Submissions by Pishashee
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
"Sitting with the angels who have returned with my memories. " ― Alice Walker. It is a pleasure to be in such company.
Dragonfly
what is it that you cannot touch,
that we have found divine, and made pretty
by chiseled scars and auburn pain,
in honor, precedence to new ages,
they will not pass slowly, nor weep in vain,
for if the dragonfly told secrets to Saturn,
the precious moments, and all the tea cups,
would shatter to the ground in silence.
that we have found divine, and made pretty
by chiseled scars and auburn pain,
in honor, precedence to new ages,
they will not pass slowly, nor weep in vain,
for if the dragonfly told secrets to Saturn,
the precious moments, and all the tea cups,
would shatter to the ground in silence.
794 reads
14 Comments
Standard Model: Update
An Atom is mostly empty space, so's Granddads head. The most direct way to see what’s inside of a fruitcake is to poke your figure in it. Okay, here's what happened ― in earnest. This is only more of granddads new science. Granddad, after finding out in the days of Rutherford that the method to find what’s inside of an atom required using alpha particles as probes to catch the reaction of the electron and view its spontaneous nature, decided to do the same in finding the nuts & currant construct in grandma’s new fruitcake that was set for Sunday supper, so with all eyes in the...
920 reads
14 Comments
life without reason
that life it had been so hurt and endless,
in the world that could never tell a fear,
from a tear that would never cry an eye,
in an eye that would never give a reason,
to the question that was never answered why.
in the world that could never tell a fear,
from a tear that would never cry an eye,
in an eye that would never give a reason,
to the question that was never answered why.
700 reads
8 Comments
Quite a mouthful for lack of a better idiom
What is the value in swallowing
the whole lake just to keep
the wind from absorbing the rain.
the whole lake just to keep
the wind from absorbing the rain.
678 reads
12 Comments
And so she did
I have no idea
how intelligent I am;
I've not yet reached
my depths of stupidity.
how intelligent I am;
I've not yet reached
my depths of stupidity.
707 reads
10 Comments
Ozark Charm
Granddad done got his science wrong again cause Uncle Joe'd read a book in one them magazine staples from down in a Carolina; he said it was the cure all for the ugly. And so there they were, running all over the neighborhood requiring fresh goat piss by the bottle and bucket for the livelihood and prosperity for the womens and their youngins. Yet forty nine days later the womens was ugly as ever, just standing there in their house dresses and white barrettes, heavy headed as-could-be. Come to find out, after looking up one of the original prescribers, it was for the falling hair, but...
716 reads
7 Comments
fundamental laws of energy
Too many people have overestimated the difficulty of the job. I walked in the place and I was lost, but I knew why I was there. The man gave me good directions to the lady, and the nice lady gave me a sticky note and told me to go to the room and sign the paper ― there were blue eggs everywhere and the people were earthbound ― dragged down by the days gravity as I was breathing a heady Brahma and watching time pass along the ether; something unseen, I sat watching the baby smile at me as we began discussing mass, light, and entropy with no assumptions ― the laws of physics...
739 reads
18 Comments
the unchained dream
life’s tariffs and certain voyage
is the unkindliest cut of all;
my indices breathes the pearls
that came to lounge upon his cheek,
and he came to look not knowing
I woke, and kneeled down to
whisper love things over my body,
as the ship slumbers in the water;
spend your glacier eyes, eternity
opens to sing the unchained dream,
for it is much too long for the night.
is the unkindliest cut of all;
my indices breathes the pearls
that came to lounge upon his cheek,
and he came to look not knowing
I woke, and kneeled down to
whisper love things over my body,
as the ship slumbers in the water;
spend your glacier eyes, eternity
opens to sing the unchained dream,
for it is much too long for the night.
626 reads
12 Comments
Socks in Space
Somewhere in the universe, way up high, there are remnants in the outer layers of distant galaxies, these are called halos ― this is known as the MACHO hypothesis with probable explanation of dark matter; dark matter, apparently there, yet remains to be seen. They emit very little to naught radiation or energy. Therefore, with no soul to fall back on, it is mucho difficult to rule out the halos as black holes, neutron stars, or even the escape vent of the lost socks.
747 reads
23 Comments
to the soulful
the color of his hair,
the shape of his eyes,
listening sweetly
as the wind’s sovereign
hunger lingers overlong,
erecting man’s
great work of devotion
that rends the time awry;
I'm in love with the
weakness of his soulful song.
the shape of his eyes,
listening sweetly
as the wind’s sovereign
hunger lingers overlong,
erecting man’s
great work of devotion
that rends the time awry;
I'm in love with the
weakness of his soulful song.
590 reads
8 Comments
It was ironic
I just wrote you the longest letter – it was about irony, I was telling you a little about it. It was at least a 500 word essay; what happened then, and then and there yesterday, and how it happened again today, and how a white plastic bag just went flying by; they terrify Dolly, she barks at them incessantly when they land against the fence. I've decided to claim that its a ghost — silly thing anyway. I don't even know what its about, such as living a life, one after the other and on and on. I ignore it usually because it goes on constantly. It’s scary sometimes, you know, you're the...
713 reads
6 Comments
Angel Trumpets (genus enigma brugmansia)
Of the many ways to waste time, the logic game of the perfected life isn't one I care to become tangled up; who can endure perfect? I seldom find myself concerned with achieving a "perfected" stance within someone else's neat categories of what is and what is not. I accept that radical notion that if man could create perfect, a system to produce it, or a model dependent reality that allows for it - then perfect would be many things, but perfected, most certainly it would not be. If isolated, the imagination's power is found in convincing the one imagining that it's own truth, is alone...
717 reads
14 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Pishashee