Submissions by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
DARK POEM
Published
3rd Oct 2009 11:42pm
3rd Oct 2009 11:42pm
This god damn cell
From a cell of few people
to many cells of many
I am not allowed a beer
to ease it all away
whilst the racists
appear unevolved
and wait to glare at me
because I don't care
what happens to us
or when.
If I have to go
for them to go
then take me now.
to many cells of many
I am not allowed a beer
to ease it all away
whilst the racists
appear unevolved
and wait to glare at me
because I don't care
what happens to us
or when.
If I have to go
for them to go
then take me now.
826 reads
1 Comment
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Oct 2009 8:56am
3rd Oct 2009 8:56am
Sometimes you just have to laugh.
The Writer’s Rush:
Almost, a distraction.
Do people honestly
Believe that sex
During the temperamental
Period of your partner’s
Month
Is questionable?
That coming into pleasurable contact
With a substance that is present
In all of us
Is some how ‘BLEUURGHHH!’
It is not as if
You have to eat it,
But I suppose if you choose to
It is none of my business
~ Are you having a good time
Over there with your face dripping
The blood of Christ.
(note I don’t use a capital letter)
Well of course you are....
Almost, a distraction.
Do people honestly
Believe that sex
During the temperamental
Period of your partner’s
Month
Is questionable?
That coming into pleasurable contact
With a substance that is present
In all of us
Is some how ‘BLEUURGHHH!’
It is not as if
You have to eat it,
But I suppose if you choose to
It is none of my business
~ Are you having a good time
Over there with your face dripping
The blood of Christ.
(note I don’t use a capital letter)
Well of course you are....
1257 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Oct 2009 00:11am
2nd Oct 2009 00:11am
How's my head?
About two
or three
months ago
I saw
my G.P.
I was
in very
bad shape.
I was
ANGRY
and tearful.
as far
as I
could see
I had
lost it
all.
I even
took a
knife to
my wrist
during a
bad trip
with
hallucigenics.
Fortunately
I didn't
have the
strength
to cut
deep
enough.
Looking back
I had
lost a lot,
but not
all.
I still
haven't heard
from the
shrink about
my course
of therapy
so I guess...
or three
months ago
I saw
my G.P.
I was
in very
bad shape.
I was
ANGRY
and tearful.
as far
as I
could see
I had
lost it
all.
I even
took a
knife to
my wrist
during a
bad trip
with
hallucigenics.
Fortunately
I didn't
have the
strength
to cut
deep
enough.
Looking back
I had
lost a lot,
but not
all.
I still
haven't heard
from the
shrink about
my course
of therapy
so I guess...
1019 reads
6 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Oct 2009 00:07am
2nd Oct 2009 00:07am
Notes from the Fly-Floor (1)
You have to seperate
your soul from work
completely
-if you have one.
because as I look
down over the rail
and see the mind numbing
dross that I am partially
responsible for
I instantly look at myself:
drinking my wages away
in nine days
with all my great ideas
that could help us all,
but they're not allowed out
because I might offend
someone who is wrong.
Well, If I brought my soul
in here,
I might just jump
and that would not
be one
of my
great
ideas.
your soul from work
completely
-if you have one.
because as I look
down over the rail
and see the mind numbing
dross that I am partially
responsible for
I instantly look at myself:
drinking my wages away
in nine days
with all my great ideas
that could help us all,
but they're not allowed out
because I might offend
someone who is wrong.
Well, If I brought my soul
in here,
I might just jump
and that would not
be one
of my
great
ideas.
898 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Sep 2009 6:43pm
30th Sep 2009 6:43pm
Doesn't it make you sick?
Religion has given nothing,
but WAR.
It has installed hatred
where common sense would offer
a non-committal acceptance of reality-
Collectives invade their assumed enemies
with hatred and malice,
whilst the preachers cry out
about the return of Christ.
Doesn't it all make you fucking sick?
Women hiding their faces.
Children being force fed
fire and brimstone deserts.
Literature that attempts
to keep the world
thousands of years old:
Too stubborn to progress.
Doesn't it all make you sick?
And whilst the...
but WAR.
It has installed hatred
where common sense would offer
a non-committal acceptance of reality-
Collectives invade their assumed enemies
with hatred and malice,
whilst the preachers cry out
about the return of Christ.
Doesn't it all make you fucking sick?
Women hiding their faces.
Children being force fed
fire and brimstone deserts.
Literature that attempts
to keep the world
thousands of years old:
Too stubborn to progress.
Doesn't it all make you sick?
And whilst the...
1041 reads
6 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
28th Sep 2009 6:02pm
28th Sep 2009 6:02pm
Fifty Two Days
Fifty two days I lasted.
Not many people were sure
how it had happened.
Hell!
I had money,
an easy job
and a lot of free time.
From outside you might think
that they are better things to do
with £400 a week,
but when the only people saying otherwise
are married, or divorced
or depressed or sitting at home
watching prime time television
or still believing in that man upstairs,
-who for the record was put there
by the same people that gave us
banking systems,
and the sickness behind American Presidencies.
It's all...
Not many people were sure
how it had happened.
Hell!
I had money,
an easy job
and a lot of free time.
From outside you might think
that they are better things to do
with £400 a week,
but when the only people saying otherwise
are married, or divorced
or depressed or sitting at home
watching prime time television
or still believing in that man upstairs,
-who for the record was put there
by the same people that gave us
banking systems,
and the sickness behind American Presidencies.
It's all...
#drugs
#freedom
1028 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
28th Sep 2009 2:10am
28th Sep 2009 2:10am
A self indulgent thankyou
I wanted to write a poem
for everyone and everything
to say 'I am not
entirely sorry.'
