Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
It's all I want to do while here.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
Today 7:53am
Today 7:53am
those bruises
those bruises
I want to give you gold,
gold that'll riddle a God
back to the odious rat they were
before they were put upon a cloud.
I want to make kebab sticks
from their whiskers,
pesto from their bones,
venture into a pale, quiet period.
There, your furied light
will mingle with mine,
we'll stare at a mouth wide open,
spread central at the banquet.
I want to give you gold,
so freedom isn't bound
by economy or domination
or land.
I want to give you gold,
gold that'll riddle a God
back to the odious rat they were
before they were put upon a cloud.
I want to make kebab sticks
from their whiskers,
pesto from their bones,
venture into a pale, quiet period.
There, your furied light
will mingle with mine,
we'll stare at a mouth wide open,
spread central at the banquet.
I want to give you gold,
so freedom isn't bound
by economy or domination
or land.
#husband
#friendship
#God #escape
#God #escape
17 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th May 2022 11:30pm
15th May 2022 11:30pm
Joy
No one steals it,
no one steals it with their need
or lack of thought for me,
or wants
without being kind,
no one steals it
because I say no,
because it is mine
and because I choose it
over everyone these days.
no one steals it with their need
or lack of thought for me,
or wants
without being kind,
no one steals it
because I say no,
because it is mine
and because I choose it
over everyone these days.
#love
43 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Apr 2022 11:58am
20th Apr 2022 11:58am
Love, after child
#love
#mother
#husband #nature
#husband #nature
59 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Apr 2022 10:16am
19th Apr 2022 10:16am
Red and pink
18.04
Beneath the bindweed,
between bush vetch and ivy,
garlic buds splitting,
my organ lays
as if made out of felt,
stuffed with fluff,
stitched up in a rush,
thrown out of a teacher's
anatomy routine,
it would mould in the rain
but I don't seem willing
to take the fantasy out of it,
make it pumping
and necessary,
striving for life,
seem instead keen
to watch it turn to waste,
quiet, like weeds torn out,
roots left above ground -
I'll write about it on Mondays.
Beneath the bindweed,
between bush vetch and ivy,
garlic buds splitting,
my organ lays
as if made out of felt,
stuffed with fluff,
stitched up in a rush,
thrown out of a teacher's
anatomy routine,
it would mould in the rain
but I don't seem willing
to take the fantasy out of it,
make it pumping
and necessary,
striving for life,
seem instead keen
to watch it turn to waste,
quiet, like weeds torn out,
roots left above ground -
I'll write about it on Mondays.
#sadness
#nature
65 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Apr 2022 4:29pm
17th Apr 2022 4:29pm
Stars
16.04
I want to draw in Summer’s room,
mix water paint the shade of your flesh,
spread scrawl across books,
bound in cardboard
the colour of a Spring sky.
I want to shape letters,
each as skilled ballet legs
that glisser between lines,
to know where the day goes,
to chase the Sun,
to call out to the rebellious sea
and hear a heart-rhythm return.
I’d go to live in a rockpool
for a day or a month,
avoid the plastic buckets
of idolising, thirsty boys,
excited above a hunter’s...
I want to draw in Summer’s room,
mix water paint the shade of your flesh,
spread scrawl across books,
bound in cardboard
the colour of a Spring sky.
I want to shape letters,
each as skilled ballet legs
that glisser between lines,
to know where the day goes,
to chase the Sun,
to call out to the rebellious sea
and hear a heart-rhythm return.
I’d go to live in a rockpool
for a day or a month,
avoid the plastic buckets
of idolising, thirsty boys,
excited above a hunter’s...
#sadness
#grief
#identity
75 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
6th Apr 2022 5:19pm
6th Apr 2022 5:19pm
Walk 6
I'm tired
of walking into infernos,
of spirit aching,
of rain
and wind on the estuary
and foiling my escape.
I want to be a dragon,
to scratch out the moon,
to bleed wounds dry
as leeches from back along,
way back when.
And then maybe I'll sing for summer
as if I never broke a heart,
my own or otherwise,
as if I never lost my goodness
between reeds, trees and islands
as if a book could save a brain
and love could save a marriage,
as if any of us really
leave our childhoods behind.
of walking into infernos,
of spirit aching,
of rain
and wind on the estuary
and foiling my escape.
I want to be a dragon,
to scratch out the moon,
to bleed wounds dry
as leeches from back along,
way back when.
