Submissions by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
los ojos no ven el pasado, pero van a revelarlo (the eyes don't see the past, but they will reveal it)
renga: writer's block
silent night
air cleaner shows blue smile
goose flesh quacking
no garden songs
single lamp accusing
shodo unmoves
light box sputters
fingering modern rice paper
“your kung fu is weak”
sunlight scatters floors
eight buddhas dusting shelves
smells like death
turkey pecking roof
watch silhouette frozen
goddess laughs at last
air cleaner shows blue smile
goose flesh quacking
no garden songs
single lamp accusing
shodo unmoves
light box sputters
fingering modern rice paper
“your kung fu is weak”
sunlight scatters floors
eight buddhas dusting shelves
smells like death
turkey pecking roof
watch silhouette frozen
goddess laughs at last
#haiku
#WritersBlock
#senryu
580 reads
1 Comment
Nothing Like a Prayer
(sonnet)
I’m on my knees but nothing like a prayer.
For this… is not for view of godly eyes.
Too many faces, too much lost despair;
The corpses piled like shrines to facts’ despise.
The barker king, who seethed at teen’s retweet
That owned his ancient ass in Twitter wars,
Is still the author of his own defeat,
Now drinking bleach, a cure we should explore!
‘Kay so, listen, I know how hard this is,
He’s never really been that into you.
“Your wrong, the Fox just told me I’m still his,
I have his hat...
I’m on my knees but nothing like a prayer.
For this… is not for view of godly eyes.
Too many faces, too much lost despair;
The corpses piled like shrines to facts’ despise.
The barker king, who seethed at teen’s retweet
That owned his ancient ass in Twitter wars,
Is still the author of his own defeat,
Now drinking bleach, a cure we should explore!
‘Kay so, listen, I know how hard this is,
He’s never really been that into you.
“Your wrong, the Fox just told me I’m still his,
I have his hat...
#dark
#politics
#death
#fate
#NaPoWriMo2020
585 reads
0 Comments
Yosemite With No One There
(quatern)
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights,
That scale the walls of granite sheers,
And signal lights of coming night,
As wolves partake with no one near.
How swift the gentle brooks presume,
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights.
How quick the trout, the falls resume,
How soft the eagle’s thermal flights.
In every corner, bears ignite,
In falling sun on meadows’ waves,
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights,
The snowy shelfs that winter saves.
Yosemite, with no one there, ...
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights,
That scale the walls of granite sheers,
And signal lights of coming night,
As wolves partake with no one near.
How swift the gentle brooks presume,
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights.
How quick the trout, the falls resume,
How soft the eagle’s thermal flights.
In every corner, bears ignite,
In falling sun on meadows’ waves,
From whispered gifts on eyrie heights,
The snowy shelfs that winter saves.
Yosemite, with no one there, ...
#nature
#spiritual
#NaPoWriMo2020
518 reads
1 Comment
Immobile -
It sounds like chainsaws by the docks,
Immobile, sultry: rhythm’s voice.
The cats in garbage cans, the men,
Consume the sounds like breakfast knocks.
I miss the lapping seaside waves,
Disturbed as thrumming fingers’ clicks,
As pursing lips sound whistle song,
Or sea birds’ calls in traffic horns.
I only have my neighbors’ gaze
The vision of their GMC’s,
Their kids upon their Razor boards,
Cars Friday nights in “distance” cruise.
I miss the smell of foggy salt,
Of boiling crabs and sour dough.
I miss the...
Immobile, sultry: rhythm’s voice.
The cats in garbage cans, the men,
Consume the sounds like breakfast knocks.
I miss the lapping seaside waves,
Disturbed as thrumming fingers’ clicks,
As pursing lips sound whistle song,
Or sea birds’ calls in traffic horns.
I only have my neighbors’ gaze
The vision of their GMC’s,
Their kids upon their Razor boards,
Cars Friday nights in “distance” cruise.
I miss the smell of foggy salt,
Of boiling crabs and sour dough.
I miss the...
#loneliness
#home
#NaPoWriMo2020
492 reads
0 Comments
I Feel the Weight of Air
(sonnet)
I feel the weight of air, the stir of light,
The fragile turn of leaves in summer trees.
