Submissions by GraveyardBard (Mr. Addams)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Young carcass, old soul
DRUGS POEM
Published
16th Sep 2015 2:18am
16th Sep 2015 2:18am
IV
They sedated me today. First time for
everything, my appendages clamoring in
anxious tremors, skin sticking to brick
brown leather vinyl. I could see my
disorder on a screen, hear it in the
radio waves climbing and falling to
rock bottom, control it with deep
inhalations or shallow, desperate
gasps. Abnormally black skin - I am
no stranger to the pinches and
pricks - and a path infiltrated; hard to
settle with "There's nothing to worry
about", but never have I felt such
sweet psychological release, such
synthetic ease as...
everything, my appendages clamoring in
anxious tremors, skin sticking to brick
brown leather vinyl. I could see my
disorder on a screen, hear it in the
radio waves climbing and falling to
rock bottom, control it with deep
inhalations or shallow, desperate
gasps. Abnormally black skin - I am
no stranger to the pinches and
pricks - and a path infiltrated; hard to
settle with "There's nothing to worry
about", but never have I felt such
sweet psychological release, such
synthetic ease as...
842 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
14th Sep 2015 2:52am
14th Sep 2015 2:52am
Wanderlust
I think I'll go out and practice
breathing in her presence tonight.
Making eyes at constellations, well, her
eyes are just... just everywhere. And my
head spins in these verdant fields,
emerald shards bend and sway to the
will of the wind. Disorient me, give me
lust for wandering, lust for "look, but
don't touch." Cannot touch. Years measured in
luminous waves keep me breathing...
spinning... here in these fields, wandering...
wondering what it's like to touch a star.
breathing in her presence tonight.
Making eyes at constellations, well, her
eyes are just... just everywhere. And my
head spins in these verdant fields,
emerald shards bend and sway to the
will of the wind. Disorient me, give me
lust for wandering, lust for "look, but
don't touch." Cannot touch. Years measured in
luminous waves keep me breathing...
spinning... here in these fields, wandering...
wondering what it's like to touch a star.
1018 reads
4 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
18th Apr 2015 1:17am
18th Apr 2015 1:17am
Kiss
Old darling,
past sweetheart,
dearest no longer,
tell me what gain you
seek in trying to
lure me back into your
miasma? Is my felicity in
being free of your
poisoned tongue, oh
puppeteer of sorrow, too
much for you to bear? Does
he not provide the life
you knew you'd have? Or
do the flames that lick your
skin grow lonely? Perhaps,
in my being vague will
you come to know that I
would sooner breathe in the
kiss of twelve gauges then
fucking breathe with you.
past sweetheart,
dearest no longer,
tell me what gain you
seek in trying to
lure me back into your
miasma? Is my felicity in
being free of your
poisoned tongue, oh
puppeteer of sorrow, too
much for you to bear? Does
he not provide the life
you knew you'd have? Or
do the flames that lick your
skin grow lonely? Perhaps,
in my being vague will
you come to know that I
would sooner breathe in the
kiss of twelve gauges then
fucking breathe with you.
805 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
6th Apr 2015 1:29pm
6th Apr 2015 1:29pm
Years Spent
I wish I
had more to offer than
just dialect, sometimes
sung, more often than
not haphazardly
strewn from head to
blinking cursor, back to
head, then
lips, then swallowed self-
deprecation.
had more to offer than
just dialect, sometimes
sung, more often than
not haphazardly
strewn from head to
blinking cursor, back to
head, then
lips, then swallowed self-
deprecation.
801 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
16th Mar 2015 9:05pm
16th Mar 2015 9:05pm
She Runs With Wolves
She runs with wolves and
stalks the moon through a
constellatory thicket, and the
sun is sure of her safety on
the other side of our
humble little orb. Night is a
lonely dissenter, forever
on horseback towards a
pink and twilit horizon. She,
seeing him, bellows, and
his horse beats the grass beneath
its hooves, but procuring him would
only put an end to her
little game.
