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
STORY POEM
Published
23rd Jan 2021 6:52pm
23rd Jan 2021 6:52pm
First Night In A New Place
It is quiet, far too quiet for me. The static stillness of the country gives the impression of time slowing down. I find a beer in the fridge, sit on the sofa bed and drink. I don't want to go to sleep. Sleep frightens me. My recovery from the attack took several years. Surgery. Knee problems from the impact of the bar. Headaches, double vision. I had to surrender my driving licence for a while, and I never played rugby or soccer again.
I slip in to an old jumper and a pair of boxer shorts, and climb into bed, but for much of the night I remain awake, reading but struggling to...
I slip in to an old jumper and a pair of boxer shorts, and climb into bed, but for much of the night I remain awake, reading but struggling to...
#memories
#mystery
#PTSD #suffering
#PTSD #suffering
18 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th Jan 2021 10:24pm
13th Jan 2021 10:24pm
Wintry Beauty
daylight fading
a flooded field
photographer’s hour
the subdued glow of sunset
reflecting on the water
a call for reflection
an evening breeze
a hint of spring
a promise of better times ahead
a flooded field
photographer’s hour
the subdued glow of sunset
reflecting on the water
a call for reflection
an evening breeze
a hint of spring
a promise of better times ahead
#hope
#beauty
#silence
#nature
#peace
28 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
7th Jan 2021 9:30pm
7th Jan 2021 9:30pm
A Christmas Alone (not memoir)
Yesterday when Max’s card came, I genuinely thought I was going to lose control of my emotions after three years of keeping them bottled up inside, safe where no one could access them. Tears blinded my vision and I wanted to scream and keep on screaming. I wanted to shove soil down my throat and choke on it or lie on the ground and shout like a nutter.
I hurried out to the store and purchased a bottle of whisky, nearly drinking it in one of the concrete shelters on the seafront for numbness sake, alone in the freezing cold with my memories of better things for company. But...
I hurried out to the store and purchased a bottle of whisky, nearly drinking it in one of the concrete shelters on the seafront for numbness sake, alone in the freezing cold with my memories of better things for company. But...
#loneliness
#childhood
#family
29 reads
4 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
30th Dec 2020 10:18pm
30th Dec 2020 10:18pm
My Arrival In London, UK, More Than Two Decades Ago
The familiar city came into sight, big and sprawling. London, second time round. I already knew the city from the other time.
Kensington, Edgware, Marble Arch. Streets of Gold. The first time, I'd ended up in a homeless hostel for a couple of days and hadn't coped. Relatives had paid for me to go to a student hostel in Kensington, but I hadn't coped there either. Too much baggage. The relatives never really forgave me.
This time things will be different, I promised myself as the train pulled in at Waterloo International. Very different. I'd appeared on Stage recently...
Kensington, Edgware, Marble Arch. Streets of Gold. The first time, I'd ended up in a homeless hostel for a couple of days and hadn't coped. Relatives had paid for me to go to a student hostel in Kensington, but I hadn't coped there either. Too much baggage. The relatives never really forgave me.
This time things will be different, I promised myself as the train pulled in at Waterloo International. Very different. I'd appeared on Stage recently...
#anxiety
#LifeStruggles
#music #memories
#music #memories
29 reads
11 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
18th Dec 2020 10:34pm
18th Dec 2020 10:34pm
The Custody Battle
He sees it all over again:
himself a boy of nine,
a prisoner in the lonely big house,
searching through the paperwork in the bedroom,
eventually finding the phone number hidden in a big white envelope at the bottom of a drawer.
Freedom. He planned to sneak out to the phone box opposite the sweetshop and call the number.
Then he froze.
He stood with the slip of paper in his hand, turning cold with fear.
The staircase creaked,
Footsteps came to a stop outside the bedroom door.
No!
The door burst opened and the woman...
himself a boy of nine,
a prisoner in the lonely big house,
searching through the paperwork in the bedroom,
eventually finding the phone number hidden in a big white envelope at the bottom of a drawer.
Freedom. He planned to sneak out to the phone box opposite the sweetshop and call the number.
Then he froze.
He stood with the slip of paper in his hand, turning cold with fear.
The staircase creaked,
Footsteps came to a stop outside the bedroom door.
No!
The door burst opened and the woman...
#breakup
#memories
#manipulation
38 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
12th Dec 2020 9:32pm
12th Dec 2020 9:32pm
Tormented At Night
I sleep badly, coming to often in the dark to the sound of banging pipes behind the walls and the night wind. Mrs Winters' words to me at the house on Headersleigh Bridge replay each time I drift off, disturbing me again. I won't be angry if you hurt Craig by accident, but you've got to tell me what you did to him.
I wander over to the sink for a glass of water and switch on the television, leaving the volume on silent to avoid disturbing Robert. I sit and watch the twenty-four hour news, wrapped in an old jacket, shivering from a mixture of the cold and post-trauma nerves. I...
I wander over to the sink for a glass of water and switch on the television, leaving the volume on silent to avoid disturbing Robert. I sit and watch the twenty-four hour news, wrapped in an old jacket, shivering from a mixture of the cold and post-trauma nerves. I...
