Submissions by JamieCummins
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
A perceiver of things
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Oct 2012 11:31am
29th Oct 2012 11:31am
Melody
A pretty little melody
Keeps playing in my head
I fear to cease it that I must
Play it until its end.
A cruel and unkind faith it is -
But one that I must know
To dwell in place of calm expanse
The melody must grow.
And symphonies will come to life
Explode in people's throats
All of it derived
From that single set of notes.
So play, brave tune, and suffer me the painful works of growth
My brain has planted
Little seeds
Picked from that set
Of notes.
Keeps playing in my head
I fear to cease it that I must
Play it until its end.
A cruel and unkind faith it is -
But one that I must know
To dwell in place of calm expanse
The melody must grow.
And symphonies will come to life
Explode in people's throats
All of it derived
From that single set of notes.
So play, brave tune, and suffer me the painful works of growth
My brain has planted
Little seeds
Picked from that set
Of notes.
680 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
28th Oct 2012 1:57pm
28th Oct 2012 1:57pm
Evaporation
O, mood, sweet mood
whose touch I once knew.
Where have you gone?
You misplaced your
sweet disposition -
Evaporated -
into a red mist.
Where did you take the clarity
etched in my stoney mind
like the epitaph of doubt?
But fogged over - misguiding my mind's ships, drawing swords on maps where lines once lay.
Fickle erasers are cut and worn.
No calm water to be found;
always breathing, always lurching -
respiring certainty in and out of everything at once, like a runner's lung.
But too oft, I find this...
whose touch I once knew.
Where have you gone?
You misplaced your
sweet disposition -
Evaporated -
into a red mist.
Where did you take the clarity
etched in my stoney mind
like the epitaph of doubt?
But fogged over - misguiding my mind's ships, drawing swords on maps where lines once lay.
Fickle erasers are cut and worn.
No calm water to be found;
always breathing, always lurching -
respiring certainty in and out of everything at once, like a runner's lung.
But too oft, I find this...
771 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th Oct 2012 11:35am
27th Oct 2012 11:35am
Clock
The clock is laughing at me.
Each tick burrows into my head and eats me. The walls, windows, books, all laugh.
Monotonously, ignominiously, while more worms drain me.
Walls.
Protecting from the outside but holding me to allow for a quicker decay. Torture. I don't need the fickle knowledge in these walls, it will not stop the fatality of the burrowing.
The words are not the antidote - they are the anaesthetic with the rusted, jagged needle.
All these walls do is give more food of useless thought for the ticks to consume.
Each tick burrows into my head and eats me. The walls, windows, books, all laugh.
Monotonously, ignominiously, while more worms drain me.
Walls.
Protecting from the outside but holding me to allow for a quicker decay. Torture. I don't need the fickle knowledge in these walls, it will not stop the fatality of the burrowing.
The words are not the antidote - they are the anaesthetic with the rusted, jagged needle.
All these walls do is give more food of useless thought for the ticks to consume.
666 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Oct 2012 11:32am
27th Oct 2012 11:32am
Jigsaw
One Jigsaw piece; polished and white,
Fragment of a bold bright artwork.
Pieces start to fit,
But the image is pitched, darkened like a daytime eclipse suffocates the sun.
The puzzle is atramentous, tarred over and hard and
Solved.
But more ambiguous complete than fragmented.
Fragment of a bold bright artwork.
Pieces start to fit,
But the image is pitched, darkened like a daytime eclipse suffocates the sun.
The puzzle is atramentous, tarred over and hard and
Solved.
But more ambiguous complete than fragmented.
559 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Oct 2012 10:27pm
24th Oct 2012 10:27pm
Drowning
People pass me by, faces instill momentarily in my mind before splashing into the stream of my subconscious. Vague words don’t register, drowned by the overflowing sea of thought in my flooded head.
Oceans are formed filled with gasping pictures of the past, faces of girls and suffocating words of wisdom and frivolity.
I often wonder where this ocean leads, and why I must flop about in the outside world, reverse drowning like a fish out of water.
The world outside of these oceans offers only a sea of time,whose ebbs and flows gradually become too fast to keep...
Oceans are formed filled with gasping pictures of the past, faces of girls and suffocating words of wisdom and frivolity.
I often wonder where this ocean leads, and why I must flop about in the outside world, reverse drowning like a fish out of water.
The world outside of these oceans offers only a sea of time,whose ebbs and flows gradually become too fast to keep...
542 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Oct 2012 10:25pm
24th Oct 2012 10:25pm
Existence was a puzzle
Existence was a puzzle
I knew I could not solve.
And so I wrote until no more
Could I keep my resolve.
A mattress fell beneath me,
And so I went to bed
And all the while I tried to sleep
A thought went through my head.
What intricacies can I feel
That others do not know
that idiosyncratic pen
In my hand began to flow.
A trail of ink beneath me, bleeding the blood I show.
What reason
Gives existence
When I know
Where I will go?
I knew I could not solve.
And so I wrote until no more
Could I keep my resolve.
A mattress fell beneath me,
And so I went to bed
And all the while I tried to sleep
A thought went through my head.
What intricacies can I feel
That others do not know
that idiosyncratic pen
In my hand began to flow.
A trail of ink beneath me, bleeding the blood I show.
What reason
Gives existence
When I know
Where I will go?
538 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2012 5:06pm
22nd Oct 2012 5:06pm
Seeds
Seeds of thought. What lies in you? Little shells, of what?
Planted on a plain, void of outside influence.
