Submissions by MalcolmG (Malcolm Gladwin)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm certainly complex filled with layers , introverted extrovert or whichever way pleases , I like authentic and original thoughts , don't care how messy it is as Iong as provokes me to consider things I wouldn't usually, somewhat of spontaneous writer
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
Today 8:07am
Today 8:07am
The Silence of Running Water
We built a mountain
out of dust
dry skin on old bones
and hollowed-out eyes
drinking from the crack in the glass.
The rivers ran backward,
spitting out promises
that tasted like iron.
Feet,
footprints carved into gravel,
burning with the weight of a thousand forgotten years
we ran like shadows chasing the sun
but the light never reached us,
just slipped away
into the cracks of our teeth
and disappeared into the sky
that never looked down.
I saw the rain dance,
but it wasn’t real.
It was...
out of dust
dry skin on old bones
and hollowed-out eyes
drinking from the crack in the glass.
The rivers ran backward,
spitting out promises
that tasted like iron.
Feet,
footprints carved into gravel,
burning with the weight of a thousand forgotten years
we ran like shadows chasing the sun
but the light never reached us,
just slipped away
into the cracks of our teeth
and disappeared into the sky
that never looked down.
I saw the rain dance,
but it wasn’t real.
It was...
#death
#LifeCycle
#religion
5 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
Today 7:38am
Today 7:38am
DEVOUR THE WAY
The wind gnaws flesh from the bones of the moon,
spits marrow into the still water—
the pool does not move, the pool does not speak,
but something coils beneath.
Karma is a snake with its teeth in my throat.
I tell it, “Let go.”
It laughs. It does not.
No self, no center, no name.
The mind burns its own house down—
calls it wisdom, calls it freedom.
But if all things are empty, why am I still full of hunger?
If all things are weightless, why do I still sink?
The Great Way is effortless—
if you have no pulse.
The...
spits marrow into the still water—
the pool does not move, the pool does not speak,
but something coils beneath.
Karma is a snake with its teeth in my throat.
I tell it, “Let go.”
It laughs. It does not.
No self, no center, no name.
The mind burns its own house down—
calls it wisdom, calls it freedom.
But if all things are empty, why am I still full of hunger?
If all things are weightless, why do I still sink?
The Great Way is effortless—
if you have no pulse.
The...
#peace
9 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
Yesterday 2:10pm
Yesterday 2:10pm
The End is Near
Let's Read, Dear Friend—The End Is Near
Savour the flavour of these moments as sand spins through lost time
Oh can it be, oh dear poets the end is near,
the walls of our sanctuary crumble,
our words like echoes in an empty hall.
Like birds without a perch, we scatter,
like fish without water, gasping,
adrift in the deserts of lost verses.
Who will find the lost as they scatter?
Where will the blossoms new take root?
Poetry drifts, seeking soil, seeking sky, seeking eternal existences
Strange...
Savour the flavour of these moments as sand spins through lost time
Oh can it be, oh dear poets the end is near,
the walls of our sanctuary crumble,
our words like echoes in an empty hall.
Like birds without a perch, we scatter,
like fish without water, gasping,
adrift in the deserts of lost verses.
Who will find the lost as they scatter?
Where will the blossoms new take root?
Poetry drifts, seeking soil, seeking sky, seeking eternal existences
Strange...
#death
#LifeCycle
37 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
9th Mar 2025 12:30pm
9th Mar 2025 12:30pm
Sundays Are for Breakfast in Bed
The birds begin before the sun,
a murmuring chorus slipping through the curtains,
soft gold spilling over her shoulder
and I lie here, watching,
watching the slow rise and fall of her breath,
the way her lips part in dreams,
how her hair spills across the pillow
like a river I could wade in forever.
My fingers trace lazy circles in her hair,
soft, absentminded strokes
I swear the scent of her could drive me mad.
Our bodies fit like a secret well kept,
feet tangled, legs woven,
like the world carved us from the same stone ...
a murmuring chorus slipping through the curtains,
soft gold spilling over her shoulder
and I lie here, watching,
watching the slow rise and fall of her breath,
the way her lips part in dreams,
how her hair spills across the pillow
like a river I could wade in forever.
My fingers trace lazy circles in her hair,
soft, absentminded strokes
I swear the scent of her could drive me mad.
Our bodies fit like a secret well kept,
feet tangled, legs woven,
like the world carved us from the same stone ...