#memories
#mystery
44 reads
10 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd Dec 2020 6:49pm
2nd Dec 2020 6:49pm
The Good Old Days
at the rear of the house stands a box room
the room contains a bookshelf full of creased books,
a desk that my pal Bill and I built together more than twenty years ago,
a filing cabinet and an Amstrad computer that still works,
some old school briefcases, the sort that pre-date briefcases with the combination code locks.
the box room, admittedly tatty, functions as a type of sanctuary for me, enabling me to gather my thoughts in quiet.
once a trio of old mates came over
we spent the entire night cramped in this tiny room, sharing a...
the room contains a bookshelf full of creased books,
a desk that my pal Bill and I built together more than twenty years ago,
a filing cabinet and an Amstrad computer that still works,
some old school briefcases, the sort that pre-date briefcases with the combination code locks.
the box room, admittedly tatty, functions as a type of sanctuary for me, enabling me to gather my thoughts in quiet.
once a trio of old mates came over
we spent the entire night cramped in this tiny room, sharing a...
#friendship
#memories
48 reads
8 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
26th Nov 2020 2:19pm
26th Nov 2020 2:19pm
Orchard House, And The Taxi Ride
I sat on a bench near a rock garden, listening to seagulls in the distance, plaintive and minute.
The air tasted of salt and sand and the freshness of approaching autumn,
The tide was out, leaving a carpet of sand.
The sea appeared calm, all ripples of blue and grey and green.
Further along a line of cliffs stretched eastwards, overlooking a drop by the sea.
That’s where Sylvie Bannister lived.
In a cottage on one of the cliffs.
But I didn’t know anything about Sylvie Bannister then.
Or that her family had once owned Orchard House. ...
The air tasted of salt and sand and the freshness of approaching autumn,
The tide was out, leaving a carpet of sand.
The sea appeared calm, all ripples of blue and grey and green.
Further along a line of cliffs stretched eastwards, overlooking a drop by the sea.
That’s where Sylvie Bannister lived.
In a cottage on one of the cliffs.
But I didn’t know anything about Sylvie Bannister then.
Or that her family had once owned Orchard House. ...
#memories
#mystery
#risk
50 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
19th Nov 2020 10:09pm
19th Nov 2020 10:09pm
A Meeting With Her Uncle
They chose a secluded spot at the foot of the cliff near a pile of rocks, placed a couple of towels on the sand and opened the picnic hamper Bill had brought.
French bread and Parma ham. Ginger beer and chilled wine that they drank from plastic glasses. Salad with plum tomatoes. The wine and heat made her heady.
They exchanged bits of news, then sat in companionable silence, watching a boat on the water.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Bill said, hand rolling a cigarette. The tobacco smelt rich. For some reason, it reminded her of chocolate.
...
French bread and Parma ham. Ginger beer and chilled wine that they drank from plastic glasses. Salad with plum tomatoes. The wine and heat made her heady.
They exchanged bits of news, then sat in companionable silence, watching a boat on the water.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Bill said, hand rolling a cigarette. The tobacco smelt rich. For some reason, it reminded her of chocolate.
...
#loneliness
#family
#mystery
53 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Nov 2020 11:31pm
10th Nov 2020 11:31pm
The Calm Before The Storm
lulled by silence
a hint of sunshine
traces of spring
the cemetery is silent
the flowers still
the solitary mourners perched by gravestones
alone in their grief
the village stands empty now
its buldings abandoned
each person swallowed into silence
the seasons pass
spring, summer, autumn, winter
new mourners visit each day
to place flowers on the graves
a hint of sunshine
traces of spring
the cemetery is silent
the flowers still
the solitary mourners perched by gravestones
alone in their grief
the village stands empty now
its buldings abandoned
each person swallowed into silence
the seasons pass
spring, summer, autumn, winter
new mourners visit each day
to place flowers on the graves
#sadness
#countryside
#LifeCycle #pandemic
#LifeCycle #pandemic
80 reads
13 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
9th Nov 2020 8:12pm
9th Nov 2020 8:12pm
Divided By Tragedy
The din in the next room gets louder. Music blares from the jukebox. A group of girls in their early or mid twenties stream into the room where we are sitting, with bottles of wine. They call out hello, then make their way back out to the main area of the pub, giggling among themselves. One of the girls turns round and blows a kiss at Gordon.
Suddenly, I feel strange, as though someone has just thrown cold water over me. Memories swamp me, memories of home and childhood. The moors in the distance stretching against the skyline, bleak and rainy most of the time. The park by...
Suddenly, I feel strange, as though someone has just thrown cold water over me. Memories swamp me, memories of home and childhood. The moors in the distance stretching against the skyline, bleak and rainy most of the time. The park by...
#sadness
#friendship
#mystery
72 reads
8 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
2nd Nov 2020 10:43pm
2nd Nov 2020 10:43pm
Sat 18 August
Muggy weather, heavy and oppressive.
After a quick coffee in town, I spend most of the morning at the hotel, suffering with stomach cramp - a result of the body struggling to cope without cigarettes.
After lunch, my host and I take a walk through the town, stopping outside the home of a family friend who has since died.
More than two decades earlier, we attended a big celebration in this bungalow. The family used to have a piano and I loved running my fingers along the keys and pretending I could play.
I was a little boy then, at primary school,...
After a quick coffee in town, I spend most of the morning at the hotel, suffering with stomach cramp - a result of the body struggling to cope without cigarettes.
After lunch, my host and I take a walk through the town, stopping outside the home of a family friend who has since died.
More than two decades earlier, we attended a big celebration in this bungalow. The family used to have a piano and I loved running my fingers along the keys and pretending I could play.
I was a little boy then, at primary school,...
#childhood
#memories
#nostalgia
69 reads
10 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Lozzamus
