Submissions by Lozzamus
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction I compare poetry to painting, believing that I lack any drawing/painting skills but believing my imagination and training in writing has enabled me to transfer my love of visual art to the written word
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Mar 2020 5:05pm
24th Mar 2020 5:05pm
Coronavirus
Indoors, off work
Relaxing yet tense
Do I have the virus?
Probably not
Yet most people already have it
Will there be food tomorrow?
Stores selling crucial goods?
How will Londoners survive?
Niggling symptoms, familiar but worrying
The tickly throat I often put down to hay fever
The sore shoulders -
Too much work at the keyboard or something more sinister?
Society
The possibility of unrest on the streets
Looting and rioting
Clashes with police and Armed Forces
Was life really so simple two...
Relaxing yet tense
Do I have the virus?
Probably not
Yet most people already have it
Will there be food tomorrow?
Stores selling crucial goods?
How will Londoners survive?
Niggling symptoms, familiar but worrying
The tickly throat I often put down to hay fever
The sore shoulders -
Too much work at the keyboard or something more sinister?
Society
The possibility of unrest on the streets
Looting and rioting
Clashes with police and Armed Forces
Was life really so simple two...
#anxiety
#LifeStruggles
#scary
37 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
22nd Mar 2020 9:16pm
22nd Mar 2020 9:16pm
Trapped
She starts to shake. He's confessed to murdering her parents and he must feel he has nothing further to lose.
He flings open a bulky, rotting door, revealing a vast barren landscape made up of waterways and pylons and waste metal and industrial garbage. A blast of hot air surges into the building, along with a cloud of dust, hitting her in the face.
There's no sign of the police or Maxine. Instead, a giant incinerator spews out smoke in the distance, thick smoke, a foreboding shade of black, and the sun looks an unnatural shade of orange.
He flings open a bulky, rotting door, revealing a vast barren landscape made up of waterways and pylons and waste metal and industrial garbage. A blast of hot air surges into the building, along with a cloud of dust, hitting her in the face.
There's no sign of the police or Maxine. Instead, a giant incinerator spews out smoke in the distance, thick smoke, a foreboding shade of black, and the sun looks an unnatural shade of orange.
#conflict
#mystery
#risk
30 reads
6 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
20th Mar 2020 1:10am
20th Mar 2020 1:10am
Last Day At Work, Coronavirus And Self-Employment
It's happened. Not the virus, thankfully, but my work as a self-employed pianist at a dance school has come to a halt, possibly for good.
I did my last stint this afternoon.
I don't know what the future holds.
I've pledged to devote the coming months to furthering my music career from home via the Internet, and to gaining a high standard in foreign language studies.
In my spare time, I will write poetry and short stories.
And socialise, of course.
I intend to do this by meeting people in the local wooded area, on condition we...
I did my last stint this afternoon.
I don't know what the future holds.
I've pledged to devote the coming months to furthering my music career from home via the Internet, and to gaining a high standard in foreign language studies.
In my spare time, I will write poetry and short stories.
And socialise, of course.
I intend to do this by meeting people in the local wooded area, on condition we...
#anxiety
#fear
34 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Mar 2020 9:22pm
11th Mar 2020 9:22pm
The Man At The Theatre
Waves dance to and fro, causing vibrations to pass through the pier
A thud. The main door of the theatre opens, shuts
A man steps out, dressed in a suit and an overcoat, his silhouette illuminated from the outside lighting, like a disembodied spectre
The man opens up an umbrella and peers in the distance, as if searching for someone
A thud. The main door of the theatre opens, shuts
A man steps out, dressed in a suit and an overcoat, his silhouette illuminated from the outside lighting, like a disembodied spectre
The man opens up an umbrella and peers in the distance, as if searching for someone
#loneliness
#sea
#mystery
35 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Mar 2020 11:52pm
4th Mar 2020 11:52pm
Power Cut
quarter past nine at night
an audio click
and then darkness
the display on the clock has vanished
no electricity
silence
torchlight and internet
despite the stillness the house breathes
a heartbeat barely noticeable
outside sounds come and go
ebbing away like the sea
an audio click
and then darkness
the display on the clock has vanished
no electricity
silence
torchlight and internet
despite the stillness the house breathes
a heartbeat barely noticeable
outside sounds come and go
ebbing away like the sea
#technology
#fear
27 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
1st Mar 2020 8:47pm
1st Mar 2020 8:47pm
The Bike Ride
They say the bike race was my idea, that Craig Winters and the others would have preferred to stay indoors that August Bank Holiday Monday. In the shade where it was nice and cool. But Craig's mum agreed with me. It's a lovely day, she said, why don't you go out and play before school starts again?
Five of us rode to the clearing at the bottom of Whaley Hill. Me. Craig. Gordon. Callum Jenkins. And Callum's cousin Shane Jenkins. Or Skinny Shane, as we called him. We left about one o'clock and took bottles of squash.
I won the bike race, like always. The...
