Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction It's all I want to do while here.
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
212 reads
6 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
189 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
125 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
133 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
123 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
97 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
114 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
109 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Mar 2020 00:01am
15th Mar 2020 00:01am
Lone
It is quiet -
and I'm alone.
That's most Sundays,
let alone Corona Sundays -
and I wouldn't mind
if the moon fell, low enough, for me to touch her,
and the ground rose high enough
to be submerged
in stars
where you are silent
and you don't travel
across oceans,
smaller than realised
when spinning
a hand held globe,
where planets
call to me
with songs, serene,
lyrics of their home,
other lovers who live
and bleed out, awful,
in equal measure,
where the sun rises
and no one...
and I'm alone.
That's most Sundays,
let alone Corona Sundays -
and I wouldn't mind
if the moon fell, low enough, for me to touch her,
and the ground rose high enough
to be submerged
in stars
where you are silent
and you don't travel
across oceans,
smaller than realised
when spinning
a hand held globe,
where planets
call to me
with songs, serene,
lyrics of their home,
other lovers who live
and bleed out, awful,
in equal measure,
where the sun rises
and no one...
#sadness
#loneliness
#alcohol
115 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2020 3:46pm
2nd Mar 2020 3:46pm
Anal
I have heard your carnal cry, encouraged it
down canals where quietness is
but I am done leading into the void,
rather give my bones to the lovers of plenty.
I miss a lover,
someone to look at my form as a temple for worship, I miss the warcry that echoes from my throat when a soul meets mine, I miss the way my skin fits at small touches, I miss someone who loves to be touched.
I miss love without control. I miss two humans connecting.
I want a lover, a love all my life - not to be anal, domination isn't it.
down canals where quietness is
but I am done leading into the void,
rather give my bones to the lovers of plenty.
I miss a lover,
someone to look at my form as a temple for worship, I miss the warcry that echoes from my throat when a soul meets mine, I miss the way my skin fits at small touches, I miss someone who loves to be touched.
I miss love without control. I miss two humans connecting.
I want a lover, a love all my life - not to be anal, domination isn't it.
#love
#oppression
#humankind
179 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Feb 2020 7:15pm
28th Feb 2020 7:15pm
Longerstill
I wouldn't mind speaking
if I knew how to navigate this feeling
but I don't, never did,
it always ended the same -
my silence becomes our protection.
if I knew how to navigate this feeling
but I don't, never did,
it always ended the same -
my silence becomes our protection.
#love
#silence
#aging
139 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
20th Feb 2020 00:25am
20th Feb 2020 00:25am
Axes, exits and you.
I watch you, on infrequent Thursday mornings, as silence and a chill wafts throughout the house, in through windows that need resealing. I watch you, soft blonde hair, deep shut lids, small toes and fingers and think, if I just behave myself, contain myself, swallow and reshape myself you can be a flourishing person and if
in doing all of those things you become a beautiful human, inside is all I want,
then my whole life, my Mother's mental-health, drug-addled life, her Mother's black and blue, don't face it, keeping up the Jones' life would have been worth it.
You must know,...
in doing all of those things you become a beautiful human, inside is all I want,
then my whole life, my Mother's mental-health, drug-addled life, her Mother's black and blue, don't face it, keeping up the Jones' life would have been worth it.
You must know,...
#love
#motherhood
179 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
