Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction It's all I want to do while here.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Feb 2021 4:11pm
28th Feb 2021 4:11pm
Rendlesham
Rendlesham
Stuff of Gods those woods to me,
Galilee that tastes of oil,
burns feral amber
come 'tumn time
when evergreen,
fungi fiesta,
and in the Spring they do lay,
erect and in such profile lines
waiting on a bank transfer,
goods of which are never theirs.
The humans call it forestry,
to me it seems hardly fair
yet stuff of Gods those woods to me
and I rest fetal,
barefoot, there.
Photo credited to Mrs Bellamy.
Stuff of Gods those woods to me,
Galilee that tastes of oil,
burns feral amber
come 'tumn time
when evergreen,
fungi fiesta,
and in the Spring they do lay,
erect and in such profile lines
waiting on a bank transfer,
goods of which are never theirs.
The humans call it forestry,
to me it seems hardly fair
yet stuff of Gods those woods to me
and I rest fetal,
barefoot, there.
Photo credited to Mrs Bellamy.
#spring
#nature
27 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Feb 2021 10:57am
28th Feb 2021 10:57am
Sun After Snow Moon
Sun After Snow Moon
You were Jerusalem's artichoke
condoning winter wet and frost,
where everything else hit a slumber,
tested their peaceful refrain,
you were a billowing jungle,
pillows of vegetation galore
and a frog hid under dank umbrellas,
jagged teeth of the woodland cat.
I promise each year we'll sit together,
and feast on the bulb you create
but I'm no more a baker than writer
and I'm too knee deep in earth, I suppose.
You were Jerusalem's artichoke
condoning winter wet and frost,
where everything else hit a slumber,
tested their peaceful refrain,
you were a billowing jungle,
pillows of vegetation galore
and a frog hid under dank umbrellas,
jagged teeth of the woodland cat.
I promise each year we'll sit together,
and feast on the bulb you create
but I'm no more a baker than writer
and I'm too knee deep in earth, I suppose.
#spring
#nature
23 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Jan 2021 8:26am
28th Jan 2021 8:26am
Imbolc
Ghosts of your body dart about me as
lambs bleeting,
the ceaseless alarm calling, expanding on a Northern breeze, chopped before meeting
the compassionate ear,
thinning,
thinning
into strawberry dusk.
And you extend
as stretched, white plumes tumbling the sky with endless fascination,
covering and exposing a blinding reality
that you'll disperse
leaving clearer skies.
And sometimes you're the petals of a snowdrop
loosely rocking on my flat, left palm, never the less I love you
and your struck bones ...
lambs bleeting,
the ceaseless alarm calling, expanding on a Northern breeze, chopped before meeting
the compassionate ear,
thinning,
thinning
into strawberry dusk.
And you extend
as stretched, white plumes tumbling the sky with endless fascination,
covering and exposing a blinding reality
that you'll disperse
leaving clearer skies.
And sometimes you're the petals of a snowdrop
loosely rocking on my flat, left palm, never the less I love you
and your struck bones ...
#love
#flowers
#spring
62 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th Nov 2020 8:43pm
25th Nov 2020 8:43pm
Balloon
It's been so quiet
inside these rubber walls
while great finches flit down to peck at the tether.
I wait, in the endless line of our exchange, for claws to break through,
for your moon-coloured hands to dangle me
as a belated balloon with a weighted string
who'd sail across an empty sky,
given half the chance,
before falling
upon someone else's washing line
and spending the rest of her life.
inside these rubber walls
while great finches flit down to peck at the tether.
I wait, in the endless line of our exchange, for claws to break through,
for your moon-coloured hands to dangle me
as a belated balloon with a weighted string
who'd sail across an empty sky,
given half the chance,
before falling
upon someone else's washing line
and spending the rest of her life.
#moon
100 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Apr 2020 9:50am
1st Apr 2020 9:50am
WarmUp
I confessed to all my grieving,
ten years I've been trying to cut you down
vines of you keep winding and reeling
up the nostrils,
a suffocating cloud.
I wonder if you know how parasitic
your existence is upon the bones of me,
living in a present tense,
regurgitating us, over and again.
I wonder if you sleep on pillows,
stuffed with thorns of looks I gave and things I said,
I wonder if you chest starts beating when you contemplate my end inside your head.
I wonder if we'll regret those choices, choices made to keep us calm and...
ten years I've been trying to cut you down
vines of you keep winding and reeling
up the nostrils,
a suffocating cloud.
I wonder if you know how parasitic
your existence is upon the bones of me,
living in a present tense,
regurgitating us, over and again.
I wonder if you sleep on pillows,
stuffed with thorns of looks I gave and things I said,
I wonder if you chest starts beating when you contemplate my end inside your head.
I wonder if we'll regret those choices, choices made to keep us calm and...
#love
#aging
264 reads
8 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
27th Mar 2020 6:17am
27th Mar 2020 6:17am
Falling hard
Roll me up
as a crisp packet
and dispose where no one will see.
Crush me
to ice on a snowy bank,
as soil on a no-dig bed.
Though
don't make
eye contact for I
don't have eyes that can stay,
they weren't made for more
than casual harm, see -
pain hurts less than love,
your boot less than your lips.
No fingers through hair,
none laced between mine,
just
burn them, sear them,
throw knives upon them,
I can take that
but I don't have the strength for your affection nor smile.
as a crisp packet
and dispose where no one will see.
