Submissions by Gibran
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Jan 2013 4:01am
23rd Jan 2013 4:01am
Riley
Her mother is a harsh woman,
vibrant, in her own way.
Laughs loudly and often,
thinks little and cares less.
A good woman.
A harsh woman.
She is not her mother.
There is something soft and
open about her. No secret remains in
her heart.
She told me, once, of the boy she loves.
He has a girlfriend, but slept with her on the side.
That was ok with her, she said, because at least
he wanted her in his life. But once she let her secret out
(i love you) he didn't want to play anymore.
"I just really wish he would like me...
vibrant, in her own way.
Laughs loudly and often,
thinks little and cares less.
A good woman.
A harsh woman.
She is not her mother.
There is something soft and
open about her. No secret remains in
her heart.
She told me, once, of the boy she loves.
He has a girlfriend, but slept with her on the side.
That was ok with her, she said, because at least
he wanted her in his life. But once she let her secret out
(i love you) he didn't want to play anymore.
"I just really wish he would like me...
673 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Jan 2013 2:21am
16th Jan 2013 2:21am
Naked
Over the shoulder of some
inconsequential man, the love of your life, or something
like that.
Over his shoulder we exchanged our first
glance.
Slow and methodical,
up
and
down
you peeled me open,
and left the skin of my mind
on the dirty carpet littered with laundry.
I stood there, naked.
And I knew in that moment
that the world was a different place
than I had previously supposed.
(Thus far, my dear, you have always
proved this to be true.)
I lay here now,
as you sleep next to me in your panties and...
inconsequential man, the love of your life, or something
like that.
Over his shoulder we exchanged our first
glance.
Slow and methodical,
up
and
down
you peeled me open,
and left the skin of my mind
on the dirty carpet littered with laundry.
I stood there, naked.
And I knew in that moment
that the world was a different place
than I had previously supposed.
(Thus far, my dear, you have always
proved this to be true.)
I lay here now,
as you sleep next to me in your panties and...
719 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Jan 2013 2:36am
10th Jan 2013 2:36am
Declaration
This is my breath to take.
There are so many wounds that I could blame
on you.
So many private hurts that I could lay on
your shoulders.
And perhaps stating that here is my way of doing just that.
But.
This is my breath to take.
You do not get to take away the things you tried to ruin.
You do not get to hurt me any more.
I am not your property, and I am not
responsible for you.
This is MY breath to take.
And I will no longer blame you
for what I allowed.
I will no longer allow
the things for which you...
There are so many wounds that I could blame
on you.
So many private hurts that I could lay on
your shoulders.
And perhaps stating that here is my way of doing just that.
But.
This is my breath to take.
You do not get to take away the things you tried to ruin.
You do not get to hurt me any more.
I am not your property, and I am not
responsible for you.
This is MY breath to take.
And I will no longer blame you
for what I allowed.
I will no longer allow
the things for which you...
750 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Dec 2012 1:58am
24th Dec 2012 1:58am
Phone Call
The sound of your voice;
a sugar-coated violet
resting on white silk.
Luxury.
Invades me,
holds me captive in chains of smoke
rolling and
roiling
against a pane of
darkened glass.
It fills my ears
like Merlot fills my glass
and splashes
with a menthol coolness,
sending shivers down my spine.
Babygirl,
I've missed you
and wanted you
all day.
But here I am,
and there you are, and I've got one thing
left to say:
If ever there was a time
to say
my
name
it's now.
a sugar-coated violet
resting on white silk.
Luxury.
Invades me,
holds me captive in chains of smoke
rolling and
roiling
against a pane of
darkened glass.
It fills my ears
like Merlot fills my glass
and splashes
with a menthol coolness,
sending shivers down my spine.
Babygirl,
I've missed you
and wanted you
all day.
But here I am,
and there you are, and I've got one thing
left to say:
If ever there was a time
to say
my
name
it's now.
782 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
18th Dec 2012 2:52am
18th Dec 2012 2:52am
Wetness
We parked the car
by the lake, a little private corner
of a vastly public world.
I turned off the engine
and maneuvered to a better position.
I laid back
and watched.
You straddled me
with your legs of (ivory)silk.
I could feel the nothingness
that was your panties that day,
up under the skirt
that had given me visions
fantastic, religious
all day.
Reaching up for the low ceiling,
you caressed the cheap upholstery
with fingertips that taunted me.
Even your fingers, love,
yes, even they mocked me.
...
by the lake, a little private corner
of a vastly public world.
I turned off the engine
and maneuvered to a better position.
I laid back
and watched.
You straddled me
with your legs of (ivory)silk.
I could feel the nothingness
that was your panties that day,
up under the skirt
that had given me visions
fantastic, religious
all day.
Reaching up for the low ceiling,
you caressed the cheap upholstery
with fingertips that taunted me.
Even your fingers, love,
yes, even they mocked me.
...
1608 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Dec 2012 8:19pm
10th Dec 2012 8:19pm
Said Whilst She Put On My Lover's Pants Backwards
I'm a
thermometer.
A reader of
the temperatures
of other people's
souls.
I pick up on
the way they
talk and
think and
feel.
It's tiring work,
reading their souls.
Trying to be
A good friend and
lover.
Trying to soften
the blows of life.
But I'm a
thermometer,
and that's what I do.
thermometer.
A reader of
the temperatures
of other people's
souls.
I pick up on
the way they
talk and
think and
feel.
