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.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Dec 2017 6:39pm
9th Dec 2017 6:39pm
Flea Market on Washington
I was pretty tired, but I heard teenagers didn't sleep so I kicked myself up. Streets are cold and I'm on the west side of Indy, there's this place open that has cheap soda drinks, I walk in and it smells like hookers, and my best friend, except everything smells like that so I ignore it. The lady has at least 3 ear piercings and her parents are probably holly rollers, everyone's parents are I guess. She's nice, in spite.
It's a warm cold, today I'm an ant so I like sugar, my family resembles ants, I don't think it's a coincidence, I think they share a common ancestor with the ant....
It's a warm cold, today I'm an ant so I like sugar, my family resembles ants, I don't think it's a coincidence, I think they share a common ancestor with the ant....
529 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Dec 2017 5:57am
9th Dec 2017 5:57am
Visiting an Old Friend
I walk across an economic class,
and reach a doorstep,
I fall in love with the shambles,
the sordid smell,
simple and silly.
The fences are so short,
and rusted,
the jungle green expresses itself,
"I am your childhood," it says
And I knew how right it was.
Inside is a mangy carpet,
the petshop grit hits me,
Dogfood, fritos,
there's a handgun on the table.
I think about Kurt Cobain,
The dude scrambles
to find some clean socks.
They have 90 cents for gas money.
The room is dark...
and reach a doorstep,
I fall in love with the shambles,
the sordid smell,
simple and silly.
The fences are so short,
and rusted,
the jungle green expresses itself,
"I am your childhood," it says
And I knew how right it was.
Inside is a mangy carpet,
the petshop grit hits me,
Dogfood, fritos,
there's a handgun on the table.
I think about Kurt Cobain,
The dude scrambles
to find some clean socks.
They have 90 cents for gas money.
The room is dark...
620 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Dec 2017 5:33pm
8th Dec 2017 5:33pm
The Sisyphean Cyclist
Hear the gentle bass of the Milky Way galaxy, slowly turning.
And us, a virus, an atom, a quantum, a tinny tinny thing doing silly boring things like brushing our teeth, walking, reading, writing, doing things we don't understand, doing things we can't understand, being in love, being out of it, eating candy, having sex, giving sex, doing homework, cleaning, worrying, eating more candy, drawing pictures, thinking, holding, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying,.......
Turn, world, turn, sun,...
And us, a virus, an atom, a quantum, a tinny tinny thing doing silly boring things like brushing our teeth, walking, reading, writing, doing things we don't understand, doing things we can't understand, being in love, being out of it, eating candy, having sex, giving sex, doing homework, cleaning, worrying, eating more candy, drawing pictures, thinking, holding, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, creating, destroying,.......
Turn, world, turn, sun,...
574 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
8th Dec 2017 5:14pm
8th Dec 2017 5:14pm
These Days
I feel dumb.
It's like there's an amusement park behind me,
but I can't turn around.
I feel ugly.
I'm afraid to look in the mirror,
because it might look back.
It's like there's an amusement park behind me,
but I can't turn around.
I feel ugly.
I'm afraid to look in the mirror,
because it might look back.
613 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th Dec 2017 5:13am
8th Dec 2017 5:13am
A Heart Beating for Itself
#myself
909 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th Dec 2017 4:58am
8th Dec 2017 4:58am
Infinite Instance
the sink runs mud, a clarity I won't understate.
the splatering, sputtering on the porcelain, sloshing, guttural pain.
on canvas the paint is truth, on the wall it is deceit.
the bed is a springboard for great ideas.
romances that die, 8 hour shifts of bottled eternity.
I am haunted by this sentiment daily.
on the windy beach, the ears and hair, a flapping flag.
the moon like Juliet's eyes,
over the grand ocean of unknown language.
i will reach over and i will grab the gun.
i will go out with a bang while Eve is away. ...
the splatering, sputtering on the porcelain, sloshing, guttural pain.
on canvas the paint is truth, on the wall it is deceit.
the bed is a springboard for great ideas.
romances that die, 8 hour shifts of bottled eternity.
I am haunted by this sentiment daily.
on the windy beach, the ears and hair, a flapping flag.
the moon like Juliet's eyes,
over the grand ocean of unknown language.
i will reach over and i will grab the gun.
i will go out with a bang while Eve is away. ...
642 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ORPHEUS
