Submissions by NoMansSoul
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I am a teenage boy with a struggling romantic life (not much of a surprise, I know). I rely highly on metaphor, simile, allegory, and alliteration. I tend to list a lot in poetry, which can be good and bad. I am primarily writing for critiques.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Apr 2017 4:11pm
13th Apr 2017 4:11pm
The Thumb
The rustle of thousands of blades of grass
Sing,
In unison,
An ode to the wind.
Last night’s raindrop
Drops into a shallow puddle
In which the barely opaque clouds reflect.
A single lonely tree
Hiding its needles behind its thin trunk
Stands triumphant atop this miniature mountain
And gazes downwards into oblivion.
Hordes of water droplets bleed their foamy blood
As they crash against rocks.
Which,
Given time,
Will crumble and fall into nonexistence.
These lonely bulwarks
Stand proud and tall
Guarding...
Sing,
In unison,
An ode to the wind.
Last night’s raindrop
Drops into a shallow puddle
In which the barely opaque clouds reflect.
A single lonely tree
Hiding its needles behind its thin trunk
Stands triumphant atop this miniature mountain
And gazes downwards into oblivion.
Hordes of water droplets bleed their foamy blood
As they crash against rocks.
Which,
Given time,
Will crumble and fall into nonexistence.
These lonely bulwarks
Stand proud and tall
Guarding...
579 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Apr 2017 9:01pm
7th Apr 2017 9:01pm
Aloeswood
A saucer
Stained in the shape of tea leaves,
Now serves as an ashtray.
Beside it lies a blue Bic lighter,
The metal guard still hot to the touch.
Amidst the ashes of facades long gone,
A shiny steel plate holds an aloeswood twig upright.
The twig burns-
Not quite a blaze,
But a glowing smolder.
The red-hot burn slowly descends,
Leaving an ashen tower in its wake.
The ashes hold the twig’s shape;
A gray ghost of what once was.
A facade so fragile
Aeolus’ softest whisper can’t help but topple it.
As a new pile of...
Stained in the shape of tea leaves,
Now serves as an ashtray.
Beside it lies a blue Bic lighter,
The metal guard still hot to the touch.
Amidst the ashes of facades long gone,
A shiny steel plate holds an aloeswood twig upright.
The twig burns-
Not quite a blaze,
But a glowing smolder.
The red-hot burn slowly descends,
Leaving an ashen tower in its wake.
The ashes hold the twig’s shape;
A gray ghost of what once was.
A facade so fragile
Aeolus’ softest whisper can’t help but topple it.
As a new pile of...
450 reads
3 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
5th Apr 2017 2:10am
5th Apr 2017 2:10am
Introduction to The Eyes of Emiliano Marotta
I suddenly realized I was no longer breathing. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs. Terror flooded my thoughts. I tried to open my mouth, to say goodbye to my wife and children huddled around my deathbed, but I couldn’t. A second later I realized I couldn’t move my eyes. Nor could I focus them, so my eyes remained, staring off into the distance behind my beloved’s face. This must have unnerved her, as she reached out, and, slowly, she pulled my eyelids closed. But, I could still see! I watched as my wife wiped a single tear from her cheek, and moved out of sight. She left her composure at the...
492 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Mar 2017 5:28pm
29th Mar 2017 5:28pm
Ember
An oft-used cliche stipulates
That we all are running.
To something,
From something,
Sometimes around something.
But I don’t agree.
I have nothing to run towards,
Nothing to run from,
And nothing to run around.
I drift through time and space
As if an ember,
Cast from a fire,
Fated to spiral to great heights amidst a column of smoke
But then to curl into the cool air,
And fall,
And land,
And fade into darkness.
That we all are running.
To something,
From something,
Sometimes around something.
But I don’t agree.
I have nothing to run towards,
Nothing to run from,
And nothing to run around.
I drift through time and space
As if an ember,
Cast from a fire,
Fated to spiral to great heights amidst a column of smoke
But then to curl into the cool air,
And fall,
And land,
And fade into darkness.
536 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Mar 2017 9:08am
29th Mar 2017 9:08am
Bitter
A ceramic mug
Slowly fills
With bitter tea
From a black kettle’s spout.
One thousand sweet grains of sugar
Fall from the brim
Of a polished silver spoon.
A pile forms-
A mountain
Of all things good and holy
Amidst the brown murky depths
Of oblivion.
The island slowly dissolves
Bit by bit
From the shoreline to the peak.
Every molecule,
Every granule,
Every morsel, speck, and crumb
All dissipate.
And after all those thousand grains
Disperse themselves so well
To every corner of the mug, ...
Slowly fills
With bitter tea
From a black kettle’s spout.
One thousand sweet grains of sugar
Fall from the brim
Of a polished silver spoon.
A pile forms-
A mountain
Of all things good and holy
Amidst the brown murky depths
Of oblivion.
The island slowly dissolves
Bit by bit
From the shoreline to the peak.
Every molecule,
Every granule,
Every morsel, speck, and crumb
All dissipate.
And after all those thousand grains
Disperse themselves so well
To every corner of the mug, ...
552 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
29th Mar 2017 8:43am
29th Mar 2017 8:43am
Over My Shoulder
I always see her backpack first,
Every morning as I walk to my locker.
She is always at her own,
And always looking away.
The light shines beautifully
Upon her hair.
If I am lucky,
She will turn
And I will catch a glimpse
Of that beautiful face
And those beautiful eyes
Focused somewhere else.
Our gazes meet.
“Hello!”
“Hi!”
And then her eyes return
To the same place.
Someplace over my shoulder.
Every morning as I walk to my locker.
She is always at her own,
And always looking away.
The light shines beautifully
Upon her hair.
If I am lucky,
She will turn
And I will catch a glimpse
Of that beautiful face
And those beautiful eyes
Focused somewhere else.
Our gazes meet.
“Hello!”
“Hi!”
And then her eyes return
To the same place.
Someplace over my shoulder.
434 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by NoMansSoul
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