Art by Ben Claybrook
stalks the moon through a
constellatory thicket, and the
sun is sure of her safety on
the other side of our
humble little orb. Night is a
lonely dissenter, forever
on horseback towards a
pink and twilit horizon. She,
seeing him, bellows, and
his horse beats the grass beneath
its hooves, but procuring him would
only put an end to her
little game.
Art by Ben Claybrook
898 reads
8 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
13th Mar 2015 4:36am
13th Mar 2015 4:36am
Game Of Moans
Consensual teeth marks tattooing
skin - not quite piercings, but
brief reminders of our
favorite spots where the
skin tastes so much sweeter.
Oh, and I'm gonna push all
of your buttons. Or pinch or
tongue or
push between my lips, whichever
makes for a
better rain dance.
If you've ever wondered what a
craving tastes like, kiss me just
before I've had my
way with you, and satiety just
after.
Let's go from whispers to
screams in a matter of
seconds, from deep breathing to
spry heartbeats. The first to...
skin - not quite piercings, but
brief reminders of our
favorite spots where the
skin tastes so much sweeter.
Oh, and I'm gonna push all
of your buttons. Or pinch or
tongue or
push between my lips, whichever
makes for a
better rain dance.
If you've ever wondered what a
craving tastes like, kiss me just
before I've had my
way with you, and satiety just
after.
Let's go from whispers to
screams in a matter of
seconds, from deep breathing to
spry heartbeats. The first to...
993 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Mar 2015 1:26am
13th Mar 2015 1:26am
Scream
They say
screaming
is good for the
soul. I
can't take back all the
classes I've
walked out of, or the
friends who've
left me for their own
vindication, but oh,
can I scream.
I spend a lot of time
screaming; most of the
day, waking or un. I
scream while the
teacher's talking, on
quiet bus rides home, while I'm
painting a face on for my
therapist. I
even scream in my sleep with my
eyes wide open.
It's...
screaming
is good for the
soul. I
can't take back all the
classes I've
walked out of, or the
friends who've
left me for their own
vindication, but oh,
can I scream.
I spend a lot of time
screaming; most of the
day, waking or un. I
scream while the
teacher's talking, on
quiet bus rides home, while I'm
painting a face on for my
therapist. I
even scream in my sleep with my
eyes wide open.
It's...
850 reads
7 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
9th Mar 2015 1:38pm
9th Mar 2015 1:38pm
To The East, The Cardinal Sun
There are those who sit aloft in
the houses built by noble men, the
clerics, the sovereign-born and their
benefactors. They cross swords from
the safety of their dominions while
common men must carry the weight of
war among their many hindrances.
The nascency of bloodshed for
petty advance raises a red sun on a
new day. Men are armed with phantom
limbs. Some will be blinded by what
they will see here today, others
will not live to see their children
become of age, but imperial hands would
sooner rest...
the houses built by noble men, the
clerics, the sovereign-born and their
benefactors. They cross swords from
the safety of their dominions while
common men must carry the weight of
war among their many hindrances.
The nascency of bloodshed for
petty advance raises a red sun on a
new day. Men are armed with phantom
limbs. Some will be blinded by what
they will see here today, others
will not live to see their children
become of age, but imperial hands would
sooner rest...
791 reads
2 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
8th Mar 2015 1:42pm
8th Mar 2015 1:42pm
My God Is A Woman
The moon is a glassy eye, hers,
unobscured through a weightless
fog, and I know she sees through
my bedroom window, alabaster
light the span of her gaze.
She is the pull that drags my
rampant thoughts to sleep, and the
"Good morning" and "How did you
sleep?" when I wake. She is
so much more than an idea or a
purpose, but anything and
everything that was, is, and will
be graceful to me. Her words are
heavy and her touch is light. The
room smells of grenadine when she
speaks from her castle of stars,
both...
unobscured through a weightless
fog, and I know she sees through
my bedroom window, alabaster
light the span of her gaze.
She is the pull that drags my
rampant thoughts to sleep, and the
"Good morning" and "How did you
sleep?" when I wake. She is
so much more than an idea or a
purpose, but anything and
everything that was, is, and will
be graceful to me. Her words are
heavy and her touch is light. The
room smells of grenadine when she
speaks from her castle of stars,
both...
755 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by GraveyardBard (Mr. Addams)
