Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
💚
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Oct 2024 9:34pm
2nd Oct 2024 9:34pm
Why do you feel lost all the time?
#abuse
#hurt
#manipulation #sadness
#manipulation #sadness
97 reads
2 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
17th Sep 2024 8:46pm
17th Sep 2024 8:46pm
Ten
10. The piece you had of me.
I break the words
that fell from your mouth
into shapes, disjoint
every sound, every bend
into phonemes,
then into letters
sat on white page,
stretched into boxes,
don't seek
similarities between code and you,
how I tried
so long
to wrap my mind around
what and when and how and why,
that time
you didn't look me in the eyes,
that time you filmed the way I looked when trapped,
lapped at every second, every millisecond of it.
I don't try to understand now, ...
I break the words
that fell from your mouth
into shapes, disjoint
every sound, every bend
into phonemes,
then into letters
sat on white page,
stretched into boxes,
don't seek
similarities between code and you,
how I tried
so long
to wrap my mind around
what and when and how and why,
that time
you didn't look me in the eyes,
that time you filmed the way I looked when trapped,
lapped at every second, every millisecond of it.
I don't try to understand now, ...
#anger
#disappointment
#frustration #hurt
#frustration #hurt
161 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
17th Sep 2024 8:44pm
17th Sep 2024 8:44pm
Thirteen
13.
The body will wait,
weighted and forlorn,
drunk on stone, air on lung,
for some kind of lightning,
or door to evade again
those tethers of hinge and rust,
I could nuzzle
holly and teasel more
than human flesh, never been
able to work it all out
but your hands
no longer fit my hands,
my hands made
of green and wild
and those nooks
we laid claim to
between book pages,
in a rush to make
heroes of ourselves,
were never enough.
I'd take a boat,
I'd take a shed,
somewhere to...
The body will wait,
weighted and forlorn,
drunk on stone, air on lung,
for some kind of lightning,
or door to evade again
those tethers of hinge and rust,
I could nuzzle
holly and teasel more
than human flesh, never been
able to work it all out
but your hands
no longer fit my hands,
my hands made
of green and wild
and those nooks
we laid claim to
between book pages,
in a rush to make
heroes of ourselves,
were never enough.
I'd take a boat,
I'd take a shed,
somewhere to...
#anger
#disappointment
#frustration
#healing
#marriage
113 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
1st Aug 2024 5:53am
1st Aug 2024 5:53am
Dawn Skin
Dawn skin
Don't wake up, don't wake up but I couldn't sleep -
Instead rose early, head full of fluff,
painted as a blush of sky, pure and soft and new,
got up, stretched, scrambled,
shoes and trousers and jumper and vest,
not in that order,
apple and water and rise times and door key,
four for four, not in that order,
practically ran, as only someone who pulled their knee
and fears it but is excited could, just a skip and a hop from fields
and their plum mouth, their hazy ochre and pink,
a flash of amber and two...
Don't wake up, don't wake up but I couldn't sleep -
Instead rose early, head full of fluff,
painted as a blush of sky, pure and soft and new,
got up, stretched, scrambled,
shoes and trousers and jumper and vest,
not in that order,
apple and water and rise times and door key,
four for four, not in that order,
practically ran, as only someone who pulled their knee
and fears it but is excited could, just a skip and a hop from fields
and their plum mouth, their hazy ochre and pink,
a flash of amber and two...
#dawn
#happiness
#nature
113 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Jul 2024 5:08pm
24th Jul 2024 5:08pm
Riverness
Riverness
I could cease here,
on these flats with that silt,
vertebrae stretching out of skin,
not la petit mort but actually gone,
grey of the river, lips cracked like parched earth,
body as still as the island where no one bar fishermen go.
I could be thistle fodder, and rape seed, and salt licked,
until my marrow soaks fearlessly into quick sand,
draped in seaweed, mouthed upon by fish.
The morbid has me by the neck today
until an American,
who looks a little like God might look, speaks,
he says,
"You've...
I could cease here,
on these flats with that silt,
vertebrae stretching out of skin,
not la petit mort but actually gone,
grey of the river, lips cracked like parched earth,
body as still as the island where no one bar fishermen go.
I could be thistle fodder, and rape seed, and salt licked,
until my marrow soaks fearlessly into quick sand,
draped in seaweed, mouthed upon by fish.
The morbid has me by the neck today
until an American,
who looks a little like God might look, speaks,
he says,
"You've...
#death
#identity
#nature
88 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Jul 2024 9:41pm
23rd Jul 2024 9:41pm
You've been away too long.
He was smaller. frailer. shrunk.
His voice lighter. fainter. short.
and his body -
it ached in new ways
and his mind had to climb
to great heights to communicate.
so I snuck to the attic
to search for something useful,
like cards or dice
or dust or Christmas dec's
or a collection of dead flies
I could sprinkle from the skylight.
