Submissions by JamieCummins
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
A perceiver of things
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd May 2014 2:02am
2nd May 2014 2:02am
2:02 a.m.
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I am I am
am a thing thing thing
something sometimes
what am I?
Blurs on the perimeter - starry-eyed fools
glancing away from the abyss
How the hell do you manage?
you tip-tip me over the edge and spill
me (glass) all over the place
and onto my shirt
what a damned stain
Stop for a second please (that would be nice)
pause this moment in time and look at everything
stare at it
like an ugly photograph
and ask yourself why we ended up here
and why everyone dislikes what they are
-...
I am I am
am a thing thing thing
something sometimes
what am I?
Blurs on the perimeter - starry-eyed fools
glancing away from the abyss
How the hell do you manage?
you tip-tip me over the edge and spill
me (glass) all over the place
and onto my shirt
what a damned stain
Stop for a second please (that would be nice)
pause this moment in time and look at everything
stare at it
like an ugly photograph
and ask yourself why we ended up here
and why everyone dislikes what they are
-...
581 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
8th Feb 2014 2:26am
8th Feb 2014 2:26am
Parietal Train
ticket stubs paint the ground
foot long paths of gold and white
like branches of a fantastic tree
validated and void
they balance themselves
as they lie forgotten
in some mad place
intangible and distant -
or maybe not a mad place
because who could know what the
hell mad is anyway and what real matter would
the disposition of a perspective have on a ticket stub anyway? -
more always fall there
like paper rain
used and forgotten
sufficient to the prior journey
but not of any use thereafter
and now they just take up space...
foot long paths of gold and white
like branches of a fantastic tree
validated and void
they balance themselves
as they lie forgotten
in some mad place
intangible and distant -
or maybe not a mad place
because who could know what the
hell mad is anyway and what real matter would
the disposition of a perspective have on a ticket stub anyway? -
more always fall there
like paper rain
used and forgotten
sufficient to the prior journey
but not of any use thereafter
and now they just take up space...
551 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jan 2014 3:59pm
15th Jan 2014 3:59pm
freedom
freedom isn't telling someone you love them
or embracing them so tightly they squeak-eak-eek!-
freedom isn't printed on the badge of soldiers
or down the barrel of a .44
freedom isn't thinking about freedom
(freedom doesn't think about anything)
freedom isn't spending thousands
on a suit
nor the ability to make thousands to spend on suits
Freedom isn't anything, really.
Freedom is the pigeon that shits on your car
on your way to work in that suit you bought
while you think about how free you (((think you))) are.
or embracing them so tightly they squeak-eak-eek!-
freedom isn't printed on the badge of soldiers
or down the barrel of a .44
freedom isn't thinking about freedom
(freedom doesn't think about anything)
freedom isn't spending thousands
on a suit
nor the ability to make thousands to spend on suits
Freedom isn't anything, really.
Freedom is the pigeon that shits on your car
on your way to work in that suit you bought
while you think about how free you (((think you))) are.
704 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jan 2014 1:35am
15th Jan 2014 1:35am
postmodernism
C H A LIBERTY O S
601 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Jan 2014 6:19pm
14th Jan 2014 6:19pm
I am.
I am a thing
a you a me a we a he a she a
whateveritisIam
and you are too but
in a crib
we look like whatever it is we are
or at least whatever it is i think you are
and i try to find everything i can in little shapes on a tree
or not a tree but-you-know-what-I-mean
and you read and dig away
we're a big dualist family
thinking is a bit much anyway not that you can say what you think only what you think it is you think
enjambed progression pouring out of that hole
in the middle of your skin
that you bleed...
a you a me a we a he a she a
whateveritisIam
and you are too but
in a crib
we look like whatever it is we are
or at least whatever it is i think you are
and i try to find everything i can in little shapes on a tree
or not a tree but-you-know-what-I-mean
and you read and dig away
we're a big dualist family
thinking is a bit much anyway not that you can say what you think only what you think it is you think
enjambed progression pouring out of that hole
in the middle of your skin
that you bleed...
675 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
31st Dec 2013 2:42am
31st Dec 2013 2:42am
dichotomy
everything parallels itself
fine, sharp lines
clawing at reality
the shape of this pretty world is square -
goodandbadandrightandwrong -
the pretty shades that once covered eyes with an egotistical 'cool' are broken now
their lenses shattered
like a rip in the fabric of knowing.
objectivity is a mirror of subjection
the geometric anomoly of perspective is.
there is nothing right or wrong
morality exists in frames
pictures of history
taken by very different photographers
that shroud themselves.
everything...
fine, sharp lines
clawing at reality
the shape of this pretty world is square -
goodandbadandrightandwrong -
the pretty shades that once covered eyes with an egotistical 'cool' are broken now
their lenses shattered
like a rip in the fabric of knowing.
objectivity is a mirror of subjection
the geometric anomoly of perspective is.
there is nothing right or wrong
morality exists in frames
pictures of history
taken by very different photographers
that shroud themselves.
everything...
577 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2013 1:59am
2nd Nov 2013 1:59am
Histrionic
Potted plants - growing masses -
organic cancer breaking sweet facade.
I'll throw my hand between your branches
let you grow - know - around me.
Strange - I was almost human.
