Submissions by ORPHEUS
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Sometimes I just have things I need to say. I will always be different, and that requires having a voice and being heard. Otherwise the mass will go unprovoked, and I will slip away without a stir, a meaningless cultural phenomena.
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Jun 2018 8:01am
11th Jun 2018 8:01am
Portrait of Someone I Used to Know— A Dedication to My X
lines
hues
forms
value
space
texture
A new vocabulary,
Just for you.
XO
hues
forms
value
space
texture
A new vocabulary,
Just for you.
XO
#sadness
#rejection
#breakup
#MovingOn
#disappointment
395 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2018 8:12am
2nd Mar 2018 8:12am
Sleeptime and Waketime
The meaninglessness of English fiction tries on something revealing.
I think it's a nice look, and I encourage him.
The geometry of inequality wraps itself around, building itself, ushering in the modern politicks
A squirrel locks eyes with me, and I shutter,
Lost forever,
Love locked eyes with an odd job plumber from the Louisiana backwoods, he shuttered,
Lost forever.
In the towns and in the cities,
People keep going missing
Getting lost on their way to normalcy,
Relegating infinity in their finite skull until Mother...
I think it's a nice look, and I encourage him.
The geometry of inequality wraps itself around, building itself, ushering in the modern politicks
A squirrel locks eyes with me, and I shutter,
Lost forever,
Love locked eyes with an odd job plumber from the Louisiana backwoods, he shuttered,
Lost forever.
In the towns and in the cities,
People keep going missing
Getting lost on their way to normalcy,
Relegating infinity in their finite skull until Mother...
454 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2018 8:08am
2nd Mar 2018 8:08am
Average Joe
A grand illusion,
The blue Alaska,
Humming happy hymns,
Like a mother calming a child.
I love the shambling
Of my words,
In direct contrast to your blonde perfection, and average gait
I love your edge,
How it cuts through to the heart of this disoriented thinker,
And brings out the average Joe.
The blue Alaska,
Humming happy hymns,
Like a mother calming a child.
I love the shambling
Of my words,
In direct contrast to your blonde perfection, and average gait
I love your edge,
How it cuts through to the heart of this disoriented thinker,
And brings out the average Joe.
428 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Feb 2018 5:44am
28th Feb 2018 5:44am
Latenight Darkthoughts
To start,
I mean nothing.
I am a pest from the underbellies of the moving American beast.
I wasn't built for the western world.
What is modern?
What is real?
What is friendship?
What the fuck is Snapchat, and why?
Everyday worldly responsibility drives me closer to asceticism or suicide. Pushing back tides of hopelessness, getting in shape for my wake. I am that I am. Where do you think God got that from? It's probably written in his diary somewhere. God must keep a daily journal or else he might forget something really important and...
I mean nothing.
I am a pest from the underbellies of the moving American beast.
I wasn't built for the western world.
What is modern?
What is real?
What is friendship?
What the fuck is Snapchat, and why?
Everyday worldly responsibility drives me closer to asceticism or suicide. Pushing back tides of hopelessness, getting in shape for my wake. I am that I am. Where do you think God got that from? It's probably written in his diary somewhere. God must keep a daily journal or else he might forget something really important and...
445 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Feb 2018 4:56am
28th Feb 2018 4:56am
Death
The thought provokes every feeling I've ever known
Beaming outward,
Like a child I can't control,
There's a knot in his throat
As he staggers into the room,
"I love you guys." Sobbing again,
"God, I love you guys!"
Beaming outward,
Like a child I can't control,
There's a knot in his throat
As he staggers into the room,
"I love you guys." Sobbing again,
"God, I love you guys!"
388 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Feb 2018 6:08pm
26th Feb 2018 6:08pm
Thoughts on the Ironic Age of Post Modernity
All are made of those unexpected qualities of the which history is made of. Little sparks of infinity in their finite kingdom. Toy soldiers marching on in the vague battle against the vague enemy, with the vague hopes of victory.
The dreamy sounds of cannonballs muffle the mundane on the hazy battlefields in the war of existence.
I pass through it like a stranger on the way to church. Conversely, I mash my face to the glass like a kid in a candy shop and I daze in wonder, or conversely I dance like a mystic on the shores of emptiness, a backseat driver headed to that...
The dreamy sounds of cannonballs muffle the mundane on the hazy battlefields in the war of existence.
I pass through it like a stranger on the way to church. Conversely, I mash my face to the glass like a kid in a candy shop and I daze in wonder, or conversely I dance like a mystic on the shores of emptiness, a backseat driver headed to that...
400 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2018 8:15am
22nd Feb 2018 8:15am
Pasts
Everywhere points to the destruction of man…
Even you.
“where are we headed?”
“Just across that bend there”
“But how ma— ”
And there in the middle of warfare against the worst possible odds imaginable, it struck him.
“Who is that in the distance…”
And there in the cold of night there roamed a creature against glass windows. “Here I am…” was the wind speaking? “Who are you?”
And from the bowels of the past lumbered down the great kings whose faces were holy, hollowed out by worms.
