Submissions by Edu
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st Apr 2010 4:11pm
1st Apr 2010 4:11pm
The illusion of Number
Walking the tight-rope,
fragile jam-jar preserving the self,
ready to be crushed;
higher human values, mythicized;
destination forgotten, origin unseen.
You are just a number.
Libations poured for alcoholic Master,
née-farious man-God, willing servant to debauchery,
eager for Revenge.
There is only one
...unless your troupe has plagued the circus skies with others,
in which case there are more...or less
On the qui vive for Pyrrhic victories,
the Deceiver awaits, ...
fragile jam-jar preserving the self,
ready to be crushed;
higher human values, mythicized;
destination forgotten, origin unseen.
You are just a number.
Libations poured for alcoholic Master,
née-farious man-God, willing servant to debauchery,
eager for Revenge.
There is only one
...unless your troupe has plagued the circus skies with others,
in which case there are more...or less
On the qui vive for Pyrrhic victories,
the Deceiver awaits, ...
672 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Mar 2010 5:21pm
21st Mar 2010 5:21pm
descartes is a wanker
the bite of the chill, a boney embrace
like a sack over the mind, with a stomach
churned into sand, she hears not my cries,
no one sees my insides
no one sees my insides
I speak the truth with the light of my eyes
I shed my soul with the tears of my lies
I upset the Maker, which I made
I impressed the Devil, who I craved
I said I was saved.
es denkt.
like a sack over the mind, with a stomach
churned into sand, she hears not my cries,
no one sees my insides
no one sees my insides
I speak the truth with the light of my eyes
I shed my soul with the tears of my lies
I upset the Maker, which I made
I impressed the Devil, who I craved
I said I was saved.
es denkt.
793 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Mar 2010 5:07pm
21st Mar 2010 5:07pm
Revolution
Revolution
I sit in House of Lords and weep;
this is my country.
For so long the shame of English Empire
has caused me to deny my connection to this land,
this people.
The scarlet St. George stained with the blood
of blacks, browns, and poor dirty-white
Our spirit broken by hierarchy,
masonic ritual and false democracy,
National pride only exhibited
in a hooligan’s drunk-punch
God kill the Queen.
My Italian...
I sit in House of Lords and weep;
this is my country.
For so long the shame of English Empire
has caused me to deny my connection to this land,
this people.
The scarlet St. George stained with the blood
of blacks, browns, and poor dirty-white
Our spirit broken by hierarchy,
masonic ritual and false democracy,
National pride only exhibited
in a hooligan’s drunk-punch
God kill the Queen.
My Italian...
765 reads
0 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jan 2010 12:46pm
3rd Jan 2010 12:46pm
not the cure
it’s ages since i’ve written a poem,
it’s ages since i’ve dared to believe.
i am me again, but i still want to be more
releasing this life-force, wanking is not the cure
wanking is not the cure
wanking is not the cure
what is the cure?
i’m not sure
Off to have a wank....
it’s ages since i’ve dared to believe.
i am me again, but i still want to be more
releasing this life-force, wanking is not the cure
wanking is not the cure
wanking is not the cure
what is the cure?
i’m not sure
Off to have a wank....
710 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jan 2010 12:39pm
3rd Jan 2010 12:39pm
Mirror
Remember the days when we gazed
at those white light lockers in ‘dam,
that were talking?
Remember the nights of red lights
when we gazed in amaze at the boxes,
that were smiling
and shining...and pining?
We should have plucked the courage to fuck
to swallow our pride, let out the rage inside
and been alone with our opposites
Instead we mocked the Japanese flock
and laughed in tune with a photographer’s zoom
and a careless woman a-chasing...
The Anne Frank low, the mushroom glow,
the chess games played, the...
at those white light lockers in ‘dam,
that were talking?
Remember the nights of red lights
when we gazed in amaze at the boxes,
that were smiling
and shining...and pining?
We should have plucked the courage to fuck
to swallow our pride, let out the rage inside
and been alone with our opposites
Instead we mocked the Japanese flock
and laughed in tune with a photographer’s zoom
and a careless woman a-chasing...
The Anne Frank low, the mushroom glow,
the chess games played, the...
746 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
1st Jan 2010 8:28pm
1st Jan 2010 8:28pm
2in1
windmills dont exist in my mind
only on the plain
all i know is what it is to be alive
yet death provides life’s frame
sometimes i feel i’m dreaming, watching
other times i feel right here
my emotions cloud my mind, my vision
i’m just a particle of fear
lisping lipid-lips,
rap, to blood-soaked, pimpled ears
i’ve left so much of my spirit
in those Past oh-so-nears
...
only on the plain
all i know is what it is to be alive
yet death provides life’s frame
sometimes i feel i’m dreaming, watching
other times i feel right here
my emotions cloud my mind, my vision
i’m just a particle of fear
lisping lipid-lips,
rap, to blood-soaked, pimpled ears
i’ve left so much of my spirit
in those Past oh-so-nears
...
867 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
16th Nov 2009 6:05pm
16th Nov 2009 6:05pm
Reflections on A Perfect World?
I’m not yet capable of love
I’ve only just learnt to hate
My emptiness may be dancing
But not in tune with my fate
The murk of my soul shadows
The tears of my stomach whine
Regret, forget redemption song
I don’t want the past to be mine
In conflict with my conscience
At odds with the woman within
I’ve ceased to pray for Divinity
And wallow in original sin
I have friends who accept me
They can see my inner light
But I only bear-hug trees
Let Nature see my fright
I am the Earth
I am the Devil and...