#love
#lover
#passion
65 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th Mar 2025 4:01pm
7th Mar 2025 4:01pm
The Narcissist Monologue - "God , King / Nothing"
I am the sun. They orbit me.
(They should.)
(They do.)
If they don’t—
(well. I fix that.)
What is truth but the story I tell?
What is memory but what I say happened?
What is love but control wrapped in silk?
(I am good.)
(I am kind.)
(I am the victim, aren’t I?)
—they’re so sensitive.
twist a word, they shatter.
say nothing, they shatter.
must I do everything?
they would be nothing without me.
they should thank me, really.
(they do. they should. they must.) ...
(They should.)
(They do.)
If they don’t—
(well. I fix that.)
What is truth but the story I tell?
What is memory but what I say happened?
What is love but control wrapped in silk?
(I am good.)
(I am kind.)
(I am the victim, aren’t I?)
—they’re so sensitive.
twist a word, they shatter.
say nothing, they shatter.
must I do everything?
they would be nothing without me.
they should thank me, really.
(they do. they should. they must.) ...
#anger
#dark
#denial #emptiness
#denial #emptiness
37 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th Mar 2025 3:53pm
7th Mar 2025 3:53pm
The Narcissist Victim - "Hollow Echo / Nothing"
stop. / no, wait— rewind. // it didn’t— happen— like that. / did it?
(no, you’re just sensitive.) / (I didn’t mean it like that.)
(but you said—) / but you said— / but—
… no, never mind. forget it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—
(erase.)
I swear I used to have a voice. // a shape. a name.
but you pressed your hands into my skull, // said, No, you’re remembering wrong.
said, I love you. Don’t you trust me? / (the knife is in my hands now.)
I— / I don’t know anymore. / I—
(you don’t know anymore.)
(again.)
...
(no, you’re just sensitive.) / (I didn’t mean it like that.)
(but you said—) / but you said— / but—
… no, never mind. forget it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—
(erase.)
I swear I used to have a voice. // a shape. a name.
but you pressed your hands into my skull, // said, No, you’re remembering wrong.
said, I love you. Don’t you trust me? / (the knife is in my hands now.)
I— / I don’t know anymore. / I—
(you don’t know anymore.)
(again.)
...
#anxiety
#apathy
#emptiness #frustration
#emptiness #frustration
36 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Mar 2025 00:31am
6th Mar 2025 00:31am
IRONIC ISNT IT
Sometimes Irony and Murphy’s Law
lend to each other.
The blind man leads the deaf man,
they debate honest politics
one can’t see, the other can’t hear,
while they are nicely seated
at the corners of the round table,
which has no corners but still divides.
The preacher damns the sinners
between paid confessions and rented beds,
his sermon reeks of whiskey and perfume.
He calls it redemption; she calls it a Tuesday.
The poet bleeds words,
the painter stains canvas,
the whore does both, but she’s still...
lend to each other.
The blind man leads the deaf man,
they debate honest politics
one can’t see, the other can’t hear,
while they are nicely seated
at the corners of the round table,
which has no corners but still divides.
The preacher damns the sinners
between paid confessions and rented beds,
his sermon reeks of whiskey and perfume.
He calls it redemption; she calls it a Tuesday.
The poet bleeds words,
the painter stains canvas,
the whore does both, but she’s still...
#funny
#satirical
#TruthOfLife
59 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Mar 2025 1:25pm
5th Mar 2025 1:25pm
MOUTHFUL OF KNIVES
What does the body do with a wound it cannot close?
A memory that just won't fade , a dream that replays a thousand times that you can't run from!
Thoughts that drown and swallow you from the inside out.
The wind shreds its own breath, bleeding rust between its teeth. Oh the taste of Iron ! All too familiar, all too real.
A mouth unhinges. Not to scream, not to pray—just to split, broken thoughts, empty.
Something shatters under the skin—bone, voice, meaning— lost , no where to hide.
a hymn reduced to marrow, an altar eaten from the inside out.
A stone...
A memory that just won't fade , a dream that replays a thousand times that you can't run from!
Thoughts that drown and swallow you from the inside out.
The wind shreds its own breath, bleeding rust between its teeth. Oh the taste of Iron ! All too familiar, all too real.
A mouth unhinges. Not to scream, not to pray—just to split, broken thoughts, empty.
Something shatters under the skin—bone, voice, meaning— lost , no where to hide.
a hymn reduced to marrow, an altar eaten from the inside out.