The asphalt’s warm embrace in closing night,
The taste of laughter’s grey uncertainties.
In cotton checkered stain of passing faith,
The quell of passions’ flame in smiling glass,
The sense in every thought of word’s restraint,
I seek in every strength of strangers’ pass.
Her presence glows in every streetlight’s flare,
In every swell of every restaurant’s thrall,
Her absence notes in every emptied chair,
Her wanting...
I feel the weight of air, the stir of light,
The fragile turn of leaves in summer trees.
The asphalt’s warm embrace in closing night,
The taste of laughter’s grey uncertainties.
In cotton checkered stain of passing faith,
The quell of passions’ flame in smiling glass,
The sense in every thought of word’s restraint,
I seek in every strength of strangers’ pass.
Her presence glows in every streetlight’s flare,
In every swell of every restaurant’s thrall,
Her absence notes in every emptied chair,
Her wanting...
#sadness
#love
#NaPoWriMo2020
630 reads
1 Comment
renga: apple tree
jay sings on post
window's shadow cast in ink
daylight passing leaves
petals on water
master pauses stroke
bent crane laughing
clouds on wind swept hill
in silence brush spreads lines
eagle smiles in flight
bamboo whispers
his tea in dragon bowl
world takes no shape
branch in angled light
he leans as table shifts
final blossom falls
window's shadow cast in ink
daylight passing leaves
petals on water
master pauses stroke
bent crane laughing
clouds on wind swept hill
in silence brush spreads lines
eagle smiles in flight
bamboo whispers
his tea in dragon bowl
world takes no shape
branch in angled light
he leans as table shifts
final blossom falls
#haiku
#senryu
#NaPoWriMo2020
522 reads
1 Comment
Trekking
(sonnet)
She takes my hand in hers and off we go,
Through many varied lands of rise and vale,
We work so hard and true, then tired, slow,
Yet when we catch our breath, again prevail.
The work is hot and soaks us both in turn,
First one then both start laughing as we strive,
But neither seeks to stop, or holds concern,
For such exertions bring us both alive.
When time becomes that we would stop and rest,
With all depleted wells, and dripping through,
With clothes that cling with every pore’s divest,
In...
She takes my hand in hers and off we go,
Through many varied lands of rise and vale,
We work so hard and true, then tired, slow,
Yet when we catch our breath, again prevail.
The work is hot and soaks us both in turn,
First one then both start laughing as we strive,
But neither seeks to stop, or holds concern,
For such exertions bring us both alive.
When time becomes that we would stop and rest,
With all depleted wells, and dripping through,
With clothes that cling with every pore’s divest,
In...
#NaPoWriMo2020
668 reads
1 Comment
Old Tom and the Tiger’s Delight!
(NOT! A nursery sonnet)
That slow and rhythmic grazing of her nails,
That squeeze and then release with every breath.
That craft that speaks in every sweet assail,
That arcane smile that lulls the coming death.
In tongues that seek to rapture sudden fates,
In eyes that burn like jungles’ passing night,
In slow engage of wonders’ open gates,
In every moment caught ‘til comes first light.
She knows to tease exactly to the edge.
She knows exactly how that edge must feel.
She smiles, his tongue released in nightly pledge. ...
That slow and rhythmic grazing of her nails,
That squeeze and then release with every breath.
That craft that speaks in every sweet assail,
That arcane smile that lulls the coming death.
In tongues that seek to rapture sudden fates,
In eyes that burn like jungles’ passing night,
In slow engage of wonders’ open gates,
In every moment caught ‘til comes first light.
She knows to tease exactly to the edge.
She knows exactly how that edge must feel.
She smiles, his tongue released in nightly pledge. ...
#sensual
#orgasm
#NaPoWriMo2020
763 reads
0 Comments
My Father’s Ghost in Angled Light
My father’s ghost in angled light,
In moons of southward facing dawn,
In ever changing ocean’s form,
In single column’s broken crowns.
His death in other worldly night
Had taken him to foreign times,
A partial form of ravens’ soul
But eyes that still held crystal spark.