I’ve only just learnt to hate
My emptiness may be dancing
But not in tune with my fate
The murk of my soul shadows
The tears of my stomach whine
Regret, forget redemption song
I don’t want the past to be mine
In conflict with my conscience
At odds with the woman within
I’ve ceased to pray for Divinity
And wallow in original sin
I have friends who accept me
They can see my inner light
But I only bear-hug trees
Let Nature see my fright
I am the Earth
I am the Devil and...
732 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
16th Nov 2009 5:59pm
16th Nov 2009 5:59pm
Luth 'n' Tries
I was born in the valley of the shadow of Death
I was raised in the kitchens of Hell
Breast fed by a nippleless whore
who only had her pussy to sell
She only had her pussy to sell
I was smacked in the head by the Devil himself
And polished his horns at school
I tried to rape myself up the arse
And was promoted to Lucifer’s Fool
And then God stepped in, the Mighty Bastard
Orphan to the Sky and the Sun
He ripped me out of a Witch’s clutches
And tattooed ‘Despair’ on my bum
He tattooed ‘Despair’ on my bum
...
I was raised in the kitchens of Hell
Breast fed by a nippleless whore
who only had her pussy to sell
She only had her pussy to sell
I was smacked in the head by the Devil himself
And polished his horns at school
I tried to rape myself up the arse
And was promoted to Lucifer’s Fool
And then God stepped in, the Mighty Bastard
Orphan to the Sky and the Sun
He ripped me out of a Witch’s clutches
And tattooed ‘Despair’ on my bum
He tattooed ‘Despair’ on my bum
...
720 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th Nov 2009 10:55pm
13th Nov 2009 10:55pm
Hooded wolves
Hooded wolves, bearded sharks
tight-rope walkers dressed as narks
the drip of butter on a scalded tongue
the silence of victory, after defeat has been won.
What do
these forays
into the forest
of my mind
these ample titbits of my despair
gone blind
have in common?
Tied together by the lan
gwidge of the midge (and the fly)
the cooling rhythm of
a broken fridge (and its smile)
they are sir
real. so kneel
before this might
this pen man ship’s plight
and say
Dwight...
that’s not a name
for a popstar!...
tight-rope walkers dressed as narks
the drip of butter on a scalded tongue
the silence of victory, after defeat has been won.
What do
these forays
into the forest
of my mind
these ample titbits of my despair
gone blind
have in common?
Tied together by the lan
gwidge of the midge (and the fly)
the cooling rhythm of
a broken fridge (and its smile)
they are sir
real. so kneel
before this might
this pen man ship’s plight
and say
Dwight...
that’s not a name
for a popstar!...
716 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2009 00:45am
23rd Sep 2009 00:45am
Ode to Crack
the sun’s whistle
cuts through...
landslides in my brain
a cloud’s sleep-stained eye
winks and bleeds
its dewy discontent
as i cut the sky’s neck,
watch its head roll out into the starless beyond
and i prepare to disfigure its body
with
the island Earth’s fragile
broken
Hate.
green blood oozes from
my harmony heart
and...
cuts through...
landslides in my brain
a cloud’s sleep-stained eye
winks and bleeds
its dewy discontent
as i cut the sky’s neck,
watch its head roll out into the starless beyond
and i prepare to disfigure its body
with
the island Earth’s fragile
broken
Hate.
green blood oozes from
my harmony heart
and...
985 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Sep 2009 9:12pm
20th Sep 2009 9:12pm
I know nothing of lym...
I know nothing of lymph nodes.
Mysticism is spiritualization of the body, not excarnation of the Mind.
Dogs have feet.
I am more like a dog than a god
more like a sigh than the sky
Earth, Sun, Water, Waves, Stars and Wind
I am the odd one out.
An eye of the Biosphere is my brain
Nature’s doubt is my pain
I breathe because of the train.
Televisions for the dead and
a machine to make food from a diamond and the sun...
at graves the ghosts play their theatre ::/;;{
Greek Gods oiled and brushed, we...
Mysticism is spiritualization of the body, not excarnation of the Mind.
Dogs have feet.
I am more like a dog than a god
more like a sigh than the sky
Earth, Sun, Water, Waves, Stars and Wind
I am the odd one out.
An eye of the Biosphere is my brain
Nature’s doubt is my pain
I breathe because of the train.
Televisions for the dead and
a machine to make food from a diamond and the sun...
at graves the ghosts play their theatre ::/;;{
Greek Gods oiled and brushed, we...
734 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Sep 2009 9:05pm
20th Sep 2009 9:05pm
allgau
the lakes hold the secrets of consciousness
in their shimmer
as God’s tears dance
in the light of Her smile.
turquoise truth covers sands of serenity,
crystal clear to the fish who call it home
the mountains hear only silence
but breathe dumb wisdom to the mists
until they learn
they must share what’s dew
dew, green elemental warriors bathe
– no finer test of sight than leaf discernment –
oh, what it would be, to be a tree!
pure growth and decay
no reason to cause delay
nothing said, but nothing to say:...
in their shimmer
as God’s tears dance
in the light of Her smile.
turquoise truth covers sands of serenity,
crystal clear to the fish who call it home
the mountains hear only silence
but breathe dumb wisdom to the mists
until they learn
they must share what’s dew
dew, green elemental warriors bathe
– no finer test of sight than leaf discernment –
oh, what it would be, to be a tree!
pure growth and decay
no reason to cause delay
nothing said, but nothing to say:...
832 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Edu