Crush me
to ice on a snowy bank,
as soil on a no-dig bed.
Though
don't make
eye contact for I
don't have eyes that can stay,
they weren't made for more
than casual harm, see -
pain hurts less than love,
your boot less than your lips.
No fingers through hair,
none laced between mine,
just
burn them, sear them,
throw knives upon them,
I can take that
but I don't have the strength for your affection nor smile.
#love
#hurt
225 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
26th Mar 2020 6:43pm
26th Mar 2020 6:43pm
Hollowed Mouse.
Here,
here in my home with these white four walls, with a roof overhead and a garden and a microwave oven and a wood-burning stove I am drowned by my reality. Here,
here in my pit after binge eating pineapple until stomach gives up and tongue splits on acid, it chases me down.
The sensation cuts that I always was a rotten ship any sailor would be mad to climb aboard and claim their vessel.
Light seems to call to a close, heavy drapes of this life show thread-bare sections,
sickness and destitution pour in.
Poverty isn't as terrifying as pandemic
but...
here in my home with these white four walls, with a roof overhead and a garden and a microwave oven and a wood-burning stove I am drowned by my reality. Here,
here in my pit after binge eating pineapple until stomach gives up and tongue splits on acid, it chases me down.
The sensation cuts that I always was a rotten ship any sailor would be mad to climb aboard and claim their vessel.
Light seems to call to a close, heavy drapes of this life show thread-bare sections,
sickness and destitution pour in.
Poverty isn't as terrifying as pandemic
but...
#sadness
#loneliness
#fear
159 reads
3 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
26th Mar 2020 2:14pm
26th Mar 2020 2:14pm
Boomerang - Teen
Her body lays silent on an old, curved road
and his cherry red French thing revs ready.
She soft-shudders, embracing the cold,
his heaters are blaring full blast.
He powers towards Fram' at ninety,
pulls the wheel, last minute, to steal her breath.
It's all she ever wanted under that small moon,
it's all he ever wanted too -
to know that he both could
and never could in equal measure,
to love with pure abandon, to easily bruise,
to see those sharp edges gleam in each other and worship them as Gods.
He climbs ...
and his cherry red French thing revs ready.
She soft-shudders, embracing the cold,
his heaters are blaring full blast.
He powers towards Fram' at ninety,
pulls the wheel, last minute, to steal her breath.
It's all she ever wanted under that small moon,
it's all he ever wanted too -
to know that he both could
and never could in equal measure,
to love with pure abandon, to easily bruise,
to see those sharp edges gleam in each other and worship them as Gods.
He climbs ...
#love
#dark
#moon #cars
#moon #cars
169 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
21st Mar 2020 4:01pm
21st Mar 2020 4:01pm
Isolation
She chain smoked two cigarettes on the porch, huffing out battalion sized clouds blown through stagnant air. She squashed both beneath a kit' heel, picked them up in worn fingers, peeled them open, some parts she put in the compost, others in the regular rubbish. Then she placed two hands upon the kitchen counter, rested her entire weight on those hands and two hazel branch legs and let her head hang between her arms. Her scream was the thing of terrors, terrors of small boys after Halloween when a poorly paid, unvetted babysister let them watch House on the Haunted Hill. Her cry beat down...
#fiction
#MentalHealth
#humankind
156 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Mar 2020 7:22am
21st Mar 2020 7:22am
Currency
And the people came
to gawp
around the forest fire that was spreading,
filming and chattering,
spluttering and coughing their lungs, full with residue,
embers fell heavy upon the congregation.
(As it turns out
they were the trees.)
to gawp
around the forest fire that was spreading,
filming and chattering,
spluttering and coughing their lungs, full with residue,
embers fell heavy upon the congregation.
(As it turns out
they were the trees.)
#trees
#illness
#humankind
129 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th Mar 2020 8:52am
16th Mar 2020 8:52am
Fiction: Left of the kitchen.
I wouldn't have minded, if he'd caught his words on a spluttered inhale but that didn't happen. Instead, after those words fell out of his baratone throat, he smiled, removed his coffee from the counter and slithered out. I watched the elderly man in war dress flick through a book he'd retrieved from the community basket, a woman spoon fed her blancmange shaped baby. A small woodlouse crawled from the oak window sill, thought better of it and scurried back. The sunlight poured in staining the floor in rainbows.
She tilted her body out from the adjoining room, weighted on one foot,...
She tilted her body out from the adjoining room, weighted on one foot,...
#coffee
#food
#humankind
138 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Mar 2020 00:47am
15th Mar 2020 00:47am
She Her I
I heard a woman speak
about the birth of dead,
miscarriage of justice.
I heard a woman wear
her bruises as armour,
violence in her home.
I heard a woman cry
in a public cubicle, with a toddler at her feet
screaming louder than she could.
I heard this symphony,
broken women made of thorns,
Queens of our society,
muddling through these slow burning wars
and the cacophony of truth was deafening,
deafeningly quiet.
about the birth of dead,
miscarriage of justice.
I heard a woman wear
her bruises as armour,
violence in her home.
I heard a woman cry
in a public cubicle, with a toddler at her feet
screaming louder than she could.
I heard this symphony,
broken women made of thorns,
Queens of our society,
muddling through these slow burning wars
and the cacophony of truth was deafening,
deafeningly quiet.
#women
#identity
150 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
