Submissions by MrAlptraum (Mr A)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
7th Oct 2013 4:46pm
7th Oct 2013 4:46pm
Ahead
Been subdued for over a week by a throat infection;
the antibiotics turning the other half of me
inside out. Short walks and short air, but it's going.
I walk longer in the afternoon sun. Everything is green and full;
how it wanted to be.
Nettles fall across the paths because they're too tall. The grass
is higher than my eyes, as I walk the dragonflies
take to the air, as do the moths, forced to fly
in negative. I walk farther, faster. Sweat some of the bad
and excess good out. I stop in a...
the antibiotics turning the other half of me
inside out. Short walks and short air, but it's going.
I walk longer in the afternoon sun. Everything is green and full;
how it wanted to be.
Nettles fall across the paths because they're too tall. The grass
is higher than my eyes, as I walk the dragonflies
take to the air, as do the moths, forced to fly
in negative. I walk farther, faster. Sweat some of the bad
and excess good out. I stop in a...
751 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Sep 2013 1:30pm
29th Sep 2013 1:30pm
Other Women
Like a place I know exists, or have been before,
so I can dream of it —
keep pictures of it, imagine the smells and
when the sun's out, and I'm walking down the street,
there's a little breeze that touches the trees, me,
and that's enough, and that's the problem.
so I can dream of it —
keep pictures of it, imagine the smells and
when the sun's out, and I'm walking down the street,
there's a little breeze that touches the trees, me,
and that's enough, and that's the problem.
777 reads
14 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Sep 2013 6:22pm
28th Sep 2013 6:22pm
Making Ground
I see my son new today. See a beauty that is hard to claim;
already too old to be perfect, but remarkable.
I walk my dogs up the small woods, as every afternoon.
There's no temperature, but there's sun. The birds
for the first time in years are singing clearly
and I am child in the woods. Reconnected.
I walk out onto the field and the wind hitting me
is that of a coast, and I wish to hear the gulls quibble again.
The end of the field is a farm, and the smell of manure.
I wonder how long, 'til I'm romancing cow shit.
already too old to be perfect, but remarkable.
I walk my dogs up the small woods, as every afternoon.
There's no temperature, but there's sun. The birds
for the first time in years are singing clearly
and I am child in the woods. Reconnected.
I walk out onto the field and the wind hitting me
is that of a coast, and I wish to hear the gulls quibble again.
The end of the field is a farm, and the smell of manure.
I wonder how long, 'til I'm romancing cow shit.
786 reads
9 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Sep 2013 11:18pm
21st Sep 2013 11:18pm
drunk
the night sky is so and so
the winds blow
streetlights break the dark
more than they need to
face is more anatomical than expressional
I still rub the soles of my bare feet
together before I get into bed
as I did in jail
the winds blow
streetlights break the dark
more than they need to
face is more anatomical than expressional
I still rub the soles of my bare feet
together before I get into bed
as I did in jail
869 reads
6 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
20th Sep 2013 8:33pm
20th Sep 2013 8:33pm
Stains of Dignity
As I left the train in Inverness station
a tall thin man walked up from the exit doors.
Asked me if I had a pound. Gave no reason. Like staring at the sun,
he blinked quick and stared.
I asked him his name and he said Jasper.
Jasper? Yeah, Jasper. Told him I knew a Jasper once. He said yeah?
I said, yeah: he was a junkie, got his skull kicked in.
He had a warmer complexion than me.
Like the homeless, he had no tact, but they don't need it;
they're already conditioned and swallowed.
People don't go to hell then lie. Jasper was a liar,
but he...
a tall thin man walked up from the exit doors.
Asked me if I had a pound. Gave no reason. Like staring at the sun,
he blinked quick and stared.
I asked him his name and he said Jasper.
Jasper? Yeah, Jasper. Told him I knew a Jasper once. He said yeah?
I said, yeah: he was a junkie, got his skull kicked in.
He had a warmer complexion than me.
Like the homeless, he had no tact, but they don't need it;
they're already conditioned and swallowed.
People don't go to hell then lie. Jasper was a liar,
but he...
947 reads
14 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Sep 2013 9:14pm
8th Sep 2013 9:14pm
X
your deer eyes the night
X pressed his ear to the road
and you never pushed,
but pulled the day
inside out so it sticks
to your face
X is all we'll never know
(X imputed) but you take
you are The Asteroid
The Nearing Sun Cancer
"The way she walks down the pebbles,
hands pretend to balance, she stands
for a minute before the sea, then continues
into the cursive ripples. Cold and mortal.
Something I cannot compare," I imagined.
big is only a...
X pressed his ear to the road
and you never pushed,
but pulled the day
inside out so it sticks
to your face
X is all we'll never know
(X imputed) but you take
you are The Asteroid
The Nearing Sun Cancer
"The way she walks down the pebbles,
hands pretend to balance, she stands
for a minute before the sea, then continues
into the cursive ripples. Cold and mortal.
Something I cannot compare," I imagined.
big is only a...
