Submissions by HedonsHerald (Alexander Johnson)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm Glycolosis. There is no special meaning. Your obsession with meaning is unnatural. Go watch t.v. It's better for your state of mind.
SELF POEM
Published
30th Aug 2017 3:40pm
30th Aug 2017 3:40pm
Who am I Kidding...
There is no new god,
Just the old one rusted through
And disguised in gold.
Just the old one rusted through
And disguised in gold.
#religion
526 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
30th Aug 2017 4:46am
30th Aug 2017 4:46am
I Am in Control
Who will this new man be,
that I will make into Me.
Shall I change my name,
shall I change my hair,
shall I adjust that beating stare
of the internal eye
from the light of heart,
to the cruelty of mind.
Shall I grow cold,
shall I burn hot
I don't know what shall become of this God.
I've burnt the old,
to piece the new.
I was broken.
To be broken is to be weak.
And I am not weak.
I refuse.
that I will make into Me.
Shall I change my name,
shall I change my hair,
shall I adjust that beating stare
of the internal eye
from the light of heart,
to the cruelty of mind.
Shall I grow cold,
shall I burn hot
I don't know what shall become of this God.
I've burnt the old,
to piece the new.
I was broken.
To be broken is to be weak.
And I am not weak.
I refuse.
#philosophical
499 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Aug 2017 11:26pm
29th Aug 2017 11:26pm
No More Odes to Trees
Burn it all.
I was weak anyway.
Iron God? more like tin in complexion,
bent and twisted,
distorted reflection,
incomprehensible rhymes.
Ice melted too easy by woodland vines.
I will be unbreakable and leave that man behind,
the distressed broken tramp,
heavy laden with broken sighs
made sweet by the golden stamp,
of tree branches on his forehead.
No more.
Now that man is dead.
And trees have no place in My head.
I was weak anyway.
Iron God? more like tin in complexion,
bent and twisted,
distorted reflection,
incomprehensible rhymes.
Ice melted too easy by woodland vines.
I will be unbreakable and leave that man behind,
the distressed broken tramp,
heavy laden with broken sighs
made sweet by the golden stamp,
of tree branches on his forehead.
No more.
Now that man is dead.
And trees have no place in My head.
#ShortStory
452 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
29th Aug 2017 8:30am
29th Aug 2017 8:30am
Maybe...
Did you mean it...
when you said you should have given us a chance to fix it? Could Us had been salvaged? Did I break the world for no reason...
when you said you should have given us a chance to fix it? Could Us had been salvaged? Did I break the world for no reason...
#PopCulture
457 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
29th Aug 2017 5:32am
29th Aug 2017 5:32am
Hello.
Everyone always says the moon is covered in dust.
I'll let you in on an ancient moon-folk secret:
It's sand.
That beautiful gal,
is a sea of grit and shame,
abrasive and abusive,
caustic in a dry way.
And she's angry.
And to qualify that fury,
we must call back to some Greco-Roman sage,
who called it 'Menis Oulomene'
or 'Catastrophic Rage'
And she's me.
she's all I can ever be,
nowadays,
wake up in a fevered state,
in a haze
of doubt and remorse
and anger
and anger
and...
I'll let you in on an ancient moon-folk secret:
It's sand.
That beautiful gal,
is a sea of grit and shame,
abrasive and abusive,
caustic in a dry way.
And she's angry.
And to qualify that fury,
we must call back to some Greco-Roman sage,
who called it 'Menis Oulomene'
or 'Catastrophic Rage'
And she's me.
she's all I can ever be,
nowadays,
wake up in a fevered state,
in a haze
of doubt and remorse
and anger
and anger
and...
#PopCulture
525 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
28th Aug 2017 9:49pm
28th Aug 2017 9:49pm
None So Joyous As I
A lock with only one key.
A key that cuts its teeth on chains.
A quandry that remains unequivocally lodged in my windpipe.
A stone in my broken throat.
I sang once.
I never sing.
Music holds too many memories.
A key that cuts its teeth on chains.
A quandry that remains unequivocally lodged in my windpipe.
A stone in my broken throat.
I sang once.
I never sing.
Music holds too many memories.
#PopCulture
473 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Aug 2017 9:27pm
28th Aug 2017 9:27pm
Nihilo ex Ego
Love was a mistake.
the grandest I could make
The best blunder,
That I could stumble upon.
I do not regret it.
But I will not let
The cherubim,
Of desperate need,
Back in my wintery halls.
THOUGH this last year was my best,
And it warmed my chest,
Consider my heart locked tight.
The sun has set,
And So begins
the long and silent night.
Love is an open window,
For summer wind to glut,
Through the summer halls.
But in times of winter,
That window must shut,
If we want to live at...
the grandest I could make
The best blunder,
That I could stumble upon.
