Submissions by JamieCummins
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
A perceiver of things
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jan 2013 00:11am
15th Jan 2013 00:11am
Objectivity
Death sits on the heads of our lives
draws out long breaths and cuts us short
yet time is an enzyme to knowledge
and who but Death knows true age?
Cruel Death, we say, but
"there's no art to find the mind's construction
in the face", misconstrued and hollow as is His
whose swift grasp - not cruel, but emphatic.
draws out long breaths and cuts us short
yet time is an enzyme to knowledge
and who but Death knows true age?
Cruel Death, we say, but
"there's no art to find the mind's construction
in the face", misconstrued and hollow as is His
whose swift grasp - not cruel, but emphatic.
645 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th Jan 2013 2:01am
12th Jan 2013 2:01am
Garden
Home was a garden - botanical and alive
colours as common as the oxygen which enriched the air
fresh and clear. Seeds sprouted with beaming sun
Life prospered like a puddle full of tadpoles.
Safety was the shade; the shadows of the oak
of certainty which sheltered its inhabitants under
its somehow bright dullness. In all the world's eyes
variety of this calibre was never seen, diversity
was the foundation of the existence.
I burned that garden to the ground
and in its flames I saw infinity
and it planted a seed in my head
that grew like a...
colours as common as the oxygen which enriched the air
fresh and clear. Seeds sprouted with beaming sun
Life prospered like a puddle full of tadpoles.
Safety was the shade; the shadows of the oak
of certainty which sheltered its inhabitants under
its somehow bright dullness. In all the world's eyes
variety of this calibre was never seen, diversity
was the foundation of the existence.
I burned that garden to the ground
and in its flames I saw infinity
and it planted a seed in my head
that grew like a...
641 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Jan 2013 1:24am
11th Jan 2013 1:24am
Death
I sat at the place where the world began to end,
with trees hanging above observing a burning fire
that scorched no earth, like some metaphysical power.
The place of my birth was as a still cliff - and birth was a fall
into the depths below, to greet those trees and see the world burn
on an internal scale.
I talked to the birds circling above, they said
"We have slept through the waking, now wake for the silence"
with trees hanging above observing a burning fire
that scorched no earth, like some metaphysical power.
The place of my birth was as a still cliff - and birth was a fall
into the depths below, to greet those trees and see the world burn
on an internal scale.
I talked to the birds circling above, they said
"We have slept through the waking, now wake for the silence"
672 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Jan 2013 2:11am
5th Jan 2013 2:11am
Sentience
dull grey light
set to expire
instilling expectations
higher and higher
glowing insecurities
flourescently conspire
destroys all functionality
in its dark eternal fire.
set to expire
instilling expectations
higher and higher
glowing insecurities
flourescently conspire
destroys all functionality
in its dark eternal fire.
612 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Dec 2012 00:25am
26th Dec 2012 00:25am
Conclusion
Staring into a hollow bullet -
Volatile and fatal
and projecting its path to mine
Becoming ever closer
like an almost-asymptote
which falters and
Intersects
its opposer.
metal shell - filled with
inevitabilities, the
'and nothing can ever stop it'
this examination
this payment
this mortality.
Life is a winding road of
fixed corners
and the awaiting crash
lies on its sharpest bend
the journey itself unceasing.
If every object - every person -
were just some projection of
a primal consciousness...
Volatile and fatal
and projecting its path to mine
Becoming ever closer
like an almost-asymptote
which falters and
Intersects
its opposer.
metal shell - filled with
inevitabilities, the
'and nothing can ever stop it'
this examination
this payment
this mortality.
Life is a winding road of
fixed corners
and the awaiting crash
lies on its sharpest bend
the journey itself unceasing.
If every object - every person -
were just some projection of
a primal consciousness...
532 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Dec 2012 00:29am
18th Dec 2012 00:29am
The Fragile Mind - State Of Being 1
Perceived reality -
as it is -
is an accumulation
of discomforts
uncertainties
inconveniences
dislikes
all of which
unite in one
certain algorithm
a (self-)universal
pulse
pulse
pulse
Pulsing through the Brain.
In all times
with variables
constants are prudent.
That certainty
is no more than
an individual's attempt
to justify existence
the purpose of that life
to find purpose
and no two
are like white light
homogenous and pure
but rather as lines
drawn by children
on a...
as it is -
is an accumulation
of discomforts
uncertainties
inconveniences
dislikes
all of which
unite in one
certain algorithm
a (self-)universal
pulse
pulse
pulse
Pulsing through the Brain.
In all times
with variables
constants are prudent.
That certainty
is no more than
an individual's attempt
to justify existence
the purpose of that life
to find purpose
and no two
are like white light
homogenous and pure
but rather as lines
drawn by children
on a...
599 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th Dec 2012 10:32pm
13th Dec 2012 10:32pm
Isolation
Sweet solitude, please take me.
No more can I bear that racket -
that loud scream of emotive resistance
longing for belonging
resonating on every wall in every room
I step my sorry foot.
Too far gone the being
who dips its heart
into other people's minds
and seeks refuge.
Shield me from that
torturous yelling
that attentiveness
of existence in agonising aggregate.
Glass boxes have carried me thus far -
observation before interaction -
but too much.
Tint that glass a dark shadow
let me be as the shadow,...
