Submissions by Junco (H. D. Jaster)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
My name is Helena. My primary genre is short fiction/horror, though as this suggests, I do often find myself transfixed by poetry. I do not shy away from violence, or the darker aspects of our living and dreaming lives.
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Dec 2013 4:00am
2nd Dec 2013 4:00am
The Parallel Between
I am pressed against
the thin membrane that separates
the sane and the insane.
I have been at this point most of my life
and have crossed over
more than once.
I want to pull away,
to firmly fall on one side or
another.
But I am unable to move away,
either towards reality or fantasy.
The thought of committing to one or
the other scares the crap out of me.
It is suffocating me.
the thin membrane that separates
the sane and the insane.
I have been at this point most of my life
and have crossed over
more than once.
I want to pull away,
to firmly fall on one side or
another.
But I am unable to move away,
either towards reality or fantasy.
The thought of committing to one or
the other scares the crap out of me.
It is suffocating me.
702 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Nov 2013 8:08am
27th Nov 2013 8:08am
Retrograde
Her mind is turning into something terrible;
a haze, a disjointed and broken brain.
I reach out to her the only way I can, with
familiar things, and simplicity.
Checkers has been my tool, and I purposefully lose
so she can always feel like she has done well.
This is the way in which I play.
I no longer look to win, just to see her understanding
the game more and more, hoping that I will
be able to in some small way bring her back.
Today was worst then the rest,
her mind seeming to be unable to recognize
one half of the board,...
a haze, a disjointed and broken brain.
I reach out to her the only way I can, with
familiar things, and simplicity.
Checkers has been my tool, and I purposefully lose
so she can always feel like she has done well.
This is the way in which I play.
I no longer look to win, just to see her understanding
the game more and more, hoping that I will
be able to in some small way bring her back.
Today was worst then the rest,
her mind seeming to be unable to recognize
one half of the board,...
675 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
24th Nov 2013 3:24pm
24th Nov 2013 3:24pm
The Sidewalk
Her red dress clung close to her body,
the steady draw of the rake pulling the fabric
taut against her pale calf's.
Down the path the young man walked, intrigued
by the woman busying herself by raking leaves
off the sidewalk.
Her face was strange, rather recessed, her eyes
unusually small. Her mouth was wide, outlined
with thin, ruby red lips.
As he got closer, her movements began to quicken,
until at last he was only a couple of feet from
her, her work complete.
“Seems strange to me that you would busy ...
the steady draw of the rake pulling the fabric
taut against her pale calf's.
Down the path the young man walked, intrigued
by the woman busying herself by raking leaves
off the sidewalk.
Her face was strange, rather recessed, her eyes
unusually small. Her mouth was wide, outlined
with thin, ruby red lips.
As he got closer, her movements began to quicken,
until at last he was only a couple of feet from
her, her work complete.
“Seems strange to me that you would busy ...
629 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
24th Nov 2013 9:05am
24th Nov 2013 9:05am
The Right Turn
Dawn drive at 6 AM.
It is a rare to be so tired and so awake.
I keep my eyes on the road,
keep my focus where it needs to be.
The morning opens before me,
yellow light breaching the treeline,
cutting through the thin veil of muted color.
It is too early for hopes and dreams,
too late to try and forget
the empty passenger seat,
the loneliness that passes for conversation.
She liked it here,
among the trees and the hills.
One can look off into infinite space
and be caught off guard by a sense of awe
as strong as any cup...
It is a rare to be so tired and so awake.
I keep my eyes on the road,
keep my focus where it needs to be.
The morning opens before me,
yellow light breaching the treeline,
cutting through the thin veil of muted color.
It is too early for hopes and dreams,
too late to try and forget
the empty passenger seat,
the loneliness that passes for conversation.
She liked it here,
among the trees and the hills.
One can look off into infinite space
and be caught off guard by a sense of awe
as strong as any cup...
685 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
21st Nov 2013 4:22am
21st Nov 2013 4:22am
The River's Edge
The face in the water watches
my pensive steps sinking into the
soil that lines the river's edge.
I pinned her down, the rocks
that drape across her gently
clicking against the bottom as the
current bubbles and shifts
around the obstructions,
as the mud from their under-
bellies create long streaks of brown
in the sunlit waters.
The only bubbles that form are
those of the water itself.
Her body stopped producing
them over ten minutes ago.
But still she watches me,
her reddened eyes following me
as I make my way up and...
my pensive steps sinking into the
soil that lines the river's edge.
I pinned her down, the rocks
that drape across her gently
clicking against the bottom as the
current bubbles and shifts
around the obstructions,
as the mud from their under-
bellies create long streaks of brown
in the sunlit waters.
The only bubbles that form are
those of the water itself.
Her body stopped producing
them over ten minutes ago.
But still she watches me,
her reddened eyes following me
as I make my way up and...
733 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Nov 2013 11:44pm
20th Nov 2013 11:44pm
The Processing
To work with ink is to work in black;
in ink and dark and the unknown.
Hardly a flicker of light shall
illuminate, and we shall crawl through
stagnant pools, and peat bogs,
and locked basements, and all those
troubled places in our minds.
It is our release, our goal among goals.
Everything starts with it, and everything
ends.
Writing may be the cruelest
of all artistic endeavors.
Where at once we wish response
we instead get silence.
When we wish for a gut reaction,
we get someone checking to see
how long...
in ink and dark and the unknown.
Hardly a flicker of light shall
illuminate, and we shall crawl through
stagnant pools, and peat bogs,
and locked basements, and all those
troubled places in our minds.
It is our release, our goal among goals.
Everything starts with it, and everything
ends.
Writing may be the cruelest
of all artistic endeavors.
Where at once we wish response
we instead get silence.