A stone...
#abuse
#despair
#evil
#suffering
#tragedy
56 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Mar 2025 1:32am
5th Mar 2025 1:32am
Riptide of Desire
The sea
violent, endless
rips through us,
tearing our skin open,
salt & sweat,
bone,
breath
I am her storm,
she, my fire.
Waves crash
no,
we crash
our bodies,
splitting apart,
pulled apart by hunger,
fury,
desire—
my hands,
no longer mine
they are the tide,
carving through her flesh,
carving
pulling,
twisting,
dragging her under,
deeper
her skin
no, it’s not skin anymore,
it’s ocean,
waves crashing against us
against me
against her ...
violent, endless
rips through us,
tearing our skin open,
salt & sweat,
bone,
breath
I am her storm,
she, my fire.
Waves crash
no,
we crash
our bodies,
splitting apart,
pulled apart by hunger,
fury,
desire—
my hands,
no longer mine
they are the tide,
carving through her flesh,
carving
pulling,
twisting,
dragging her under,
deeper
her skin
no, it’s not skin anymore,
it’s ocean,
waves crashing against us
against me
against her ...
#lust
#passion
73 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Mar 2025 00:47am
5th Mar 2025 00:47am
SHATTERED & UNNAMED
Who am I?
Not formed of parts,
but a fracture,
splintered by the weight of forgotten names,
the weight of nothing.
An assembly of fragments
swallowed by echoes,
sunk into the hollow of things never spoken.
TIME, split by fire, veins dripping with prophecy,
shivering in the hollow,
a forgotten scream,
shouting at empty rooms
(what have we become? WHAT?)
THE BODY, bent under the weight of hunger,
muscles wrapped in rust,
aching for truth
that is never here.
DESIRE, liquid and restless, ...
Not formed of parts,
but a fracture,
splintered by the weight of forgotten names,
the weight of nothing.
An assembly of fragments
swallowed by echoes,
sunk into the hollow of things never spoken.
TIME, split by fire, veins dripping with prophecy,
shivering in the hollow,
a forgotten scream,
shouting at empty rooms
(what have we become? WHAT?)
THE BODY, bent under the weight of hunger,
muscles wrapped in rust,
aching for truth
that is never here.
DESIRE, liquid and restless, ...
#narrative
#SelfReflection
#TruthOfLife
48 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Mar 2025 4:54pm
4th Mar 2025 4:54pm
Before Silence Broke
warm hush enclosing,
rivers curl in soundless dark,
pulse a distant drum.
veiled in breathless deep,
slow tide cradles coiled spirit,
time sleeps without name.
fingers form in dusk,
soft unspoken murmurs bloom,
language not yet born.
heartbeat’s lullaby,
whispers stitch the quiet sea,
floating in the hush.
then the hush shatters,
light carves through the trembling void,
silence comes undone.
rivers curl in soundless dark,
pulse a distant drum.
veiled in breathless deep,
slow tide cradles coiled spirit,
time sleeps without name.
fingers form in dusk,
soft unspoken murmurs bloom,
language not yet born.
heartbeat’s lullaby,
whispers stitch the quiet sea,
floating in the hush.
then the hush shatters,
light carves through the trembling void,
silence comes undone.
#birth
#LifeChangingMoment
39 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Mar 2025 11:39am
4th Mar 2025 11:39am
SCULPTOR'S FIRE
The air is thick, thick like flesh that knows no touch,
burning in secret moments beneath the skin,
breath—hot, shaking, wet against the pulse of desire.
It clings to us like sweat, like fire, like longing.
Scent of skin, of hunger, of desperate need,
something ancient, an instinct older than breath.
The world itself quakes—rational thought splinters,
fractures into stardust beneath our hands.
Logic is a wisp, a dream long forgotten.
What exists now, what is, is only the moment.
The primal call. The burning, yes, yes, yes.
I pull...
burning in secret moments beneath the skin,
breath—hot, shaking, wet against the pulse of desire.
It clings to us like sweat, like fire, like longing.
Scent of skin, of hunger, of desperate need,
something ancient, an instinct older than breath.
The world itself quakes—rational thought splinters,
fractures into stardust beneath our hands.
Logic is a wisp, a dream long forgotten.
What exists now, what is, is only the moment.
The primal call. The burning, yes, yes, yes.
I pull...
#love
#lust
#passion
56 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MalcolmG (Malcolm Gladwin)