The arguments,
the broken glass,
the women
and their now solemn
ex-boyfriends,
husbands
and fathers.
It has all helped:
Given me the word.
Put me in a place
where I don't have to rhyme
or make over-worded sentimental
metaphorical statements
older than time.
I am fresh.
I present myself -naked,
hiding nothing.
The gut is not sucked in.
No make up.
I present myself
without fear
or falseness....
for everyone and everything
to say 'I am not
entirely sorry.'
The arguments,
the broken glass,
the women
and their now solemn
ex-boyfriends,
husbands
and fathers.
It has all helped:
Given me the word.
Put me in a place
where I don't have to rhyme
or make over-worded sentimental
metaphorical statements
older than time.
I am fresh.
I present myself -naked,
hiding nothing.
The gut is not sucked in.
No make up.
I present myself
without fear
or falseness....
1139 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Sep 2009 00:50am
26th Sep 2009 00:50am
SILENCE!!
Please, for the sakes of yourselves,
SHUT THE HELL UP.
If you are going to talk
then talk.
No one who is anyone
wants to hear
how you love the football
or despise the government
and immigration.
It is dull, two dimensional speak.
It says a lot about you
-you say a lot about yourself:
dull and two dimensional things.
But, I suppose I like listening.
I now know that I have nothing
to worry about.
I got out, in a sense.
Sometimes it gets lonely
looking in at everything
you can't be part of,
but most of the time...
SHUT THE HELL UP.
If you are going to talk
then talk.
No one who is anyone
wants to hear
how you love the football
or despise the government
and immigration.
It is dull, two dimensional speak.
It says a lot about you
-you say a lot about yourself:
dull and two dimensional things.
But, I suppose I like listening.
I now know that I have nothing
to worry about.
I got out, in a sense.
Sometimes it gets lonely
looking in at everything
you can't be part of,
but most of the time...
1300 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Sep 2009 00:48am
26th Sep 2009 00:48am
Advice from an empty bottle
They cling,
they dive.
Sometimes they rise to the top.
They suck,
they blow.
Sometimes they get lucky.
At the end of the day
our fight isn't worth it.
We press on
against nothing.
We try and make sense of it,
but that is as much of a waste of time
as wasting time.
You can keep telling yourself
that you're something else;
progressing further.
I used to do that.
I was wrong.
You will die just like me,
and I will die just like you.
they dive.
Sometimes they rise to the top.
They suck,
they blow.
Sometimes they get lucky.
At the end of the day
our fight isn't worth it.
We press on
against nothing.
We try and make sense of it,
but that is as much of a waste of time
as wasting time.
You can keep telling yourself
that you're something else;
progressing further.
I used to do that.
I was wrong.
You will die just like me,
and I will die just like you.
936 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Sep 2009 7:13pm
24th Sep 2009 7:13pm
The Ironic Jukebox
If I walk in here alone,
When I sit among maybe two others
at a distance.
Knowing that my company
Couldn’t spare a penny for the jukebox
- It all goes on escapism -
That is when it starts playing
Louder than when I pay for it.
And every time
It hits me in the core of my head
With lyrics that eat me up
Bad Lyrics:
'People that need people,
are the luckiest in the world.'
I doubt that,
I doubt that very much.
Needing, is detrimental,
but the lyrics continue
Those bad lyrics:
'Everybody's got to have somebody.'...
When I sit among maybe two others
at a distance.
Knowing that my company
Couldn’t spare a penny for the jukebox
- It all goes on escapism -
That is when it starts playing
Louder than when I pay for it.
And every time
It hits me in the core of my head
With lyrics that eat me up
Bad Lyrics:
'People that need people,
are the luckiest in the world.'
I doubt that,
I doubt that very much.
Needing, is detrimental,
but the lyrics continue
Those bad lyrics:
'Everybody's got to have somebody.'...
1024 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Sep 2009 7:03pm
24th Sep 2009 7:03pm
Staring at better days from the cage
It is 9:50 am
I’m no longer tired,
but tired out.
I think about my mother
pinned down by her husband.
Unable to live.
Forced to live his life instead:
One without air,
or beauty
or love.
I think about my sister
who in seven weeks
will have a child.
She has had no childhood.
Now she drinks
and inhales twenty-a-day,
Desperately trying to find something
without the aid of the means
she was always denied.
I consider my father
who is old now
and constantly attacked by depleting health
We know so...
I’m no longer tired,
but tired out.
I think about my mother
pinned down by her husband.
Unable to live.
Forced to live his life instead:
One without air,
or beauty
or love.
I think about my sister
who in seven weeks
will have a child.
She has had no childhood.
Now she drinks
and inhales twenty-a-day,
Desperately trying to find something
without the aid of the means
she was always denied.
I consider my father
who is old now
and constantly attacked by depleting health
We know so...
957 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2009 1:58am
23rd Sep 2009 1:58am
Burning Bookshelves
I am a little puzzled
by this obsession
with distractions.
I pin-point
escapist literature
for this.
Unknowingly
the human spirit
- in most cases -
seems to want
to avoid
its own sicknesses
by any means.
It takes itself away
to other plains
in to fairy tails
where it can only learn of
alliteration, fantasy and softness.
Clean and easy writing
that exposes nothing:
A safety net
for the budding intellectual.
Here I sit
staring at my bookshelf
wondering what the difference is....
by this obsession
with distractions.
I pin-point
escapist literature
for this.
Unknowingly
the human spirit
- in most cases -
seems to want
to avoid
its own sicknesses
by any means.
It takes itself away
to other plains
in to fairy tails
where it can only learn of
alliteration, fantasy and softness.
Clean and easy writing
that exposes nothing:
A safety net
for the budding intellectual.
Here I sit
staring at my bookshelf
wondering what the difference is....
904 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
