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.
DARK POEM
Published
3rd Nov 2012 5:59pm
3rd Nov 2012 5:59pm
The Suite
I wish the noise didn't stop. It has been at it for nearly five minutes; the steady burping of the drain as I let the water out. I tried to ignore the rest of it. The steady marching swirling as the water wound its way round and round helped significantly to drown it out. Seemed strange to me at first how loud the draining of water was, but now I am thankful, at least in the short term. I have tried desperately to drown it out, but now the water has emptied from the hot tub, and I can hear it once more. See, there is only a thin, solid core door that separates me from the rest of the hotel...
716 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
25th Oct 2012 5:27am
25th Oct 2012 5:27am
Hiro Jin Brodie
My therapist, he told me I should make a character, and become them.
But he never met one like me and he didn't know what I could create.
Inside me rests the result, one created out of the type of pain
that brings one down to the lowest place,
that of insanity and the numb.
He is something terrible
a reflection of all the shame
all the abuse and sadness drawn into a single figure.
He made me burst open my hands,
convinced me I was a prophet,
that this suffering was all part of Gods grand plan.
One day I asked him who I am talking...
But he never met one like me and he didn't know what I could create.
Inside me rests the result, one created out of the type of pain
that brings one down to the lowest place,
that of insanity and the numb.
He is something terrible
a reflection of all the shame
all the abuse and sadness drawn into a single figure.
He made me burst open my hands,
convinced me I was a prophet,
that this suffering was all part of Gods grand plan.
One day I asked him who I am talking...
807 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
25th Oct 2012 00:32am
25th Oct 2012 00:32am
Evergreen
Her flesh has became sweet,
like buttermilk,
but highly tainted with strong alcohol,
and a sour aftertaste.
I should have started on her earlier
when she was still fresh.
Now nature has had its way.
The feeling of the skin is all wrong,
it shifts too much.
I tried to draw her away from the rest of them
but something pulled unexpectedly
tissues seeming to rupture under the exertion.
Something spilled out, seeping into the carpet;
it couldn't absorb it all.
It was too thick
Clumpy really.
The muscles seem to be reforming...
like buttermilk,
but highly tainted with strong alcohol,
and a sour aftertaste.
I should have started on her earlier
when she was still fresh.
Now nature has had its way.
The feeling of the skin is all wrong,
it shifts too much.
I tried to draw her away from the rest of them
but something pulled unexpectedly
tissues seeming to rupture under the exertion.
Something spilled out, seeping into the carpet;
it couldn't absorb it all.
It was too thick
Clumpy really.
The muscles seem to be reforming...
797 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Oct 2012 6:57am
24th Oct 2012 6:57am
Spread of the Firestorm
My heart is on fire,
the inferno that consumes
but does not destroy,
that seethes
but doesn't singe.
It pulses with life.
blood and flame,
passion and desire
enveloping
in a raging flash of light.
I draw in oxygen,
a new breath
after a long pause.
It is feeding into, spreading
the firestorm.
Barren fields smolder
From black ashes, they bloom.
From the embers
I ignite,
in the blaze of your embrace.
My heart is on fire,
blood and flame
after a long pause.
I...
the inferno that consumes
but does not destroy,
that seethes
but doesn't singe.
It pulses with life.
blood and flame,
passion and desire
enveloping
in a raging flash of light.
I draw in oxygen,
a new breath
after a long pause.
It is feeding into, spreading
the firestorm.
Barren fields smolder
From black ashes, they bloom.
From the embers
I ignite,
in the blaze of your embrace.
My heart is on fire,
blood and flame
after a long pause.
I...
887 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Oct 2012 7:32am
20th Oct 2012 7:32am
I Looked Away
I wake up to the same feeling of sickness that I felt the night before. It is just as strong, just as ferocious, just as hungry, and I hate myself for its presence. It is only when I sleep that I am free from the churning in my stomach, as it sits inches from the back of my throat.
It has been this way for weeks now, mornings of grogginess and nausea leading into afternoons intermittently filled with a sharp pain in my midsection, and cold sweats. This leads into the night, when the pain and nausea are so great that I can barely stand, and eventually I do pass out from the hurt...
It has been this way for weeks now, mornings of grogginess and nausea leading into afternoons intermittently filled with a sharp pain in my midsection, and cold sweats. This leads into the night, when the pain and nausea are so great that I can barely stand, and eventually I do pass out from the hurt...
723 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Oct 2012 7:04am
20th Oct 2012 7:04am
The Hunter
The swamp grips his toes
creating a sucking noise with every step he
takes through the tangled and shifting bog.
There is no rain, but the moisture of the mist
clings to his form, collecting as a carpet
of diamonds in the filtered moonlight.
Gnarled, ancient trees sit naked and barren
the waters bubbling up in a sickening foam.
His dark, sunken eyes shift across the fields
of peat and Spanish moss, looking for a sign.
A tree, split down the middle, death and
decay hanging from the shattered limbs.
He now knows he is still on track....
creating a sucking noise with every step he
takes through the tangled and shifting bog.
There is no rain, but the moisture of the mist
clings to his form, collecting as a carpet
of diamonds in the filtered moonlight.
Gnarled, ancient trees sit naked and barren
the waters bubbling up in a sickening foam.