My father’s ghost in wayward clouds,
That shone with silver water’s weight,
And broke the moon in fourteen shapes
That fell to earth in silent drops.
His ashes crashed in tattered waves,
That stole like undertaker’s breath,
In every corner...
In moons of southward facing dawn,
In ever changing ocean’s form,
In single column’s broken crowns.
His death in other worldly night
Had taken him to foreign times,
A partial form of ravens’ soul
But eyes that still held crystal spark.
My father’s ghost in wayward clouds,
That shone with silver water’s weight,
And broke the moon in fourteen shapes
That fell to earth in silent drops.
His ashes crashed in tattered waves,
That stole like undertaker’s breath,
In every corner...
#father
#death
#NaPoWriMo2020
507 reads
0 Comments
Out Here, There are No Stars
Out here, there are no stars,
No tracks, no wayward lean.
Out here, unclear, untraced,
Out here, is just our words.
We brace the night like savages,
Like weavers of the untold psalms,
Just firelight myths and stolid drums.
We dance emblazed in cloudless skies.
Out here, no home remains,
Just ruins, reckless bones
Out here, we have no sun.
Out here, the broken songs
The bear once held the canyon trees,
The snake, in curls, the river’s end.
We have no hold of...
No tracks, no wayward lean.
Out here, unclear, untraced,
Out here, is just our words.
We brace the night like savages,
Like weavers of the untold psalms,
Just firelight myths and stolid drums.
We dance emblazed in cloudless skies.
Out here, no home remains,
Just ruins, reckless bones
Out here, we have no sun.
Out here, the broken songs
The bear once held the canyon trees,
The snake, in curls, the river’s end.
We have no hold of...
#spiritual
#pagan
#desert #NaPoWriMo2020
#desert #NaPoWriMo2020
619 reads
2 Comments
In Evening Air, I Hear the Lime Trees Weep
(sonnet)
In evening air, I hear the lime trees weep,
As blossoms’ fall in waves on shadowed sands.
My lips still taste of love’s forgotten sleep,
Of passing faith, of want’s austere commands.
The skin, the scent of oranges’ wavered sting,
The grace of flowing dancers’ contra steps,
The touch, the summer night’s soft offering,
The loss, like passion kept in heart’s regrets.
Her hidden eyes from shoulder’s backward lean,
Her smile contained in every catching breath,
Her favor gleaned in moonlit hills unseen, ...
In evening air, I hear the lime trees weep,
As blossoms’ fall in waves on shadowed sands.
My lips still taste of love’s forgotten sleep,
Of passing faith, of want’s austere commands.
The skin, the scent of oranges’ wavered sting,
The grace of flowing dancers’ contra steps,
The touch, the summer night’s soft offering,
The loss, like passion kept in heart’s regrets.
Her hidden eyes from shoulder’s backward lean,
Her smile contained in every catching breath,
Her favor gleaned in moonlit hills unseen, ...
#sadness
#love
#NaPoWriMo2020 #FedericaGarciaLorca
#NaPoWriMo2020 #FedericaGarciaLorca
575 reads
1 Comment
Come Let my Hands Find Place to Gather In
(sonnet)
Come let my hands find place to gather in
The motion that can lead us both to dance.
To find in rhythmic gait, that space within
And glide our states in metered circumstance.
I find in you those states of garnered charms,
That race my senses forth to their resolve.
That raise in you that storm of sweet alarm,
Its rush of absolution, both dissolve.
In closeness’ grip, that serves to drive us on,
And find in each the grapple of our flight,
That raptures in its course our rushing’s drawn,
And courses through...
Come let my hands find place to gather in
The motion that can lead us both to dance.
To find in rhythmic gait, that space within
And glide our states in metered circumstance.
I find in you those states of garnered charms,
That race my senses forth to their resolve.
That raise in you that storm of sweet alarm,
Its rush of absolution, both dissolve.
In closeness’ grip, that serves to drive us on,
And find in each the grapple of our flight,
That raptures in its course our rushing’s drawn,
And courses through...
#sex
#sensual
#NaPoWriMo2020
718 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)