Five of us rode to the clearing at the bottom of Whaley Hill. Me. Craig. Gordon. Callum Jenkins. And Callum's cousin Shane Jenkins. Or Skinny Shane, as we called him. We left about one o'clock and took bottles of squash.
I won the bike race, like always. The...
#childhood
#countryside
#mystery
56 reads
10 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
25th Feb 2020 11:52pm
25th Feb 2020 11:52pm
The View From The Top
rugged and bare moors set against a darkening sky
reddish-brown mills
fat pylons
farms and fields and valleys
Further on lay an austere three storey-house set on a mound, surrounded by statues and water fountains and a landscaped garden that overlooked the steep side hill leading down to river and to the abandoned factories and mills.
Based on a previous novel attempt set in the Lancashire and Yorkshire borders. Genre: Psychological Thriller
reddish-brown mills
fat pylons
farms and fields and valleys
Further on lay an austere three storey-house set on a mound, surrounded by statues and water fountains and a landscaped garden that overlooked the steep side hill leading down to river and to the abandoned factories and mills.
Based on a previous novel attempt set in the Lancashire and Yorkshire borders. Genre: Psychological Thriller
#countryside
#mystery
46 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
19th Feb 2020 8:30pm
19th Feb 2020 8:30pm
Followed
When I step into the entrance hall, the same silence from earlier greets me, interrupted only by the steady tap of drizzle on the glass dome in the ceiling.
I'm standing in darkness. All the lights have gone out. I try one of the switches on the wall. Nothing happens.
Odd.
For a second or two, I think I hear footsteps on one of the balconies. Light rapid ones.
'Hello?' I call up in the darkness.
Silence.
I step outside and make my way across the car park. The evening has turned chilly with the scent of damp fields and manure...
I'm standing in darkness. All the lights have gone out. I try one of the switches on the wall. Nothing happens.
Odd.
For a second or two, I think I hear footsteps on one of the balconies. Light rapid ones.
'Hello?' I call up in the darkness.
Silence.
I step outside and make my way across the car park. The evening has turned chilly with the scent of damp fields and manure...
#scary
#mystery
56 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th Feb 2020 11:37pm
12th Feb 2020 11:37pm
Stress
the pressures mount
one upon another
bleeping sounds
that interrupt each other
endless challenges, burdens
some old, many new
the pressures always mounting
a crooked pile ready to topple
one upon another
bleeping sounds
that interrupt each other
endless challenges, burdens
some old, many new
the pressures always mounting
a crooked pile ready to topple
#anxiety
#LifeStruggles
55 reads
11 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Feb 2020 11:13pm
4th Feb 2020 11:13pm
An Afternoon Siesta
post New Year
exhaustion
a siesta
the tension fades
drifting away
fleeting images come and go
scenes of childhood
whispers of mist
the touch of the sun
cairns and castles and rugged terrains
sea and grass
wind and rain
cliffs and meadows and ice cream vans
the afternoon siesta
a childhood remembered
exhaustion
a siesta
the tension fades
drifting away
fleeting images come and go
scenes of childhood
whispers of mist
the touch of the sun
cairns and castles and rugged terrains
sea and grass
wind and rain
cliffs and meadows and ice cream vans
the afternoon siesta
a childhood remembered
#beach
#holiday
#memories
44 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
30th Jan 2020 9:50pm
30th Jan 2020 9:50pm
A Dangerous Obsession
I memorise the address and shut the computer down, hurrying out of the office to my car.
Outside, dusk is settling over the area with a hint of damp and mugginess in the air. I drive quickly, nearly going through a red at a set of traffic lights. I continue on along the coastal road, tight chested.
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I looked for her name, but I wish I hadn’t. The different surname indicates she has married since we last saw each other.
That shouldn’t bother me. But it does.
Leave it alone, I tell myself as I approach the...
Outside, dusk is settling over the area with a hint of damp and mugginess in the air. I drive quickly, nearly going through a red at a set of traffic lights. I continue on along the coastal road, tight chested.
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I looked for her name, but I wish I hadn’t. The different surname indicates she has married since we last saw each other.
That shouldn’t bother me. But it does.
Leave it alone, I tell myself as I approach the...
#heartbroken
#lover
#mystery
61 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
25th Jan 2020 10:08pm
25th Jan 2020 10:08pm
The Old Council House
They say Craig and I never went to Vince Macarthur's house, only Gordon did. But I did go, and so did Craig. I remember the three of us going and I remember the house well. The faded curtains. The musty smells. The shabby carpets. The elusive dancing shadows behind the loose banisters on the staircase. The torn settee by a pile of dusty newspapers. The purple vase in the corner with a fine wiry pattern etched in the glasswork. The metal guard around the gas fire. Model aeroplanes in the sitting room. Spitfires. Lancaster Bombers.
The whole place had a dark and gloomy feel,...
The whole place had a dark and gloomy feel,...
#loneliness
#childhood
#mystery
67 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Lozzamus
