Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
💚
Disambiguation
"For Christ sake, keep that subordinate nightmare quiet.
With constant whimpering I cannot
bond with you
for a moment
or six.
Do you know what adversary is?
Did you know it can be created at the hand of anonymity?
Because I did.
See, with a coach gun, three pieces of gum in my pocket
and a hole in my shoe, I have the right to know.
Did you know my teeth shine beautifully beneath this flickering rectangular light?
It's darling when you tremble, for a moment
or six.
Though that became irritating a while ago....
With constant whimpering I cannot
bond with you
for a moment
or six.
Do you know what adversary is?
Did you know it can be created at the hand of anonymity?
Because I did.
See, with a coach gun, three pieces of gum in my pocket
and a hole in my shoe, I have the right to know.
Did you know my teeth shine beautifully beneath this flickering rectangular light?
It's darling when you tremble, for a moment
or six.
Though that became irritating a while ago....
719 reads
4 Comments
The Dictator and Mistress
It's a quick, steel-tight maneuver."
On the door, bang the lion knocker.
You open, I smile. Hands are cold,
aircraft noise above our heads.
We melt in molten lava, floored.
Broken minds like hogs facing slaughter
and sketchy like the addict
kicking for a thrill.
The petticoats,
the monocles
don't dress a fancy affair.
A crow feather in your, around-the-house, top hat
might
prevent mercury.
The skip on the radio
or the kids playing before curfew
can't make us
normal.
...
On the door, bang the lion knocker.
You open, I smile. Hands are cold,
aircraft noise above our heads.
We melt in molten lava, floored.
Broken minds like hogs facing slaughter
and sketchy like the addict
kicking for a thrill.
The petticoats,
the monocles
don't dress a fancy affair.
A crow feather in your, around-the-house, top hat
might
prevent mercury.
The skip on the radio
or the kids playing before curfew
can't make us
normal.
...
850 reads
2 Comments
Mr. Parkinson, his wife and his two boys.
(Bad case of the jitters)
She stands at the sash window, and inhales freedom.
By six am every morning, when the charming male neighbour leaves, she's there. It has to be before her husband wakes.
She watches the birds scatter across the grey-white sky, without interruption.
With the damp washcloth she wipes away the eyeliner on her cheeks, post-drink.
The skiing holiday, the ivory wedding, their two boys at nursery are memories now,
locked in framed places on the...
She stands at the sash window, and inhales freedom.
By six am every morning, when the charming male neighbour leaves, she's there. It has to be before her husband wakes.
She watches the birds scatter across the grey-white sky, without interruption.
With the damp washcloth she wipes away the eyeliner on her cheeks, post-drink.
The skiing holiday, the ivory wedding, their two boys at nursery are memories now,
locked in framed places on the...
781 reads
4 Comments
empty kit
keep me on the shelf
where the ice does not burn my toes
keep me on the shelf
stare out the window amuse yourself
its not for me to decide how you spend your time
stare out of the window amuse yourself
i will crumble if you cannot sing me to sleep
and the bird will weep when i fall on my knees for the third time
i will crumble if you cannot sing me to sleep
listen those roses need to be watered
because otherwise they will die with the cold
listen those roses need to be watered
where the ice does not burn my toes
keep me on the shelf
stare out the window amuse yourself
its not for me to decide how you spend your time
stare out of the window amuse yourself
i will crumble if you cannot sing me to sleep
and the bird will weep when i fall on my knees for the third time
i will crumble if you cannot sing me to sleep
listen those roses need to be watered
because otherwise they will die with the cold
listen those roses need to be watered
696 reads
4 Comments
Triangles
Where light crumbles,
fragments into colour
and cascades into an image
like old photographs
on the blue.
In the greenery, where we stared,
there was a large pine. The three of us sat at the table
beneath it. We discussed poverty and social dynamics
over tea like we were friends
knowing it was the thrill, of lads
competing, keeping us
for a shot.
The type of shot where the bullet doesn't hurt
and the sound doesn't frighten
a casual Spring breeze
as it washes through
a lazy afternoon.
Where...
fragments into colour
and cascades into an image
like old photographs
on the blue.
In the greenery, where we stared,
there was a large pine. The three of us sat at the table
beneath it. We discussed poverty and social dynamics
over tea like we were friends
knowing it was the thrill, of lads
competing, keeping us
for a shot.
The type of shot where the bullet doesn't hurt
and the sound doesn't frighten
a casual Spring breeze
as it washes through
a lazy afternoon.
Where...
699 reads
2 Comments
Being a kid.
Step out when you daren't.
Stop the moment
in your bare hands."
That's bravery
or at least it's what my Papa told me
when he taught me how to fix a stick shift
and move like clockwork
and work with wood in my hands.
The dinner call.
Two steely claps
and it's away.
The bumble bee
missed his chance today
to sting me as I sit
down and pet the dog
or nose around the apple peel
hanging from my mouth.
Papa saved the best bits for me.
I sniff the mint leaves
and admire the witch hazel...
Stop the moment
in your bare hands."
That's bravery
or at least it's what my Papa told me
when he taught me how to fix a stick shift
and move like clockwork
and work with wood in my hands.
The dinner call.
Two steely claps
and it's away.
The bumble bee
missed his chance today
to sting me as I sit
down and pet the dog
or nose around the apple peel
hanging from my mouth.
Papa saved the best bits for me.
I sniff the mint leaves
and admire the witch hazel...