No more can I bear that racket -
that loud scream of emotive resistance
longing for belonging
resonating on every wall in every room
I step my sorry foot.
Too far gone the being
who dips its heart
into other people's minds
and seeks refuge.
Shield me from that
torturous yelling
that attentiveness
of existence in agonising aggregate.
Glass boxes have carried me thus far -
observation before interaction -
but too much.
Tint that glass a dark shadow
let me be as the shadow,...
708 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Dec 2012 00:40am
13th Dec 2012 00:40am
Circles
If every hello
ends with a good bye
fleeting lamentations
heard only by sky.
And saying good bye
is hello to an end
and endings prompt a new
time to begin.
Then we say hello
to new beginnings.
Are we no more than circling
a page with a pen?
A living universe
yet our thoughts are a lie
Social patterns
distract
our minds
from that Sky.
ends with a good bye
fleeting lamentations
heard only by sky.
And saying good bye
is hello to an end
and endings prompt a new
time to begin.
Then we say hello
to new beginnings.
Are we no more than circling
a page with a pen?
A living universe
yet our thoughts are a lie
Social patterns
distract
our minds
from that Sky.
724 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th Dec 2012 00:32am
12th Dec 2012 00:32am
Unorthodox composition title
If a pen could displace
ideas, concepts
then swift action of the pen
would sweep the page
and problems of being
would be drawn out
(as they are) -
from foreign oceans
to perceived reality
on a sweet white page
- immaculate in its innocence,
darkened by ink stains
burdens of the mind become
blots poisoning white sanctity.
Blotting - as problematic concepts -
becomes imprinted - fundamental.
Sweet Yin and Yang
clear conscious and
dark dilemmas
are tangible now.
Fold and fold again -
paper plane,...
ideas, concepts
then swift action of the pen
would sweep the page
and problems of being
would be drawn out
(as they are) -
from foreign oceans
to perceived reality
on a sweet white page
- immaculate in its innocence,
darkened by ink stains
burdens of the mind become
blots poisoning white sanctity.
Blotting - as problematic concepts -
becomes imprinted - fundamental.
Sweet Yin and Yang
clear conscious and
dark dilemmas
are tangible now.
Fold and fold again -
paper plane,...
456 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Dec 2012 11:16pm
11th Dec 2012 11:16pm
Claustrophobia
Thoughts bludgeoned to death by repeated questions of syllabus
So hard it is -- to find life in a death,
and so too to find light in dark;
yet mind's lights are dimmed by revised answers -
where can a rose blossom in a plane of re-harvested maize?
Et tu, Brute - conspiring
all conspiring
Crypticism and meandering inconsistencies -
have you died since we last met?
Yet where does rhetoric - poetic
lie in the vast plan drawn up by these supposed rose-growers?
Yet none! - misconceptions and lies - maize is no beauty, no true flower....
So hard it is -- to find life in a death,
and so too to find light in dark;
yet mind's lights are dimmed by revised answers -
where can a rose blossom in a plane of re-harvested maize?
Et tu, Brute - conspiring
all conspiring
Crypticism and meandering inconsistencies -
have you died since we last met?
Yet where does rhetoric - poetic
lie in the vast plan drawn up by these supposed rose-growers?
Yet none! - misconceptions and lies - maize is no beauty, no true flower....
492 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Dec 2012 9:09pm
10th Dec 2012 9:09pm
Cliff's face
Your world - perceived
by a
Cotton head
wooly and insular
mild xenophobia
and revered for
those traits -
so often it is
that men fall
warm-headed but clouted.
Yet you are
Exception
but all the while still
neurological synthesised.
Why am I standing
above you?
What says that I -
human as all,
Flawed as all,
can attribute you the same?
and would I be right?
What about the self's
fluffy head,
so inclined to extort
but never to deliberate internally?
What plane can I sit
to view...
by a
Cotton head
wooly and insular
mild xenophobia
and revered for
those traits -
so often it is
that men fall
warm-headed but clouted.
Yet you are
Exception
but all the while still
neurological synthesised.
Why am I standing
above you?
What says that I -
human as all,
Flawed as all,
can attribute you the same?
and would I be right?
What about the self's
fluffy head,
so inclined to extort
but never to deliberate internally?
What plane can I sit
to view...
555 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Dec 2012 00:20am
6th Dec 2012 00:20am
Musings of a bus journey
Solace is the place behind
that ridiculous
contraption
on your head.
Self-induced isolation brings
such joy,
to be nothing more than an observer
- the man behind the one-way glass.
Dull sounds tinting the hard diegetic.
That play -
The Stage is always there,
yet as actors we are oblivious.
This stepping back - this
eccentric habit -
this makes us an audience,
watching that curtain being drawn
viewing rather than perceiving.
And only then -
after overcoming the intrusion,
that constant...
that ridiculous
contraption
on your head.
Self-induced isolation brings
such joy,
to be nothing more than an observer
- the man behind the one-way glass.
Dull sounds tinting the hard diegetic.
That play -
The Stage is always there,
yet as actors we are oblivious.
This stepping back - this
eccentric habit -
this makes us an audience,
watching that curtain being drawn
viewing rather than perceiving.
And only then -
after overcoming the intrusion,
that constant...
486 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by JamieCummins