Sometimes the world is a bit thicker than you could ever really...
Even you.
“where are we headed?”
“Just across that bend there”
“But how ma— ”
And there in the middle of warfare against the worst possible odds imaginable, it struck him.
“Who is that in the distance…”
And there in the cold of night there roamed a creature against glass windows. “Here I am…” was the wind speaking? “Who are you?”
And from the bowels of the past lumbered down the great kings whose faces were holy, hollowed out by worms.
Sometimes the world is a bit thicker than you could ever really...
453 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Jan 2018 9:27am
26th Jan 2018 9:27am
Again
I inhale as some atom of breath
Gets wasted on the atom of mind
That has to think about breathing
And the rest spreads itself thin into the part
That thinks about never breathing
Again.
My body becomes a fax machine
Sending images up and back down
Raising and falling hearing the mantra
“Everything has purpose and expiration”
A truth so still no one need mention
Again.
Then I grip on to dandelions
As Science...
Gets wasted on the atom of mind
That has to think about breathing
And the rest spreads itself thin into the part
That thinks about never breathing
Again.
My body becomes a fax machine
Sending images up and back down
Raising and falling hearing the mantra
“Everything has purpose and expiration”
A truth so still no one need mention
Again.
Then I grip on to dandelions
As Science...
447 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th Jan 2018 00:39am
14th Jan 2018 00:39am
The Big Nothing
Motionless on the bed,
“Being held” found “being happy”
And they found a cheap place
Near the amygdala to settle down.
Have some children to call their own,
“Rumination” and “forbidden love”
The end of the ends and outs.
Intuition bursting,
The technical fading,
The bohemian failure going home,
Packing her bags for the road.
And then the bones feel like broken jazz,
Death becomes a tall glass of water,
And I become the smallest book
In the biggest library.
“Being held” found “being happy”
And they found a cheap place
Near the amygdala to settle down.
Have some children to call their own,
“Rumination” and “forbidden love”
The end of the ends and outs.
Intuition bursting,
The technical fading,
The bohemian failure going home,
Packing her bags for the road.
And then the bones feel like broken jazz,
Death becomes a tall glass of water,
And I become the smallest book
In the biggest library.
415 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Dec 2017 6:56pm
11th Dec 2017 6:56pm
Tinnitus
There's a ring in my head,
I wish you could hear,
I think it's from a lost marriage,
Or a telephone no one picked up.
It could be God calling to say,
"I miss you."
Or a statistic calling to say,
"Goodbye."
Maybe it's the disoriented sound of
A first-world thinker,
As oxytocin breeds bacteria,
And discontent.
Maybe it's a shitty requiem
For all the people
That should be dead
But aren't.
Or perhaps it's just Tinnitus,
And I don't need to worry.
I wish you could hear,
I think it's from a lost marriage,
Or a telephone no one picked up.
It could be God calling to say,
"I miss you."
Or a statistic calling to say,
"Goodbye."
Maybe it's the disoriented sound of
A first-world thinker,
As oxytocin breeds bacteria,
And discontent.
Maybe it's a shitty requiem
For all the people
That should be dead
But aren't.
Or perhaps it's just Tinnitus,
And I don't need to worry.
588 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Dec 2017 5:54pm
11th Dec 2017 5:54pm
Dumpster Slam-Dunk and God-like Guitar Riffs
The hang glider comes down from her mountain, with the water of the gods to feed the foe, the toad that linches and seethes, sticking gratitude to her heart. Why is he? He should have been, but now he's gone. Shoot the white haired lady, she feels no pain,
I crave lightning, a meaning, a triumph that sells pills to me in the back of a dusty van in the night, I want white hair and a balding mind, with nothing but you and your dye.
You are the poet's parts. I am no one, and I think you know that. You can never be with me because you are in a slow decent into adulthood...
I crave lightning, a meaning, a triumph that sells pills to me in the back of a dusty van in the night, I want white hair and a balding mind, with nothing but you and your dye.
You are the poet's parts. I am no one, and I think you know that. You can never be with me because you are in a slow decent into adulthood...
488 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
10th Dec 2017 7:50pm
10th Dec 2017 7:50pm
Saving Saint Rain
Your inconvenience, Lolita,
Is worn like a frown upon your face.
I need a stern kick in the head.
You're destitute, Destiny,
You reek like flowers, floorboards,
nosebleeds.
You ain't true, Faith,
You love him, and break me,
Your machine is commendable. Truly.
You're a saint, Jezebel,
You feel nothing, I feel it for you,
I bear your troubles like a Christ.
Oh but I'm a toad, Princess,
And my love is a spell,
It spells discomfort.
Is worn like a frown upon your face.
I need a stern kick in the head.
You're destitute, Destiny,
You reek like flowers, floorboards,
nosebleeds.
You ain't true, Faith,
You love him, and break me,
Your machine is commendable. Truly.
You're a saint, Jezebel,
You feel nothing, I feel it for you,
I bear your troubles like a Christ.
Oh but I'm a toad, Princess,
And my love is a spell,
It spells discomfort.
517 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ORPHEUS