And then maybe I'll sing for summer
as if I never broke a heart,
my own or otherwise,
as if I never lost my goodness
between reeds, trees and islands
as if a book could save a brain
and love could save a marriage,
as if any of us really
leave our childhoods behind.
#SelfReflection
68 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Apr 2022 12:56pm
4th Apr 2022 12:56pm
Walk 4
Walk 4 Lolesbury
The sky is white blossom
without stamen, 'out stem,
banana leaf confetti
nay corn leaves and rye.
I walk turned earth tender,
pack it down, feather to stone.
Bless the barbed fences, treelines,
arrowed path without arrows,
the boots filled up
with dew juice and cotton,
legs laced in bramble
and bloodwine. I don't mind.
Find a wood to encase me,
'longside stream,
sit with the birdsong and moss,
let it cripple me through confession.
The sky is white blossom
without stamen, 'out stem,
banana leaf confetti
nay corn leaves and rye.
I walk turned earth tender,
pack it down, feather to stone.
Bless the barbed fences, treelines,
arrowed path without arrows,
the boots filled up
with dew juice and cotton,
legs laced in bramble
and bloodwine. I don't mind.
Find a wood to encase me,
'longside stream,
sit with the birdsong and moss,
let it cripple me through confession.
#nature
72 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Apr 2022 1:05pm
2nd Apr 2022 1:05pm
Walk 2
Walk 2 Newton Ferrers
i.
slid between the walled stones,
pummeled, purple hazel,
thunder nettle hoards
licking lily calves.
Took the cracked path right,
startled birds, shattered stones,
became one with a field of rape
I longed to cease to be in.
There's snow upon moor,
can see it from the border edge,
wonder if Tors go thawing
beneath static, cirrus clouds.
- rest with the rest, where I was meant,
so yellow meets blue meets cream,
one bee erratically races,
spring beating on her...
i.
slid between the walled stones,
pummeled, purple hazel,
thunder nettle hoards
licking lily calves.
Took the cracked path right,
startled birds, shattered stones,
became one with a field of rape
I longed to cease to be in.
There's snow upon moor,
can see it from the border edge,
wonder if Tors go thawing
beneath static, cirrus clouds.
- rest with the rest, where I was meant,
so yellow meets blue meets cream,
one bee erratically races,
spring beating on her...
#nature
55 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Apr 2022 7:51am
2nd Apr 2022 7:51am
Walk 1
Walk 1
i
Up before rise,
you too, piss,
wash hands,
beg to come.
We boot up,
bleary eyed blue,
venture out,
seek a dawn
as if it were remedy.
The hay bales are struck by an anxious sun,
lingers long behind budding trees.
Primroses are iced, arums recoiled.
Low, acidic euphorbia bounds banks,
stream runs a clear length of field.
Woods are roused a golden brown.
ii.
I pick garlic for pesto,
carry greenness under arm.
You stop and start,
noticing everything, ...
i
Up before rise,
you too, piss,
wash hands,
beg to come.
We boot up,
bleary eyed blue,
venture out,
seek a dawn
as if it were remedy.
The hay bales are struck by an anxious sun,
lingers long behind budding trees.
Primroses are iced, arums recoiled.
Low, acidic euphorbia bounds banks,
stream runs a clear length of field.
Woods are roused a golden brown.
ii.
I pick garlic for pesto,
carry greenness under arm.
You stop and start,
noticing everything, ...
#nature
65 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Mar 2022 00:04am
21st Mar 2022 00:04am
Being
Waking up, in the middle of the night,
running barefoot upon tiles
down a hall, 'longside a silent road.
Streetlight pours through curtains,
leads to your room
where you,
free of fear of vulnerability,
tell me you need me to hold you,
need your Mother, and I,
without difficulty
or figuring out logistics,
curl into the space beside you,
outerworld protector,
tigress,
hold you 'til morning.
When I wake
I am often greeted
by golden morning kisses,
strands brushed from face.
You go upstairs, ...
running barefoot upon tiles
down a hall, 'longside a silent road.
Streetlight pours through curtains,
leads to your room
where you,
free of fear of vulnerability,
tell me you need me to hold you,
need your Mother, and I,
without difficulty
or figuring out logistics,
curl into the space beside you,
outerworld protector,
tigress,
hold you 'til morning.
When I wake
I am often greeted
by golden morning kisses,
strands brushed from face.
You go upstairs, ...
#identity
85 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
