Submissions by MadameLavender
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Aug 2020 8:22pm
4th Aug 2020 8:22pm
Styx: The Grand Illusion
(written for Missy's Sgt Pepper's Hunky Dory Yellow Brick Road, comp)
The Grand Illusion
What pictures has Man, painted for himself—
facades of Eden, meant to lull the masses
and quell the heart of God
while the devil has his day, destroying
all he can, in his appointed time.
Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man)
Fear not, the weariness of disillusionment—
for within us, lies truths of each existence.
Rise up, O rise up, ye warriors of life
and have faith in something,...
The Grand Illusion
What pictures has Man, painted for himself—
facades of Eden, meant to lull the masses
and quell the heart of God
while the devil has his day, destroying
all he can, in his appointed time.
Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man)
Fear not, the weariness of disillusionment—
for within us, lies truths of each existence.
Rise up, O rise up, ye warriors of life
and have faith in something,...
#music
43 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
29th Jul 2020 5:27pm
29th Jul 2020 5:27pm
Piss-A-Beds
Flowers dot the meadow, white
they seem to crop up overnight
while we rest our sleepy heads,
snug-a-bug, inside our beds.
But if you know your wives’ tales well,
you know it’s not just cows’ bells
to which the term applies, “to tinkle”;
it’s cows themselves that make the sprinkle
that turns the meadow grasses white
with tiny flowers, overnight
‘til soon we wake our slumbered heads
to greet a field of piss-a-beds.
they seem to crop up overnight
while we rest our sleepy heads,
snug-a-bug, inside our beds.
But if you know your wives’ tales well,
you know it’s not just cows’ bells
to which the term applies, “to tinkle”;
it’s cows themselves that make the sprinkle
that turns the meadow grasses white
with tiny flowers, overnight
‘til soon we wake our slumbered heads
to greet a field of piss-a-beds.
#nature
61 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Jul 2020 3:52am
29th Jul 2020 3:52am
If You’re Going To Lick Someone’s Boots, Make Sure You Know Where They’ve Trod
(Written for Rian’s “Wild Gods “ comp)
Someone listened to the wrong gods, and
whispered their findings
to others, and soon
the little foxes moved into their mouths .
The Devourer, the wildest god
(of all)
laughed, and rubbed his hands
together in certain victory.
On and on, their tongues
told tales
and formed conspiracies in hearts
and minds, all the while
refreshing their words at the font
of the wrong gods.
The minor imps cheered them on
like chattering woodland creatures,...
Someone listened to the wrong gods, and
whispered their findings
to others, and soon
the little foxes moved into their mouths .
The Devourer, the wildest god
(of all)
laughed, and rubbed his hands
together in certain victory.
On and on, their tongues
told tales
and formed conspiracies in hearts
and minds, all the while
refreshing their words at the font
of the wrong gods.
The minor imps cheered them on
like chattering woodland creatures,...
#deception
40 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Jul 2020 2:11am
9th Jul 2020 2:11am
Marilyn
I should’ve written a poem, but
Marilyn stayed on my mind,
The death clock in the wall
next to her bed
had been taking little pieces of her, unnoticed
until it gorged itself on her mind .
Her thoughts no longer stuck, save
for the long term ones —
she knew enough to tell me
her name,
her birthday ,
so I could stick a needle into her arm .
Torrid July heat, sweltered
outside
but no one noticed
in the Geri-Psych unit.
Marilyn asked me where she was
and I told her
“The...
Marilyn stayed on my mind,
The death clock in the wall
next to her bed
had been taking little pieces of her, unnoticed
until it gorged itself on her mind .
Her thoughts no longer stuck, save
for the long term ones —
she knew enough to tell me
her name,
her birthday ,
so I could stick a needle into her arm .
Torrid July heat, sweltered
outside
but no one noticed
in the Geri-Psych unit.
Marilyn asked me where she was
and I told her
“The...
#aging
76 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Jun 2020 3:01am
30th Jun 2020 3:01am
Wherefore Art Thou, George?
(Written for “Ending History” comp)
“Humanity : The Musical” played
its final act—-
curtain closes, audience
shuffles in aisles;
“Exit This Way”
and the marquee’s lights go out .
“Thanks for coming,” the usher
tips his hat, and
theater doors close, on
TIME.
A lone man sweeps the stage, then
turns with a bulge-eyed grin;
“I came back to amend my list
of seven dirty words,” says
George Carlin.
“I was wrong—there are eight, and
the last one is ‘coronavirus’..... ...
“Humanity : The Musical” played
its final act—-
curtain closes, audience
shuffles in aisles;
“Exit This Way”
and the marquee’s lights go out .
“Thanks for coming,” the usher
tips his hat, and
theater doors close, on
TIME.
A lone man sweeps the stage, then
turns with a bulge-eyed grin;
“I came back to amend my list
of seven dirty words,” says
George Carlin.
“I was wrong—there are eight, and
the last one is ‘coronavirus’..... ...
#apocalypse
50 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Jun 2020 1:46am
24th Jun 2020 1:46am
I Am (Sick of Everything)
(Written for Grace's "I Am" comp)
I am looking forward to when Jesus returns with his lawyer.
I am tired of all the shit in the world.
I am touched that an old Italian woman, promised to pray for me because I helped her walk from the parking lot to the store.
I am dumbfounded, how a daughter, can think her mother, racist, for being concerned that she’s going on a weekend trip, with four guys, she met online.
I am blessed, in many ways.
I am tested in many ways.