When we wish for a gut reaction,
we get someone checking to see
how long...
679 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 6:49am
19th Nov 2013 6:49am
Coward
I refuse to face life without a partner,
life has become numb
lacking taste and lingering joy
I am a coward
Though I am surrounded on all sides
I refuse to believe that this is all I need.
A gentle touch,
one that can be easily replicated
but hard to fake.
Kind, loving, encouraging words,
hiding feelings of want.
A kiss, oh a kiss,
that comes from the heart,
that you can slip into and wear,
and leaves you better instead of yearning.
I am a coward.
Every day I am without a partner
I...
life has become numb
lacking taste and lingering joy
I am a coward
Though I am surrounded on all sides
I refuse to believe that this is all I need.
A gentle touch,
one that can be easily replicated
but hard to fake.
Kind, loving, encouraging words,
hiding feelings of want.
A kiss, oh a kiss,
that comes from the heart,
that you can slip into and wear,
and leaves you better instead of yearning.
I am a coward.
Every day I am without a partner
I...
672 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
30th Jun 2013 9:08pm
30th Jun 2013 9:08pm
In the Water
Coy infidel
Clad in the flesh of eels and slugs
Movements as lazy as the current.
A slight murmur of the bubbling brook
Crawls along its back,
Body arching and convulsing,
Sensation upon sensation
Mounting upon its worship of the flesh.
It reaches down and finds a malleable heat.
It lingers on it for a while,
Then senses salt in the water of the river.
Lazily it crawls its way up the current,
The floor dropping suddenly as it issues into
The dark waters of the lake.
It finds legs.
Soft,...
Clad in the flesh of eels and slugs
Movements as lazy as the current.
A slight murmur of the bubbling brook
Crawls along its back,
Body arching and convulsing,
Sensation upon sensation
Mounting upon its worship of the flesh.
It reaches down and finds a malleable heat.
It lingers on it for a while,
Then senses salt in the water of the river.
Lazily it crawls its way up the current,
The floor dropping suddenly as it issues into
The dark waters of the lake.
It finds legs.
Soft,...
619 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
29th Jun 2013 10:31pm
29th Jun 2013 10:31pm
The Divide
I was wrong to think peace in love
was possible.
Peace and love are separations,
divides between each other that are
not one in the same.
Love fills you up, but peace
is the divide that separates one person
from another.
That comfort,
that comes from not being close.
In order to be happy we must pick one.
Love or peace.
There is no such thing as both.
The divide is too great,
and life was not created to provide both.
was possible.
Peace and love are separations,
divides between each other that are
not one in the same.
Love fills you up, but peace
is the divide that separates one person
from another.
That comfort,
that comes from not being close.
In order to be happy we must pick one.
Love or peace.
There is no such thing as both.
The divide is too great,
and life was not created to provide both.
600 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
9th Jun 2013 8:55am
9th Jun 2013 8:55am
The Weight of Ages
It settles in and takes its rightful place
at my side. I have dared to pretend it
has no place in my life, but it is instead
a keystone, the essential piece to frame
the door.
Is it comfortable? Oh very much so,
and I can finally say that I have welcomed
my true brother back home. My adviser,
my confidant, my friend. My pain.
I will not wallow. I will not grieve.
I will live in it and find joy in
the struggle, because my pain is
real, and to be real is what I
want the most.
The weight of ages finds its place
at my side, and at last...
at my side. I have dared to pretend it
has no place in my life, but it is instead
a keystone, the essential piece to frame
the door.
Is it comfortable? Oh very much so,
and I can finally say that I have welcomed
my true brother back home. My adviser,
my confidant, my friend. My pain.
I will not wallow. I will not grieve.
I will live in it and find joy in
the struggle, because my pain is
real, and to be real is what I
want the most.
The weight of ages finds its place
at my side, and at last...
605 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
29th May 2013 2:28am
29th May 2013 2:28am
The Walk
I carry love
both for myself and another
a love that was once shared by the two of us
but now only requires one to support.
It is a burden, and it is painful,
the straps that bind it to me biting,
cutting into my flesh soft and pale.
Blood runs from the blisters, even
as the blood cuts off, leaving my limbs numb
and cold and senseless.
Those few times I can place down the burden
I choose those moments to feast,
but only in the company of another.
Someone who once accompanied me on my walks.
The journey between though is long,
and it...
both for myself and another
a love that was once shared by the two of us
but now only requires one to support.
It is a burden, and it is painful,
the straps that bind it to me biting,
cutting into my flesh soft and pale.
Blood runs from the blisters, even
as the blood cuts off, leaving my limbs numb
and cold and senseless.
Those few times I can place down the burden
I choose those moments to feast,
but only in the company of another.
Someone who once accompanied me on my walks.
The journey between though is long,
and it...
594 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
21st Feb 2013 4:17am
21st Feb 2013 4:17am
Victoria
The fire tosses and tussles in the air of the
stone bound chimney, as my vision blurs
and my thoughts shift to more morbid things.
The act is still fresh in my mind, and though
I washed the blood, I can still smell it on
my hands every time I raise my glass to take
a drink.
A sudden, sickening feeling overcomes me, as
I notice something wade its way out from the
dark corners of the room where the light
cannot reach.
My chair crashes to the floor as I watch her
run her long fingers along the book choked walls,
coming at last to...
stone bound chimney, as my vision blurs
and my thoughts shift to more morbid things.
The act is still fresh in my mind, and though
I washed the blood, I can still smell it on
my hands every time I raise my glass to take
a drink.
A sudden, sickening feeling overcomes me, as
I notice something wade its way out from the
dark corners of the room where the light
cannot reach.
My chair crashes to the floor as I watch her
run her long fingers along the book choked walls,
coming at last to...
532 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Junco (H. D. Jaster)
