those great women
with kindness in abundance
and I have hurt them all
Why?
Maybe I see something
in them.
Something that I need
and don't possess,
so I try my hardest
to crack them,
to show them
what it is
that has made me.
My body aches
I can't find my zinc,
hell...what is zinc?
I need valium,
an overdose.
To drool mindlessly
like the rest of society:
empty.
So here I sit,
used up,
by no one,
but...
not much of anything
with little use
and no love.
All those great women
with kindness in abundance
and I have hurt them all
Why?
Maybe I see something
in them.
Something that I need
and don't possess,
so I try my hardest
to crack them,
to show them
what it is
that has made me.
My body aches
I can't find my zinc,
hell...what is zinc?
I need valium,
an overdose.
To drool mindlessly
like the rest of society:
empty.
So here I sit,
used up,
by no one,
but...
#confessional
#respect
#SelfReflection #SelfWorth
#SelfReflection #SelfWorth
981 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Nov 2009 4:49pm
4th Nov 2009 4:49pm
Scapegoat
#anger
#frustration
#LifeStruggles
#philosophical
#TruthOfLife
980 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
4th Nov 2009 3:53pm
4th Nov 2009 3:53pm
Love letter
They were and still are
endless reasons why
somethings shouldn't happen.
For instance:
the father of her child,
the child,
a relationship of love
that lasted three years,
but it did
happen.
And now, as I sit
upon the toilet
next door
whilst she stirs.
I grow warm
remembering last night,
and knowing that once I flush
and wipe,
brush my teeth
and stare my tired eyes
out in the mirror
I offer my reflection
a grin,
then I turn
to walk back
in to that room ...
endless reasons why
somethings shouldn't happen.
For instance:
the father of her child,
the child,
a relationship of love
that lasted three years,
but it did
happen.
And now, as I sit
upon the toilet
next door
whilst she stirs.
I grow warm
remembering last night,
and knowing that once I flush
and wipe,
brush my teeth
and stare my tired eyes
out in the mirror
I offer my reflection
a grin,
then I turn
to walk back
in to that room ...
#family
#love
#memories
991 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2009 6:32pm
2nd Nov 2009 6:32pm
A view from a hotel window
Outside the hotel room window
the children are screaming
whilst the shell of my father
waits in a box
to be burnt.
Why am I here?
I am nothing like these people,
they have nothing to offer me
apart from more news
of their mistakes.
Teary eyed stories
of entrapment
that make me wonder
how.
How can I be like this
with all that sludge
in me too?
the children are screaming
whilst the shell of my father
waits in a box
to be burnt.
Why am I here?
I am nothing like these people,
they have nothing to offer me
apart from more news
of their mistakes.
Teary eyed stories
of entrapment
that make me wonder
how.
How can I be like this
with all that sludge
in me too?
#confessional
#meditation
#myself
#PersonalGrowth
#SelfReflection
920 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2009 6:29pm
2nd Nov 2009 6:29pm
Deja Vu,
sitting on the toilet
the morning after.
Hollow
Beaten
Staring at the walls
as if THEY were them.
That was the last moment
of me.
Now, it is back to work
to keep the cogs rotating,
whilst my own
piss themselves
within a violent orgy
shortly before
the wind sits quietly
in the corner
watching the sun
grow old
and wave goodbye
to starving cattle.
the morning after.
Hollow
Beaten
Staring at the walls
as if THEY were them.
That was the last moment
of me.
Now, it is back to work
to keep the cogs rotating,
whilst my own
piss themselves
within a violent orgy
shortly before
the wind sits quietly
in the corner
watching the sun
grow old
and wave goodbye
to starving cattle.
#dark
#LifeAsAWriter
#SelfReflection
934 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