His dark, sunken eyes shift across the fields
of peat and Spanish moss, looking for a sign.
A tree, split down the middle, death and
decay hanging from the shattered limbs.
He now knows he is still on track....
661 reads
3 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
19th Oct 2012 4:26am
19th Oct 2012 4:26am
A Moment
I am exhausted. I am tired and sad. I am so many things right now, too many to try and categorize into a single idea. I have tried for years to find some happiness, and now I find myself in fear of losing the thought of one night of joy. One conversation. One thought and idea after another thought and idea, shared between two people. I don't want to lose that. It has been keeping me going. It has kept me from caving in and wanting to destroy myself. It has made me feel alive for the first time in I don't know how long. I have been sick and tired, but not in the physical sense. In the...
698 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
19th Oct 2012 4:14am
19th Oct 2012 4:14am
Title Unrelated
Not everything you write is gold
not everything you write is crap either
its a numbers game really, and
learning to strike at the right time
like after a good sandwich
or after finishing a book, or
whatever has been taking unnecessarily forever
for you to finish.
After that moment
you should write
write when you are accomplished
write when you are sad
write whenever you want
but always write in that special moment
because it is fleeting, and it
is unlikely you will ever repeat it.
Repeat after me
I will write right...
not everything you write is crap either
its a numbers game really, and
learning to strike at the right time
like after a good sandwich
or after finishing a book, or
whatever has been taking unnecessarily forever
for you to finish.
After that moment
you should write
write when you are accomplished
write when you are sad
write whenever you want
but always write in that special moment
because it is fleeting, and it
is unlikely you will ever repeat it.
Repeat after me
I will write right...
554 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
10th Oct 2012 5:34am
10th Oct 2012 5:34am
Our Quiet Oblivion
She's not alright,
another attempt at suicide.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
She has depression,
and it is eating her alive.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
I cry over her,
almost every night.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
I can never know,
If she will live or die.
My sweetie is sick,
and said goodbye.
You may know the tears,
When you hear the final sigh.
But my sweetie is hurt,
and so am I.
For Katie
another attempt at suicide.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
She has depression,
and it is eating her alive.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
I cry over her,
almost every night.
My sweetie is sick,
and so am I.
I can never know,
If she will live or die.
My sweetie is sick,
and said goodbye.
You may know the tears,
When you hear the final sigh.
But my sweetie is hurt,
and so am I.
For Katie
651 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
9th Oct 2012 2:24pm
9th Oct 2012 2:24pm
Into the Gyre
Plummeting to the ground,
Wings lacerated,
tips blackened,
Scent of burnt amber,
Black smoke rising in a film.
Plunging to earth,
ground rising and falling,
spitting poison,
gripping a apocalypse,
grasping at ghosts not there.
Collapsing in oblivion,
ground and form one,
life issuing in streams,
ice the greeting,
damned heads moaning.
Sin begets sin,
life begets life.
Lovers look on, ...
Wings lacerated,
tips blackened,
Scent of burnt amber,
Black smoke rising in a film.
Plunging to earth,
ground rising and falling,
spitting poison,
gripping a apocalypse,
grasping at ghosts not there.
Collapsing in oblivion,
ground and form one,
life issuing in streams,
ice the greeting,
damned heads moaning.
Sin begets sin,
life begets life.
Lovers look on, ...
680 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
6th Oct 2012 7:19pm
6th Oct 2012 7:19pm
Potted Plants
I bought a plant,
For company of all things.
Plants can't say they love you,
but they certainly can't say they don't.
Always there to listen,
Always there.
I bought a plant,
green and lush and full,
a fern of all things.
They are supposedly hard to kill.
You should see it in the sun,
in the morning,
orange light filtering through,
Kaleidoscopic on the ground.
It just sits there and waits,
waits for me to say hello,
They say they react to sound,
That it makes them feel good.
Any sound will do really,
any sound at...
For company of all things.
Plants can't say they love you,
but they certainly can't say they don't.
Always there to listen,
Always there.
I bought a plant,
green and lush and full,
a fern of all things.
They are supposedly hard to kill.
You should see it in the sun,
in the morning,
orange light filtering through,
Kaleidoscopic on the ground.
It just sits there and waits,
waits for me to say hello,
They say they react to sound,
That it makes them feel good.
Any sound will do really,
any sound at...
873 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
6th Oct 2012 7:14pm
6th Oct 2012 7:14pm
Helmets in the Sand
The setting sun casts its orange hue along the sand,
lobbing sharp, offensive shadows,
stretched long across the beach face.
At the edge the ocean breathes,
its movements sporadic and labored.
Suddenly, the surf crashes against a cold
hollow object.
The water retreats,
then approaches again with renewed vigor, determined to
understand the obstacle.
Cautiousness soon gives way to curiosity.
It has tasted this object before. Long ago when strange
machines traveled through its depths and along the surface above;
it was...
lobbing sharp, offensive shadows,
stretched long across the beach face.
At the edge the ocean breathes,
its movements sporadic and labored.
Suddenly, the surf crashes against a cold
hollow object.
The water retreats,
then approaches again with renewed vigor, determined to
understand the obstacle.
Cautiousness soon gives way to curiosity.
It has tasted this object before. Long ago when strange
machines traveled through its depths and along the surface above;
it was...
663 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Junco (H. D. Jaster)