Every attempt at self-awareness and understanding
in itself an indulgence of that narcissism
so desparately trying to be unwound
like that same strange shape of branches
that is you
interwoven between the fabric of my own personality
We grow together like siblings
our parent the empty space between what is
Heroclitus' disbelief.
Freedom...
organic cancer breaking sweet facade.
I'll throw my hand between your branches
let you grow - know - around me.
Strange - I was almost human.
Every attempt at self-awareness and understanding
in itself an indulgence of that narcissism
so desparately trying to be unwound
like that same strange shape of branches
that is you
interwoven between the fabric of my own personality
We grow together like siblings
our parent the empty space between what is
Heroclitus' disbelief.
Freedom...
607 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
28th May 2013 1:40am
28th May 2013 1:40am
Tiger
In blissful solidarity,
the tiger moves towards its midnight dream,
burning in itself the
fires of its complexion.
Like roses, whiskers
flicker in the
twilight breeze, the chill
of the night
extinguishing the obvious, but not
internal burnings.
And now it lies on itself, burnt out,
its pursuit accomplishes, and it sleeps in one piece,
but not in the suspected form.
Ashes.
the tiger moves towards its midnight dream,
burning in itself the
fires of its complexion.
Like roses, whiskers
flicker in the
twilight breeze, the chill
of the night
extinguishing the obvious, but not
internal burnings.
And now it lies on itself, burnt out,
its pursuit accomplishes, and it sleeps in one piece,
but not in the suspected form.
Ashes.
638 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th May 2013 00:37am
13th May 2013 00:37am
55
Life is as a day
beginning in solitude, barely self-aware
the wallpapers of a foggy mind peel away
and reveal us to be ourselves.
Then the event itself
For some it rains, others it shines
that pathetic fallacy has never meant as much as it does now.
Yet though the windows of the place we close ourselves out from the world, we long for what we hide from.
But in the end, all equates.
The end is constant. We are ourselves, weary, alone
boxed out from reality
voluntarily shrouded from it all
writhing in the essence of the day.
...
beginning in solitude, barely self-aware
the wallpapers of a foggy mind peel away
and reveal us to be ourselves.
Then the event itself
For some it rains, others it shines
that pathetic fallacy has never meant as much as it does now.
Yet though the windows of the place we close ourselves out from the world, we long for what we hide from.
But in the end, all equates.
The end is constant. We are ourselves, weary, alone
boxed out from reality
voluntarily shrouded from it all
writhing in the essence of the day.
...
605 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th May 2013 1:12am
6th May 2013 1:12am
Dream
We fly like kites in a sky of our being, moved by breezes of air, like sighs.
There it is
That strange breathing
with breaths that come from
mouths other than our own
yet spur us to live more than any respiration could.
There are tears now. Transparent embodiments of finality. They fall and splash and explode, like bombs. They shatter walls, foundations of the mind.
Now earthquakes, from the epicentre of doubt. They all move together, as waves.
Where did the moon go for us all? Obliterated in sentient thought, there is no more security in tide, nor...
There it is
That strange breathing
with breaths that come from
mouths other than our own
yet spur us to live more than any respiration could.
There are tears now. Transparent embodiments of finality. They fall and splash and explode, like bombs. They shatter walls, foundations of the mind.
Now earthquakes, from the epicentre of doubt. They all move together, as waves.
Where did the moon go for us all? Obliterated in sentient thought, there is no more security in tide, nor...
639 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
28th Apr 2013 1:41am
28th Apr 2013 1:41am
The Chair
I've been sitting here for years now
in this chair.
It squeaks and screeches like a child
thin legs barely holding the weight of me, of it all, they stand like frail statues in an aged tomb.
We've been buried for months, sitting on our own failures. This collapse isn't from an outside breeze, but an inside storm, which too often a whirring feeling has been left by it in my stone-head.
Taken on a large enough scale,
the entirety of this
creative impulse circles in itself and draws a zero on a universal canvas.
and yet everything too is relative on...
in this chair.
It squeaks and screeches like a child
thin legs barely holding the weight of me, of it all, they stand like frail statues in an aged tomb.
We've been buried for months, sitting on our own failures. This collapse isn't from an outside breeze, but an inside storm, which too often a whirring feeling has been left by it in my stone-head.
Taken on a large enough scale,
the entirety of this
creative impulse circles in itself and draws a zero on a universal canvas.
and yet everything too is relative on...
642 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th Apr 2013 1:30am
7th Apr 2013 1:30am
In your nihilism do not seek apathy
In your nihilism, do not seek apathy.
True, reality faults us all with its lies and its cruel mortal inevitabilities,
and this only derives one of two ideas.
Apathy; the nihilistic action of nothing, the lack of care for being, lack of movement.
Motivation; the advantage of the time, the existing for the sheer love of it.
It is easy to be apathetic; to be melancholic. To fix oneself to nothing in the entirety of being due to being's lack of reason -
death is the fairer way, and so follow that path
if it is true apathy, the difference will be none.
...
True, reality faults us all with its lies and its cruel mortal inevitabilities,
and this only derives one of two ideas.
Apathy; the nihilistic action of nothing, the lack of care for being, lack of movement.
Motivation; the advantage of the time, the existing for the sheer love of it.
It is easy to be apathetic; to be melancholic. To fix oneself to nothing in the entirety of being due to being's lack of reason -
death is the fairer way, and so follow that path
if it is true apathy, the difference will be none.
...
664 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by JamieCummins
