Submissions by Envoy
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Amateur poet, life-long writer; everything is blood and sex, ghosts and magic...
II. Beacons In The Smoke
This poem is the continuation of "I. Letter From A Ghost"
There are beacons, I recognize them;
prismatic shadows making sense of
this whitewash. Their energies bleed
out into the atmosphere - a full spectrum
of polarities that tear a dispersive rift
in my chest.
Ethereal winds carry me to the nearest. I am
sheltered by an air of graciousness - a
home-dweller, surely, to take me in.
"Whom am I to thank?" I spake aloud,
only for my beacon to shy away and
make shrill the delicate air.
When was it in...
There are beacons, I recognize them;
prismatic shadows making sense of
this whitewash. Their energies bleed
out into the atmosphere - a full spectrum
of polarities that tear a dispersive rift
in my chest.
Ethereal winds carry me to the nearest. I am
sheltered by an air of graciousness - a
home-dweller, surely, to take me in.
"Whom am I to thank?" I spake aloud,
only for my beacon to shy away and
make shrill the delicate air.
When was it in...
539 reads
0 Comments
The Trees Won't Tell
841 reads
6 Comments
One Year And A Lifetime
Girl, it's only one year
until I can make this
lifetime of words
mean a little something more.
We can leave our memories
here and there in the trees;
we know they won't tell any-
one what we've done.
I've made a lot of promises that
I don't know how to keep;
my dreams are just sitting here,
bent on a blinking cursor.
Someday, I'll have a life, and
you'll have yours, and we'll be
happy just wasting them away
together.
until I can make this
lifetime of words
mean a little something more.
We can leave our memories
here and there in the trees;
we know they won't tell any-
one what we've done.
I've made a lot of promises that
I don't know how to keep;
my dreams are just sitting here,
bent on a blinking cursor.
Someday, I'll have a life, and
you'll have yours, and we'll be
happy just wasting them away
together.
525 reads
0 Comments
Succubus
874 reads
2 Comments
Geography
The scorching summer heat steeps
her chamber - layers of brick and mortar -
stagnant in a late orchid dusk,
and the way black silk envelops
her hills and valleys, and cauterized trails
wind runic and free across her lands carries in
a need to get lost in her geography.
Her dress is the sun's graceful descent,
dripping below the horizon of her hips -
unveiling a kiss of bronze and fuchsia;
I'm begging for storms.
A spark connects us, and for a moment, we
are the rain. Drops turn to beads turn to
a downpour, a clamorous embrace,...
her chamber - layers of brick and mortar -
stagnant in a late orchid dusk,
and the way black silk envelops
her hills and valleys, and cauterized trails
wind runic and free across her lands carries in
a need to get lost in her geography.
Her dress is the sun's graceful descent,
dripping below the horizon of her hips -
unveiling a kiss of bronze and fuchsia;
I'm begging for storms.
A spark connects us, and for a moment, we
are the rain. Drops turn to beads turn to
a downpour, a clamorous embrace,...
668 reads
2 Comments
Splatter Canvas
936 reads
4 Comments
The Swingman
Some nights, I wake
in ice and sweat. In the summer,
with a light immersing the corner,
I peer through a blanket scope
down the hall; television static
reverberates up the staircase,
and there he is.
His jagged outline smears into the walkway,
leaving me to dig sleep out of my eyes.
Tonight, he's bent at the waist,
perhaps growing too tall for this home, or that
just becoming his posture.
Eyes settle on me with a bare skull
jutting out at the craned end of his neck -
I'm...
in ice and sweat. In the summer,
with a light immersing the corner,
I peer through a blanket scope
down the hall; television static
reverberates up the staircase,
and there he is.
His jagged outline smears into the walkway,
leaving me to dig sleep out of my eyes.
Tonight, he's bent at the waist,
perhaps growing too tall for this home, or that
just becoming his posture.
Eyes settle on me with a bare skull
jutting out at the craned end of his neck -
I'm...
572 reads
0 Comments
I. Letter From A Ghost
I have passed into The Veil.
My flesh is shed, I am electric
but a far undertaking of Man -
a wind to the mortal sails.
I twist on a whim, snaking
like a current in a void towards
a sunken sun, bereft of heat,
no smoke pressed to dust against the sky,
thick with warm colors.
Skies are polluted a sickly grey,
I would breathe white, were
the air not to escape me.
Feelings here are difficult to bear,
like a reticent drowning - static,
numb, I...
My flesh is shed, I am electric
but a far undertaking of Man -
a wind to the mortal sails.
I twist on a whim, snaking
like a current in a void towards
a sunken sun, bereft of heat,
no smoke pressed to dust against the sky,
thick with warm colors.
Skies are polluted a sickly grey,
I would breathe white, were
the air not to escape me.
Feelings here are difficult to bear,
like a reticent drowning - static,
numb, I...
556 reads
3 Comments
Killing You
Mother and Father, I'm killing you, I know;
knocked on your door the other morning,
took off my hat - she cried, he got angry -
someone had to tell you your little boy is
dead.
Dragged him out of the lake myself
after washing the blood off my hands;
blonde-haired, blue-eyed - he trusted me.
The fingerprints match, it's not long before
I'll be moving out and disconnecting my phone.
You gave him God, you led him to the machines;
he didn't want to see the world that way -
wasn't ready, you said, just a phase
when...
knocked on your door the other morning,
took off my hat - she cried, he got angry -
someone had to tell you your little boy is
dead.
Dragged him out of the lake myself
after washing the blood off my hands;
blonde-haired, blue-eyed - he trusted me.
The fingerprints match, it's not long before
I'll be moving out and disconnecting my phone.
You gave him God, you led him to the machines;
he didn't want to see the world that way -
wasn't ready, you said, just a phase
when...
605 reads
2 Comments
Bloodslut
756 reads
6 Comments
The Jack o' Lanterns
A quiet glance back at a horizon
on fire - I am the only monster,
this Halloween and every other.
The subtle truth in my exterior
dwarfed by gourd and sickle; this town
finds what I cannot in
sideways glances.
Cross-stitched, branded -
your goddamn sideshow -
the pressing stench of soiled leaves
once red, horizon red,
nothing but the shade
digging my footsteps, ...
on fire - I am the only monster,
this Halloween and every other.
The subtle truth in my exterior
dwarfed by gourd and sickle; this town
finds what I cannot in
sideways glances.
Cross-stitched, branded -
your goddamn sideshow -
the pressing stench of soiled leaves
once red, horizon red,
nothing but the shade
digging my footsteps, ...
573 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Envoy
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