It's tiring work,
reading their souls.
Trying to be
A good friend and
lover.
Trying to soften
the blows of life.
But I'm a
thermometer,
and that's what I do.
688 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
1st Sep 2012 8:55pm
1st Sep 2012 8:55pm
Shatter
Stands at the window
making eyes at her own reflection.
Wonders what will happen
when the glass breaks.
The room is small and
dark and
everyday. Ordinariness and lack of
fantasy abide and abound.
Life keeps going on,
the couch is still ripped.
The curtains still plaid,
and the dishes still need done.
Thinks about the feeling of her
fist against shattering-incarnate
and what will it feel like
to be part of the glass -
her skin will
beinthesamespace
and the molecules will mingle
- and maybe she will ...
making eyes at her own reflection.
Wonders what will happen
when the glass breaks.
The room is small and
dark and
everyday. Ordinariness and lack of
fantasy abide and abound.
Life keeps going on,
the couch is still ripped.
The curtains still plaid,
and the dishes still need done.
Thinks about the feeling of her
fist against shattering-incarnate
and what will it feel like
to be part of the glass -
her skin will
beinthesamespace
and the molecules will mingle
- and maybe she will ...
791 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st Sep 2012 8:50pm
1st Sep 2012 8:50pm
But the Scars On Her Arms
She
never cried because it was her
daddy and she knew,
really,
he
loved her.
never cried because it was her
daddy and she knew,
really,
he
loved her.
755 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Jul 2012 2:34am
13th Jul 2012 2:34am
Hope
Honesty never became me.
It was a veil of its own, and I
used it to the best of my
small, untalented abilities.
Victim this,
Harsh release that.
You take my breath away
and turn it into stone.
I wish, sometimes, that I had
taken more time with the
pleasures of rambling, of
stroking and ripping.
But to tell you that
would be to break
this little connection we seem to have
forged at the last minute.
I've been marinating, or
vascillating, and it's come to
the point of breakage. ...
It was a veil of its own, and I
used it to the best of my
small, untalented abilities.
Victim this,
Harsh release that.
You take my breath away
and turn it into stone.
I wish, sometimes, that I had
taken more time with the
pleasures of rambling, of
stroking and ripping.
But to tell you that
would be to break
this little connection we seem to have
forged at the last minute.
I've been marinating, or
vascillating, and it's come to
the point of breakage. ...
783 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Jun 2012 2:13am
24th Jun 2012 2:13am
You Left Me
You left me.
You fucking left me.
For a flat-chested fat-ass skank
with a husband and three kids
and her husband
is your best friend
who always took
your side against mine.
But I guess that's the way
your heart moved today.
So you fucking left me
and I'm supposed to sit here
and cry
and want you back.
Well I do.
And I'm crying
(with a bottle, goddammit).
And I don't have a
positive, reaffirming message today.
Because I know that it takes two
to tango
to fuck
to make a relationship self-destruct.
It's...
You fucking left me.
For a flat-chested fat-ass skank
with a husband and three kids
and her husband
is your best friend
who always took
your side against mine.
But I guess that's the way
your heart moved today.
So you fucking left me
and I'm supposed to sit here
and cry
and want you back.
Well I do.
And I'm crying
(with a bottle, goddammit).
And I don't have a
positive, reaffirming message today.
Because I know that it takes two
to tango
to fuck
to make a relationship self-destruct.
It's...
897 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Jun 2012 11:59pm
20th Jun 2012 11:59pm
Consequences
It's just a song.
It's just
a song.
It's not what I think.
Just a
song.
I know you're not here.
You won't be.
If I can hear this,
if I can listen,
it will be just
a song.
All I want is what I know I need to let go.
It's just a day.
It's just
a day.
It's not the end
of the world.
Just a
day.
I know it was my choice.
It feels like the end of my world.
But if I can live through this,
it will be just
a day.
I am the walking wounded.
It's just a cliff.
It's just
a...
It's just
a song.
It's not what I think.
Just a
song.
I know you're not here.
You won't be.
If I can hear this,
if I can listen,
it will be just
a song.
All I want is what I know I need to let go.
It's just a day.
It's just
a day.
It's not the end
of the world.
Just a
day.
I know it was my choice.
It feels like the end of my world.
But if I can live through this,
it will be just
a day.
I am the walking wounded.
It's just a cliff.
It's just
a...
755 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Jun 2012 2:09am
18th Jun 2012 2:09am
Psycho-delic
I burnt my fingers on you, baby.
Make no mistake.
You made the whole world
a kaleidoscope. And I was just
one of the colors, a piece of glass that
spun in patterns
to suit you, love, and no other.
My thoughts became nothing, or maybe
everything,
but it came to nothing, or so it seems.
Remember me, I suppose is
my wish.
Remember that you wanted me.
Such a lovely burn,
a scar to last longer than
a piece of glass.
Melt me down in the fire, baby,
that's what's left of me.
For you, love,
and no other.
Make no mistake.
You made the whole world
a kaleidoscope. And I was just
one of the colors, a piece of glass that
spun in patterns
to suit you, love, and no other.
My thoughts became nothing, or maybe
everything,
but it came to nothing, or so it seems.
Remember me, I suppose is
my wish.
Remember that you wanted me.
Such a lovely burn,
a scar to last longer than
a piece of glass.
Melt me down in the fire, baby,
that's what's left of me.
For you, love,
and no other.
645 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Gibran