What comes from your harvest?You had the heat of the world as your sun and the spring of life as your water.
Where is your pretty flower? I see thorns and weeping sores of puss. What caused such a cataclysmic creation?
There is poison on the plain, in the heat and in the water. There is nothing filtered or pure.
Seeds corrupted by the source of their existence, existence.
Planted on a plain, void of outside influence.
What comes from your harvest?You had the heat of the world as your sun and the spring of life as your water.
Where is your pretty flower? I see thorns and weeping sores of puss. What caused such a cataclysmic creation?
There is poison on the plain, in the heat and in the water. There is nothing filtered or pure.
Seeds corrupted by the source of their existence, existence.
533 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2012 5:04pm
22nd Oct 2012 5:04pm
Mirror
When I look in my mirror,
I do not see a face full of blemishes.
No face exists in the iris of the eye in my head who receives the supposed light of humanity through this godly eye.
What is reflected, is the transparent empathy resonating from every office building, from every graveyard and every battlefield.
What is reflected, is the image of an irrelevant being whose existence is but a millisecond in the vastness of everything; whose senses act as a holed box in some mythical realm: providing tiny insights into the environment it is contained in, but...
I do not see a face full of blemishes.
No face exists in the iris of the eye in my head who receives the supposed light of humanity through this godly eye.
What is reflected, is the transparent empathy resonating from every office building, from every graveyard and every battlefield.
What is reflected, is the image of an irrelevant being whose existence is but a millisecond in the vastness of everything; whose senses act as a holed box in some mythical realm: providing tiny insights into the environment it is contained in, but...
573 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Oct 2012 11:12pm
21st Oct 2012 11:12pm
Fluctuations
I construct a me; huge, made of every expectation that floats in my eggshell head. Cells woven together, bound by some invisible desire for impression,
build up and up and up,
And suddenly I am one hundred feet tall and staring down at the world. I am who I have created, this identity is me.
But I demolish me. I exfoliate the dirt in the skin of my body of ambition and take the rubble and turn it into me, again. But it is different now.
This isn't me, this is me, this isn't me.
What sort of malleable shell am I, that I am nothing and everything at once?
...
build up and up and up,
And suddenly I am one hundred feet tall and staring down at the world. I am who I have created, this identity is me.
But I demolish me. I exfoliate the dirt in the skin of my body of ambition and take the rubble and turn it into me, again. But it is different now.
This isn't me, this is me, this isn't me.
What sort of malleable shell am I, that I am nothing and everything at once?
...
888 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Oct 2012 11:09pm
21st Oct 2012 11:09pm
Conspiracy
An idea; rooted in the brain like a parasite attaching itself to a fruit; to drain all of its goodness and leave it empty and hollow leaving exit wounds larger than the organ itself.
A theory; emotional and biased, but overwhelming in the tiny mind of the individual. Everything is evidence, everything emits fear and nothing makes sense. It all piles and pushes and swishes and sways and turns the calm sea of thought into a hazardous realm of waves of doubt and fear, drowning all reason and other perceptions.
A conspiracy; everything submerged by what was once an idea. In...
A theory; emotional and biased, but overwhelming in the tiny mind of the individual. Everything is evidence, everything emits fear and nothing makes sense. It all piles and pushes and swishes and sways and turns the calm sea of thought into a hazardous realm of waves of doubt and fear, drowning all reason and other perceptions.
A conspiracy; everything submerged by what was once an idea. In...
632 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
19th Oct 2012 6:39pm
19th Oct 2012 6:39pm
Find
This, for you that are so agreeable to desires you hold,
yet so un-agreeable to desires that are held,
By the few others who defy you:
Your one-eyed methods act as walls;
providing shelter, yet allowing no foreign light to pass through,
For fear this light may emerge as the more viable warmth.
Many scratch at your surface, sliding fingers along the cold, mono-colour bricks of mild grey, whilst others dawdle idly, unaware of their imprisonment in your four-sided grip.
And now, I have been tossed into your mind, surrounded by your delusions of...
yet so un-agreeable to desires that are held,
By the few others who defy you:
Your one-eyed methods act as walls;
providing shelter, yet allowing no foreign light to pass through,
For fear this light may emerge as the more viable warmth.
Many scratch at your surface, sliding fingers along the cold, mono-colour bricks of mild grey, whilst others dawdle idly, unaware of their imprisonment in your four-sided grip.
And now, I have been tossed into your mind, surrounded by your delusions of...
611 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Oct 2012 6:05pm
19th Oct 2012 6:05pm
Drug Addict
The irony. I am the happiest when in a state of melancholic neutrality to desires. The numbness
Keeps me sane. Like a heroin against society, addictive and oh, oh so warm. Running through my blood like a morphine haemoglobin.
I am a drug addict.
Contaminated needle, pierce my skin! Slice it, make me feel. Remind me I exist before you numb me to that very same phenomenon.
Inconsistent everything, cease!
Stability teeters on a social see-saw. Ugly grey mass, I open you to find beauty but I see violent sores of screaming children's mouths, whose...
Keeps me sane. Like a heroin against society, addictive and oh, oh so warm. Running through my blood like a morphine haemoglobin.
I am a drug addict.
Contaminated needle, pierce my skin! Slice it, make me feel. Remind me I exist before you numb me to that very same phenomenon.
Inconsistent everything, cease!
Stability teeters on a social see-saw. Ugly grey mass, I open you to find beauty but I see violent sores of screaming children's mouths, whose...
662 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by JamieCummins
