Submissions by DarkPandorasKnight
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I once sat on a boulder in the middle of a paddock on a hot, sunny day and let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream, a sigh, a whimper and a cry. I dedicate all of my poems to finding, verbalising and feeling that feeling again.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd Nov 2016 6:49am
22nd Nov 2016 6:49am
Australian Cereals
snap, crackle, pop
go the screams of an oppressed culture
waiting for mercy
and for faces to breathe.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the TV being monitored
websites disappearing
like the people who dispute.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the cane on her back
break the flesh, BREAK IT
if she doesn't serve you well.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the food in our mouths
torn from mass production
in a country where you stand in line.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the salt-stained wool
over their salt-stained eyes
Do you care?...
go the screams of an oppressed culture
waiting for mercy
and for faces to breathe.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the TV being monitored
websites disappearing
like the people who dispute.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the cane on her back
break the flesh, BREAK IT
if she doesn't serve you well.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the food in our mouths
torn from mass production
in a country where you stand in line.
Snap, crackle, pop
goes the salt-stained wool
over their salt-stained eyes
Do you care?...
564 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
22nd Nov 2016 3:54am
22nd Nov 2016 3:54am
Illusions of Heaven Shield Us From Hell
Steeped in silence
(blood-red violence)
the beast inside awakes.
Guard the border
(endless slaughter)
the war has just begun.
A dead lamb bleats
(a gruesome feat)
and karma skins our souls.
A missing child
(report's been filed)
we'll never eat his sins.
Stripped of mercy
(controversy)
we bathe in deadened stars.
(blood-red violence)
the beast inside awakes.
Guard the border
(endless slaughter)
the war has just begun.
A dead lamb bleats
(a gruesome feat)
and karma skins our souls.
A missing child
(report's been filed)
we'll never eat his sins.
Stripped of mercy
(controversy)
we bathe in deadened stars.
627 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
21st Nov 2016 10:05pm
21st Nov 2016 10:05pm
The Bumps on Your Head From the Bumps in the Night
He's darkest night
on the darkest street
the haunting shuffle of a strangers feet.
He's the gnarled tree
and its grasping vine
the icy finger
down your tingling spine.
He's the shifting form
in a swirling fog.
The glowing eyes
of a stalking dog.
He's the wrenching creak
beneath your floors
as you dash inside and bolt the doors.
He's the fear
that seeps into your bones
when there's silence
on your telephone.
He'll get you
when you're all alone...
he's spooky.
on the darkest street
the haunting shuffle of a strangers feet.
He's the gnarled tree
and its grasping vine
the icy finger
down your tingling spine.
He's the shifting form
in a swirling fog.
The glowing eyes
of a stalking dog.
He's the wrenching creak
beneath your floors
as you dash inside and bolt the doors.
He's the fear
that seeps into your bones
when there's silence
on your telephone.
He'll get you
when you're all alone...
he's spooky.
572 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
21st Nov 2016 4:45am
21st Nov 2016 4:45am
Rebellion
Let's write away our sins and tragedies
awash in the silt of a time beneath seas
dry us in the water of a baptised son
and hope and pray that the war has begun.
Everything is not as it seems
because the words we hear are all from screens
and the faces you see are not what to believe
but who is the lie and what's left to retrieve?
Stilted outposts bespeak of stilted words
amidst a standstill in negotiations - a country in thirds.
One part salad, one part meat
and one part the people to wash your damn feet.
We're...
awash in the silt of a time beneath seas
dry us in the water of a baptised son
and hope and pray that the war has begun.
Everything is not as it seems
because the words we hear are all from screens
and the faces you see are not what to believe
but who is the lie and what's left to retrieve?
Stilted outposts bespeak of stilted words
amidst a standstill in negotiations - a country in thirds.
One part salad, one part meat
and one part the people to wash your damn feet.
We're...
702 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
17th Nov 2016 00:42am
17th Nov 2016 00:42am
Embrace Me
Embrace me.
I know you as you don't know me.
When you whisper to yourself at night
breathing words against yourself,
drowning in the oceans cried into your pillows
I'm there.
Embrace me.
I'm there as you dream of plunging
of falling down the steepness of a cliff;
as you play out how drowning would feel,
imagining the euphoria in your veins
as your lungs burn hot enough
to melt your heart right out of the rotted cavity it pains inside.
I'm there.
Embrace me.
I know you like you don't know me
because I'm...
I know you as you don't know me.
When you whisper to yourself at night
breathing words against yourself,
drowning in the oceans cried into your pillows
I'm there.
Embrace me.
I'm there as you dream of plunging
of falling down the steepness of a cliff;
as you play out how drowning would feel,
imagining the euphoria in your veins
as your lungs burn hot enough
to melt your heart right out of the rotted cavity it pains inside.
I'm there.
Embrace me.
I know you like you don't know me
because I'm...
765 reads
9 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Nov 2016 11:50pm
15th Nov 2016 11:50pm
Beauty
To you, beauty is
an hourglass and porcelain
straight lines and curves
sharp edged jaws and noses
muscles and veins
people in magazines.
To me, beauty is
an hourglass and porcelain
musty pages and curved words
breezes that stretch to the sky and
a flightless body with a flighty mind.
A headlong longing for something more.
To you, beauty is
an hourglass and porcelain
scrabbled graphite and ink
faces and places
imagination and creation
a world of time lost to easel and colour.
an hourglass and porcelain
straight lines and curves
sharp edged jaws and noses
muscles and veins
people in magazines.
To me, beauty is
an hourglass and porcelain
musty pages and curved words
breezes that stretch to the sky and
a flightless body with a flighty mind.
A headlong longing for something more.
To you, beauty is
an hourglass and porcelain
scrabbled graphite and ink
faces and places
imagination and creation
a world of time lost to easel and colour.
915 reads
12 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by DarkPandorasKnight