I do not regret it.
But I will not let
The cherubim,
Of desperate need,
Back in my wintery halls.
THOUGH this last year was my best,
And it warmed my chest,
Consider my heart locked tight.
The sun has set,
And So begins
the long and silent night.
Love is an open window,
For summer wind to glut,
Through the summer halls.
But in times of winter,
That window must shut,
If we want to live at...
#love
#dark
#nature
#LifeCycle
#disappointment
546 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Aug 2017 6:30am
28th Aug 2017 6:30am
They Won't Be Coming Back
Now that it seems that I've lost you
completely, to my dismay
I want to know what made me tick,
what led me to act this way.
I am alone
again it seems,
I must save the slivers that're left,
by any necessary means.
"What's broke is broke",
that I know.
what's left that can be fixed?
"What's lost is lost",
on this I choke,
once it's past my lips.
I want them back,
for all I have,
though this, I know, just can't be.
I'll have to live on,
with what's...
completely, to my dismay
I want to know what made me tick,
what led me to act this way.
I am alone
again it seems,
I must save the slivers that're left,
by any necessary means.
"What's broke is broke",
that I know.
what's left that can be fixed?
"What's lost is lost",
on this I choke,
once it's past my lips.
I want them back,
for all I have,
though this, I know, just can't be.
I'll have to live on,
with what's...
#breakup
505 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
28th Aug 2017 6:15am
28th Aug 2017 6:15am
Why am I Writing?
I used to enjoy the immense interplay of words.
Fuck, maybe I still do.
But not as much as I did,
Back when I was with you.
Fuck, maybe I still do.
But not as much as I did,
Back when I was with you.
#breakup
#WritingPoetry
#PowerOfWords #IMissYou
#PowerOfWords #IMissYou
580 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Aug 2017 6:52am
27th Aug 2017 6:52am
How Dare the Arrow Hope for No Blood
I looked at the ink inscribed on my skin,
Longbow-launched symbolism
Flying from within...
An arrow.
So easily bent to the whims
Of the wind,
so broken by pain
And tainted by sin.
Specifically that sin
of which we all can confess
Freely
Or whilst under duress,
Hard-pressed
Against the surface of me.
This recent agony
Has changed my trajectory.
And again that sin
is something to which we all can lay claim.
When the archer took aim
We hoped it was at a target...
But it was a heart....
Longbow-launched symbolism
Flying from within...
An arrow.
So easily bent to the whims
Of the wind,
so broken by pain
And tainted by sin.
Specifically that sin
of which we all can confess
Freely
Or whilst under duress,
Hard-pressed
Against the surface of me.
This recent agony
Has changed my trajectory.
And again that sin
is something to which we all can lay claim.
When the archer took aim
We hoped it was at a target...
But it was a heart....
#grief
#rejection
#dark
#UnrequitedLove
#separation
699 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Aug 2017 5:01am
27th Aug 2017 5:01am
Brief Respite
How distorted the drums were,
that resounding thrum of heat,
in my fevered dream,
of the porch upon that beach.
A call upon that phone
that should not have survived,
answered slow as stone,
centuries passed me by,
as I pressed that button.
Answer.
It was you.
We talked for hours.
Then I woke up,
and I was back to the beating drums,
invading even my waking head.
ratta-tatt-tatt, ratta-tatt-tatt....
that resounding thrum of heat,
in my fevered dream,
of the porch upon that beach.
A call upon that phone
that should not have survived,
answered slow as stone,
centuries passed me by,
as I pressed that button.
Answer.
It was you.
We talked for hours.
Then I woke up,
and I was back to the beating drums,
invading even my waking head.
ratta-tatt-tatt, ratta-tatt-tatt....
#SelfDiscovery
636 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
26th Aug 2017 2:42pm
26th Aug 2017 2:42pm
I'm Sorry: A Spark Lives On But the Rest Has Given Up
I broke myself against those rocks,
To the sound of the drums.
I shattered into infinite leaves,
And scattered in all twelve directions,
To the sound of the drums.
August tenth was the birth of that beating berth.
And they won't shut up. My sleep is a cage.
April twenty fourth. Im terrible with dates but that was I think, the date of that resounding first affection that gave life to these old bones.
And last night could have been their revival,
Instead it was the final blow.
This is not a suicide note. I...
To the sound of the drums.
I shattered into infinite leaves,
And scattered in all twelve directions,
To the sound of the drums.
August tenth was the birth of that beating berth.
And they won't shut up. My sleep is a cage.
April twenty fourth. Im terrible with dates but that was I think, the date of that resounding first affection that gave life to these old bones.
And last night could have been their revival,
Instead it was the final blow.
This is not a suicide note. I...
#PopCulture
591 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by HedonsHerald (Alexander Johnson)