1234 reads
9 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
5th Sep 2013 10:03pm
5th Sep 2013 10:03pm
Foreigner
Third of September, and the cold is already awake. Although the car windows have started to sweat and you can see your breath, I walk to work in shorts and a t-shirt. I'm not clinging on to summer. I just won't get cold. The people at the bus-stop stare like I'm crazy as I walk past. If they're not smoking, they gaze into their phones. I hear some reaching despair because the bus is over a minute late, and buses are always on time in Germany. In a place like this, you can only be crazy. I thank god for the unreliable countries, and that I've known them.
The guy who looks in a...
The guy who looks in a...
838 reads
8 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Sep 2013 9:26pm
2nd Sep 2013 9:26pm
On Remembering
Up in her room in her aunt's house we'd rarely use the bed;
it shrieked at the smallest movements, but sometimes
I'd sit there, while she played her cello. Always songs in minor keys
— whales washed ashore — and we'd weep. Her,
down herself and me, into the hot sand.
it shrieked at the smallest movements, but sometimes
I'd sit there, while she played her cello. Always songs in minor keys
— whales washed ashore — and we'd weep. Her,
down herself and me, into the hot sand.
865 reads
11 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Aug 2013 7:51pm
27th Aug 2013 7:51pm
Beneath
I sit in fields at midnight. Quiet. Still.
Trees lie inklike on the richer darks.
Let the deer come, move around me
like twigs on deadwater; windless.
I am not mud. I'm brittle noise.
A smell on the air.
The night is paranoid and alive. The deer stand
and stare into the dark. I see the cars in the distance,
and the lights from the houses; some come on,
others go out. The deer
and I belong in two different places,
I fear both are not here.
Trees lie inklike on the richer darks.
Let the deer come, move around me
like twigs on deadwater; windless.
I am not mud. I'm brittle noise.
A smell on the air.
The night is paranoid and alive. The deer stand
and stare into the dark. I see the cars in the distance,
and the lights from the houses; some come on,
others go out. The deer
and I belong in two different places,
I fear both are not here.
741 reads
16 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
10th Aug 2013 9:35am
10th Aug 2013 9:35am
He is There
The wind has stopped blowing through her garden.
No birds can be heard or seen.
The anemic sun is lost behind blue clouds.
She is naked, crying softly;
scared. She feels his breath move her hair, and him
all around her, mimicking her fetal position.
His lips touch her neck as she turns in him; feeling
his lips with hers and fingertips.
She is relieved and cries again:
better tears.
When she wakes there is snow without tracks.
No birds can be heard or seen.
The anemic sun is lost behind blue clouds.
She is naked, crying softly;
scared. She feels his breath move her hair, and him
all around her, mimicking her fetal position.
His lips touch her neck as she turns in him; feeling
his lips with hers and fingertips.
She is relieved and cries again:
better tears.
When she wakes there is snow without tracks.
774 reads
11 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
6th Aug 2013 9:48pm
6th Aug 2013 9:48pm
Simmy Lee
Sometimes the night comes, as terrifying as alive,
and stays until the morning. Then stays.
The lamppost near the window barely pushes
the ageless dark back 'til sunlight. I drink it all down
just to reach an end; hit the bottom, learn to dig.
Lights off. Sound off. Wind through the balcony door.
I curse all that I have: two eyes, two arms, two dicks,
two hearts. Too greedy to love, too alone to care.
Sensible is unhappy. We cry like a forest. I weigh my
days with quiet moments and let the rest
endure me. I'm as empty as the universe
where even...
and stays until the morning. Then stays.
The lamppost near the window barely pushes
the ageless dark back 'til sunlight. I drink it all down
just to reach an end; hit the bottom, learn to dig.
Lights off. Sound off. Wind through the balcony door.
I curse all that I have: two eyes, two arms, two dicks,
two hearts. Too greedy to love, too alone to care.
Sensible is unhappy. We cry like a forest. I weigh my
days with quiet moments and let the rest
endure me. I'm as empty as the universe
where even...
1061 reads
19 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
29th Jul 2013 9:17pm
29th Jul 2013 9:17pm
Paper Roads
I.
(In sleep I mourned him for the first time. Got stuck
in that frail moment after action, before pain,
tears running through the gaps in my fingers.)
The roads changed that morning, as they would with the weather,
but I still try to go the same ways. Past the horses
that are ghosts when fenced. Use eyes I never knew
as my tongue buries itself to oppose surrender.
How stupid of me to follow a dream, where he
was still dead, and his sister in trouble.
She is nameless; vanished.
II.
So, I go the same way on different roads. Softness...
(In sleep I mourned him for the first time. Got stuck
in that frail moment after action, before pain,
tears running through the gaps in my fingers.)
The roads changed that morning, as they would with the weather,
but I still try to go the same ways. Past the horses
that are ghosts when fenced. Use eyes I never knew
as my tongue buries itself to oppose surrender.
How stupid of me to follow a dream, where he
was still dead, and his sister in trouble.
She is nameless; vanished.
II.
So, I go the same way on different roads. Softness...
699 reads
9 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MrAlptraum (Mr A)