I am going to buy my own island and...
I am looking forward to when Jesus returns with his lawyer.
I am tired of all the shit in the world.
I am touched that an old Italian woman, promised to pray for me because I helped her walk from the parking lot to the store.
I am dumbfounded, how a daughter, can think her mother, racist, for being concerned that she’s going on a weekend trip, with four guys, she met online.
I am blessed, in many ways.
I am tested in many ways.
I am going to buy my own island and...
#myself
81 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
10th Jun 2020 11:47pm
10th Jun 2020 11:47pm
The Embodiment of “Isms”
(written for Snug's "Eve of Destruction" comp)
How apt, his surname—
“Chauvin”……
to add an “ism”, becomes
chauvinism, that which he
lived and breathed
while George could not draw breath
for the weight of irrational beliefs
of superiority
and dominance of
Derek’s own people,
in Derek’s own mind.
He became Corona, and
George became the rest of us,
gasping for air
under oppressions,
symbolic.
Ah, but the Devil’s time is short—
and Derek won’t last but a day
in...
How apt, his surname—
“Chauvin”……
to add an “ism”, becomes
chauvinism, that which he
lived and breathed
while George could not draw breath
for the weight of irrational beliefs
of superiority
and dominance of
Derek’s own people,
in Derek’s own mind.
He became Corona, and
George became the rest of us,
gasping for air
under oppressions,
symbolic.
Ah, but the Devil’s time is short—
and Derek won’t last but a day
in...
#morality
76 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
7th Jun 2020 11:14pm
7th Jun 2020 11:14pm
Pick Up Your Paintbrush
(written for " Love Matters Movement" comp)
Would you draw your paintbrush, along
my transparent flesh,
filling….
every pore with hues
like erratic thoughts of
imaginations set free?
What color would you paint me?
Perhaps your touch
is all that matters—
the one that braids flower chains
into my soul, and
fills my lungs with gasps of breath.
I need you
and the thousands of conversations
we have yet to begin—
whisper them into me, one
by one
as drops of...
Would you draw your paintbrush, along
my transparent flesh,
filling….
every pore with hues
like erratic thoughts of
imaginations set free?
What color would you paint me?
Perhaps your touch
is all that matters—
the one that braids flower chains
into my soul, and
fills my lungs with gasps of breath.
I need you
and the thousands of conversations
we have yet to begin—
whisper them into me, one
by one
as drops of...
#love
105 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th May 2020 8:29pm
27th May 2020 8:29pm
Tension
(written for Missy's "Erotica Without the Mess" comp)
Can you read my secret thoughts, the ones
that make my missing pieces, spontaneously
regrow?
They are of you…
and
your
innocently arrogant
ways
of pretending you don’t care
what your scent
does to me.
Perhaps I’ll not care, either
and you’ll see
that I am not unlike you.
I can wait
to see which of us, crumbles
first
in admissions and longings…
the deeper question, is—
can you? ...
Can you read my secret thoughts, the ones
that make my missing pieces, spontaneously
regrow?
They are of you…
and
your
innocently arrogant
ways
of pretending you don’t care
what your scent
does to me.
Perhaps I’ll not care, either
and you’ll see
that I am not unlike you.
I can wait
to see which of us, crumbles
first
in admissions and longings…
the deeper question, is—
can you? ...
#lust
85 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th May 2020 7:24pm
27th May 2020 7:24pm
Behold, My Risk
(written for Webmiss' visual "Risk" comp)
#risk
52 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th May 2020 9:50pm
24th May 2020 9:50pm
I Wept For The Orchard
Black & white memories
float
to sticky summer days , June
bugs whirring in tall grass.
I never could find them.
They are just ghosts
of a time in snapshots, when
the farmhouse stood, broiling
in the sun.
Pollen mixed
with roses, mixed
with lilacs , mixed
with apple trees—
smells all came at once
while I plucked chestnuts
from the roadside .
Here come the lumber trucks —
run and hide before they see me!
(You could feel their vibrations
before...
float
to sticky summer days , June
bugs whirring in tall grass.
I never could find them.
They are just ghosts
of a time in snapshots, when
the farmhouse stood, broiling
in the sun.
Pollen mixed
with roses, mixed
with lilacs , mixed
with apple trees—
smells all came at once
while I plucked chestnuts
from the roadside .
Here come the lumber trucks —
run and hide before they see me!
(You could feel their vibrations
before...
#memories
79 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd May 2020 9:53pm
23rd May 2020 9:53pm
Emptying
I wish to be pulled away
like ocean waves, strangely
receding—
that anxious moment before
a tsunami.
I must become the sky—
not just the sky, but
its color,
horrific , bubbling gray-greens
as tornadoes form, slow
motion.
Ah, to stand at crossroads
amid corn fields, waiting
for something ...
to hit me .
I have emptied my grief —
poured
out bucketfuls
of past hurts, regrets.
But,
the longing gnaws, maddeningly
taunting—
(my timetable, against God’s)
...
like ocean waves, strangely
receding—
that anxious moment before
a tsunami.
I must become the sky—
not just the sky, but
its color,
horrific , bubbling gray-greens
as tornadoes form, slow
motion.
Ah, to stand at crossroads
amid corn fields, waiting
for something ...
to hit me .
I have emptied my grief —
poured
out bucketfuls
of past hurts, regrets.
But,
the longing gnaws, maddeningly
taunting—
(my timetable, against God’s)
...
#loneliness
84 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MadameLavender
