Submissions by Gebruike
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
The Mirror
Is there a mirror above the earth
which shadowed shells can see,
and see in it reflected
their first time being free?
Is there a decision,
you cruel thing; you entity,
or is the entity absurd
false but real,
and crawling toward its dignity?
Will it end with us
basking in confusion
and you;
with silent laughter, knowing
existence is our madness
and confusion must be engraved
to keep man's sanity?
(Poem I just wrote - pretty cryptic, I suppose.)
which shadowed shells can see,
and see in it reflected
their first time being free?
Is there a decision,
you cruel thing; you entity,
or is the entity absurd
false but real,
and crawling toward its dignity?
Will it end with us
basking in confusion
and you;
with silent laughter, knowing
existence is our madness
and confusion must be engraved
to keep man's sanity?
(Poem I just wrote - pretty cryptic, I suppose.)
743 reads
1 Comment
Fitting In; or, A Look at the Death of Myself.
desperate grasp on the branches
of a bank-side tree;
they break
you sink
look up; water fills your eyes
the sunlight sees you;
it dances
leisurely to the depths
of this comfortable river
with the current twisting;
your limbs
you dance with the sunlight
until it fades to black.
of a bank-side tree;
they break
you sink
look up; water fills your eyes
the sunlight sees you;
it dances
leisurely to the depths
of this comfortable river
with the current twisting;
your limbs
you dance with the sunlight
until it fades to black.
736 reads
3 Comments
Facepaint
they all say they do it
they should be, they decided
the moral few
in the minds of themselves
and their circles
servants
they say, they say
they do it, and do so
we don't hate them
they don't all do it
and would lie to keep
their sanity, but really
it's the facepaint they wear
they should be, they decided
the moral few
in the minds of themselves
and their circles
servants
they say, they say
they do it, and do so
we don't hate them
they don't all do it
and would lie to keep
their sanity, but really
it's the facepaint they wear
702 reads
1 Comment
Perception Begets Reality
I heard that they told us it'd be alright
I heard that they'd heed their own warnings
I heard that they called for more protection
I heard that we went along
I heard that they imprisoned all those children
I heard that they kept them locked up from birth
I heard that they did experiments
I heard that we went along
I heard that he was their savior
I heard that he set them free
I heard that they killed him
I heard that they'd heed their own warnings
I heard that they called for more protection
I heard that we went along
I heard that they imprisoned all those children
I heard that they kept them locked up from birth
I heard that they did experiments
I heard that we went along
I heard that he was their savior
I heard that he set them free
I heard that they killed him
734 reads
0 Comments
Not a Counter-counter-counter Poem
consider it now;
that the house
still alone
save for us
has stuck in time
and the sunlight
stopped in air
and the blankets
half-fallen
and our eyes
locked aligned
and our smiles
jointly stitched
are not sirens
of ecstasy
like one string
of a guitar
like one key
of a piano
but signals
to a passion
like strumming
like falling
like tumbling
on those keys
and still we crave
each other
but in this still
frame of life
all that's obvious
is love.
that the house
still alone
save for us
has stuck in time
and the sunlight
stopped in air
and the blankets
half-fallen
and our eyes
locked aligned
and our smiles
jointly stitched
are not sirens
of ecstasy
like one string
of a guitar
like one key
of a piano
but signals
to a passion
like strumming
like falling
like tumbling
on those keys
and still we crave
each other
but in this still
frame of life
all that's obvious
is love.
1004 reads
4 Comments
For Claire, a Sonnet.
Chocolate is an oil-paint
with waves of thick black gloss
And I could buy a diamond ring
irregular but terse, like us
But Claire, we don't need any gloss
to shine out any rough spots
And though a diamond is ornate
sometimes even carbon rots.
You deserve the stars, at first
like splatters on a Pollock
And I'd gift the universe
apart from all the havoc
But jokes aside,
I'm going to get you a teddy bear
and this is not a sonnet.
with waves of thick black gloss
And I could buy a diamond ring
irregular but terse, like us
But Claire, we don't need any gloss
to shine out any rough spots
And though a diamond is ornate
sometimes even carbon rots.
You deserve the stars, at first
like splatters on a Pollock
And I'd gift the universe
apart from all the havoc
But jokes aside,
I'm going to get you a teddy bear
and this is not a sonnet.
852 reads
0 Comments
I Was Sent First.
I was sent first,
to the spot they couldn't place;
a village that's unmarked,
on their maps.
I came about the village,
when the summer tide was turning,
and the cold began to settle in.
The streets, though bustling,
were filled with people calm and still,
without regard to me, or any malice,
outside these city walls.
In native, unassuming dress,
a fox in feathers,
I took in the sights and sounds of peace,
for reporting to my men of war.
I saw a wrinkled man,
frail from the outside,
sitting at a storefront....
to the spot they couldn't place;
a village that's unmarked,
on their maps.
I came about the village,
when the summer tide was turning,
and the cold began to settle in.
The streets, though bustling,
were filled with people calm and still,
without regard to me, or any malice,
outside these city walls.
In native, unassuming dress,
a fox in feathers,
I took in the sights and sounds of peace,
for reporting to my men of war.
I saw a wrinkled man,
frail from the outside,
sitting at a storefront....
753 reads
2 Comments
Chocolate
A bite or two of chocolate,
will always melt on the tongue,
to be swallowed,
and stomached.
But there's a river
that flows,
with broad black gloss;
bubbling with bittersweet vocation.
And if swallowed is not stomached;
it rushes to the heart.
A bite or two of chocolate,
is a bit of foam in the sea
to which the river flows.
And with no stepping stones,
or shallow places;
the heart will fill, and grow,
to learn its sense of taste.
will always melt on the tongue,
to be swallowed,
and stomached.
But there's a river
that flows,
with broad black gloss;
bubbling with bittersweet vocation.
And if swallowed is not stomached;
it rushes to the heart.
A bite or two of chocolate,
is a bit of foam in the sea
to which the river flows.
And with no stepping stones,
or shallow places;
the heart will fill, and grow,
to learn its sense of taste.
816 reads
0 Comments
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