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
5th Oct 2012 1:35am
5th Oct 2012 1:35am
Breathing
It was the witching hour
And the only sound that I could perceive
Was the echo of its breathing
As it climbed the stairs that led to my room.
My breath was caught in my throat,
Escaping in hollow,
Empty gasps
Every moment the breathing getting closer
“IN AND OUT,” it said.
“In and out,” I whimpered.
By now it was at the top of the stairs,
It’s breathing heavy and labored.
I could imagine it
Though I tried not to,
To not picture it outside my door,
Its eyes burning red against its black coat,
Its mouth...
And the only sound that I could perceive
Was the echo of its breathing
As it climbed the stairs that led to my room.
My breath was caught in my throat,
Escaping in hollow,
Empty gasps
Every moment the breathing getting closer
“IN AND OUT,” it said.
“In and out,” I whimpered.
By now it was at the top of the stairs,
It’s breathing heavy and labored.
I could imagine it
Though I tried not to,
To not picture it outside my door,
Its eyes burning red against its black coat,
Its mouth...
671 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 5:13pm
4th Oct 2012 5:13pm
Witching Hour
Draw closer
and don't let go
I need comfort
for the nightmares.
Lost imaginations
relics of thought and emotion
plunged into the depths
of precognition
for fear they may rise up again.
Every night,
the deep, deafening
tolling of bells
trumpeters of doom
thick,
threatening laughter,
emanating from spaces unseen
It calls out,
and weeps.
Begging incessantly.
Hands clutch skull
pressure creates panic
sounds rising up
in empty spaces
where none should exist.
Culminating at last...
and don't let go
I need comfort
for the nightmares.
Lost imaginations
relics of thought and emotion
plunged into the depths
of precognition
for fear they may rise up again.
Every night,
the deep, deafening
tolling of bells
trumpeters of doom
thick,
threatening laughter,
emanating from spaces unseen
It calls out,
and weeps.
Begging incessantly.
Hands clutch skull
pressure creates panic
sounds rising up
in empty spaces
where none should exist.
Culminating at last...
671 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 4:38pm
4th Oct 2012 4:38pm
A Dream According to L
The end of the dock,
a darkness tangible,
set below a milky white moon,
masked in the thickening rush
of steam settling on the water.
On the edge, a single lit lantern,
molten gold playing hide and seek
with the surface of the lake
that reveals none of the horrors
that stir silently in the depths.
They disturb not a single caress
of the languished waves
clawing at a no mans land,
black, flickering tongues
rocking the fiberglass vessel.
The man, fatigued and desperate,
looks for one last catch.
The silence...
a darkness tangible,
set below a milky white moon,
masked in the thickening rush
of steam settling on the water.
On the edge, a single lit lantern,
molten gold playing hide and seek
with the surface of the lake
that reveals none of the horrors
that stir silently in the depths.
They disturb not a single caress
of the languished waves
clawing at a no mans land,
black, flickering tongues
rocking the fiberglass vessel.
The man, fatigued and desperate,
looks for one last catch.
The silence...
847 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 8:44am
4th Oct 2012 8:44am
Sound the Void
An old bedside table
Wood-pulp and leather,
ink half written on a page,
dust settled along the grain.
Scent, a pungent aroma
of sea and carnations,
and something too specific to life.
Distances between
measured in tender whispers
caught within a moment
shared.
Two people
trapped in a memory
and one lost to it completely.
An old wicker chair
Legs rooted
Old rose colored carpet.
Footfalls between,
a door set off its hinges.
A form
coddled in ancient wool
breathing slowed
heart...
Wood-pulp and leather,
ink half written on a page,
dust settled along the grain.
Scent, a pungent aroma
of sea and carnations,
and something too specific to life.
Distances between
measured in tender whispers
caught within a moment
shared.
Two people
trapped in a memory
and one lost to it completely.
An old wicker chair
Legs rooted
Old rose colored carpet.
Footfalls between,
a door set off its hinges.
A form
coddled in ancient wool
breathing slowed
heart...
693 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 8:35am
4th Oct 2012 8:35am
The Abyss Yawns
Something stirs inside the pit, in the dark place,
where we put the worst of ourselves. Slime
and scales, with eyes as black as obsidian.
We leave it there, visiting whenever
we need to, to send another of those
monsters, plummeting into the abyss.
we pretend they are not there, at
least in front of others, but
secretly we all fear those
creatures, that wrestle with
each other, in the dark
place, where we put
the worst of our- ...
where we put the worst of ourselves. Slime
and scales, with eyes as black as obsidian.
We leave it there, visiting whenever
we need to, to send another of those
monsters, plummeting into the abyss.
we pretend they are not there, at
least in front of others, but
secretly we all fear those
creatures, that wrestle with
each other, in the dark
place, where we put
the worst of our- ...
652 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Junco (H. D. Jaster)