704 reads
6 Comments
Meet you at Two
When Eli mentioned
over coffee,
between a book swapping section
and the white, wooden staircase,
my inadequacy
as a partner
I was deflated.
It was like the stage
of our conversations had melted from my eyes
and he continued pouring
a string of words
I could not hear.
We paid the bill.
I didn't question his motives
when we went Dutch, felt a little tender,
and tried to button up the
low gap
on my grey blouse.
He touched my...
over coffee,
between a book swapping section
and the white, wooden staircase,
my inadequacy
as a partner
I was deflated.
It was like the stage
of our conversations had melted from my eyes
and he continued pouring
a string of words
I could not hear.
We paid the bill.
I didn't question his motives
when we went Dutch, felt a little tender,
and tried to button up the
low gap
on my grey blouse.
He touched my...
774 reads
10 Comments
An idea
Massage skin
with hotter oil, bring it alive
beneath the candlelight.
We're sweaty,
the pulses racing.
An adopted persona
lubricates
the inner side of my thigh.
I hum this fantasy to reality.
Turn on your back.
eyes open, lips shut.
Allow me to learn you, watch you
carefully project
the need for a fix.
Steadily grinding
down your nerve.
Sorry but it amuses me to blue-ball final
expectations.
The chains are...
with hotter oil, bring it alive
beneath the candlelight.
We're sweaty,
the pulses racing.
An adopted persona
lubricates
the inner side of my thigh.
I hum this fantasy to reality.
Turn on your back.
eyes open, lips shut.
Allow me to learn you, watch you
carefully project
the need for a fix.
Steadily grinding
down your nerve.
Sorry but it amuses me to blue-ball final
expectations.
The chains are...
1128 reads
9 Comments
Affects
the ideal
the stress
built
gallantly
above my head
with those taken chunks
apart
levitating
and empty feelings
i darent show
when i was snoring
stress came out
pain across body
run down
left with
the ideal
hibernating on the steps
of my elegy
written like a prologue
of my life
lived
in the tired way
yawning
through the motions
caught ideas
in my teeth
hit with the blow
the thrust
as it pushes me backwards
in fast forward ...
the stress
built
gallantly
above my head
with those taken chunks
apart
levitating
and empty feelings
i darent show
when i was snoring
stress came out
pain across body
run down
left with
the ideal
hibernating on the steps
of my elegy
written like a prologue
of my life
lived
in the tired way
yawning
through the motions
caught ideas
in my teeth
hit with the blow
the thrust
as it pushes me backwards
in fast forward ...
730 reads
2 Comments
When the Shadow chased a little Light
The broken veins allow me to crawl
upon your crumbling oak floor
and leave a trail of squatter's scum.
My nose is a gaping wound
and my arse burns after slashing with blades,
your name is now engraved there.
Shadow draw the curtains
and I will fall into bed,
a little Light hidden in your arms.
My head is pounding
as if I am not dead inside,
just falling
and falling
and sleeping.
As if I am tied to your starry eyes
by rose-tinted glasses.
Where is Papa's Light
and Mama's little faith?
The Lord cannot save...
upon your crumbling oak floor
and leave a trail of squatter's scum.
My nose is a gaping wound
and my arse burns after slashing with blades,
your name is now engraved there.
Shadow draw the curtains
and I will fall into bed,
a little Light hidden in your arms.
My head is pounding
as if I am not dead inside,
just falling
and falling
and sleeping.
As if I am tied to your starry eyes
by rose-tinted glasses.
Where is Papa's Light
and Mama's little faith?
The Lord cannot save...
755 reads
4 Comments
The Drift (Once we were.)
It lightens, occasionally,
a burden in my overfilled head
and yet it's weighty when wind freezes the blow.
It's inconsequential
with the roots and stem unready,
drearily submerged in Adam's ale, deterioration is evident by it's glow.
The mutt pines and aches with haunting,
locked in the beat of your chest but you're elsewhere, breathing steady,
breathing out athwart this old frame, last moments in slow-motion.
Add snapshots that linger
until the Spring takes what's left behind a chemical shed
and strains it...
a burden in my overfilled head
and yet it's weighty when wind freezes the blow.
It's inconsequential
with the roots and stem unready,
drearily submerged in Adam's ale, deterioration is evident by it's glow.
The mutt pines and aches with haunting,
locked in the beat of your chest but you're elsewhere, breathing steady,
breathing out athwart this old frame, last moments in slow-motion.
Add snapshots that linger
until the Spring takes what's left behind a chemical shed
and strains it...
880 reads
6 Comments
Sick.
07.00.
those sublunary,
velvet eyes tangle
into the blues of the bed linen,
half-closed
in half-light -
still managing to educe
this lacerated breast.
I'm a tease.
08.00.
you turn the wide pillow over
when blinds are lifted,
when light pours out
across your translucent flesh
and that slugabed manner
has time to change.
It drops
like the bass line
of my migraine.
Still those velvet pearls pine,
keen and begging
and stiff with need.
I'm a tease.
09.00.
try to
remedy madness...
those sublunary,
velvet eyes tangle
into the blues of the bed linen,
half-closed
in half-light -
still managing to educe
this lacerated breast.
I'm a tease.
08.00.
you turn the wide pillow over
when blinds are lifted,
when light pours out
across your translucent flesh
and that slugabed manner
has time to change.
It drops
like the bass line
of my migraine.
Still those velvet pearls pine,
keen and begging
and stiff with need.
I'm a tease.
09.00.
try to
remedy madness...
757 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)