And instead I found him,
him when he was an architect,
him when he was the hand
at the back of the swing,
him when his eyes
lit up on my face
and there I...
His voice lighter. fainter. short.
and his body -
it ached in new ways
and his mind had to climb
to great heights to communicate.
so I snuck to the attic
to search for something useful,
like cards or dice
or dust or Christmas dec's
or a collection of dead flies
I could sprinkle from the skylight.
And instead I found him,
him when he was an architect,
him when he was the hand
at the back of the swing,
him when his eyes
lit up on my face
and there I...
#aging
#home
#identity
130 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
18th Jun 2024 9:59pm
18th Jun 2024 9:59pm
To believe
#home
#humankind
#women
86 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Jun 2024 7:48am
7th Jun 2024 7:48am
The Mothering Tribe
I learnt that when you don't have a Mother,
others will come to carry the load -
or so it was for me,
first my Great-Grandmother,
the wisdom of which I was gifted
until lymphoma took her at seventeen.
I'd got back from backpacking - au pairing,
exploring German and Luxembourgish bookshops,
European coffee and mussels and trains.
She went cold under my hand.
Her eyes froze on my tongue.
Secondly, with my Grandmother -
took me in after an incident with a car and a pavement, and her hands
on the wheel.
I was on foot. ...
others will come to carry the load -
or so it was for me,
first my Great-Grandmother,
the wisdom of which I was gifted
until lymphoma took her at seventeen.
I'd got back from backpacking - au pairing,
exploring German and Luxembourgish bookshops,
European coffee and mussels and trains.
She went cold under my hand.
Her eyes froze on my tongue.
Secondly, with my Grandmother -
took me in after an incident with a car and a pavement, and her hands
on the wheel.
I was on foot. ...
#gratitude
#home
#motherhood
110 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
3rd Jun 2024 8:18am
3rd Jun 2024 8:18am
Between home
It is the third,
and every day I have heard the call of June,
because I said I would try,
said I'd dive in an onion
left growing in the darkness of my blue.
It is Monday,
and I remember Mondays,
climbing on the kitchen counter hunting food
because food didn't come
the way it did for other kids.
Remember
wanting to plunge forks in their eyes,
for all they had and all I held
in their in betweens of education.
Would get myself thrown
from class for the sake
of the systematic, reliable quiet
of the...
and every day I have heard the call of June,
because I said I would try,
said I'd dive in an onion
left growing in the darkness of my blue.
It is Monday,
and I remember Mondays,
climbing on the kitchen counter hunting food
because food didn't come
the way it did for other kids.
Remember
wanting to plunge forks in their eyes,
for all they had and all I held
in their in betweens of education.
Would get myself thrown
from class for the sake
of the systematic, reliable quiet
of the...
#home
#illness
161 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
25th May 2024 9:32am
25th May 2024 9:32am
Send me a text
Sent me a text
My lover read Demon Copperhead,
out on the headland, his eyes -
voracious beacons of light.
He was eighty, uttered sonnets in the local pub,
orchestrated Shakespeare in the gardens of his home.
My lover lent me High Fidelity,
one Winter when the snow fell so thick I sunk boots
into the depths of Suffolk plains.
I read it between coffees,
in a record shop that reminded me
of that place I had no reason
to ever return to.
My lovers gave me collections for my birthday,
ones they thought would...
My lover read Demon Copperhead,
out on the headland, his eyes -
voracious beacons of light.
He was eighty, uttered sonnets in the local pub,
orchestrated Shakespeare in the gardens of his home.
My lover lent me High Fidelity,
one Winter when the snow fell so thick I sunk boots
into the depths of Suffolk plains.
I read it between coffees,
in a record shop that reminded me
of that place I had no reason
to ever return to.
My lovers gave me collections for my birthday,
ones they thought would...
#books
#home
#love #narrative
#love #narrative
160 reads
2 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
24th May 2024 8:54pm
24th May 2024 8:54pm
Mother ii. Home is like a drowned wood
On my bones I write the tales
gifted from marshlands,
the slip of sludge,
the black as blood,
the wheels that turned
89 miles per hour
on rough road,
the kind of pieces that break into shards,
and lay like zebra crossings
one walks across late at night.
Every chest
meeting chest
is an honest mistake,
a lesson taught
to enhance the essence of breathing,
to let out the ache
and call it back home.
I whisper those secrets on Thursdays,
the light of which pour like sparks...
gifted from marshlands,
the slip of sludge,
the black as blood,
the wheels that turned
89 miles per hour
on rough road,
the kind of pieces that break into shards,
and lay like zebra crossings
one walks across late at night.
Every chest
meeting chest
is an honest mistake,
a lesson taught
to enhance the essence of breathing,
to let out the ache
and call it back home.
I whisper those secrets on Thursdays,
the light of which pour like sparks...
#home
#nature
137 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
16th May 2024 8:03pm
16th May 2024 8:03pm
You come around, I'm ruined
#childhood
#home
#mother
105 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
