Submissions by Scribbler12
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -Robert Frost
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
25th Jul 2013 9:12pm
25th Jul 2013 9:12pm
Not quite solid.
She wanders in the newly born evening, always.
The moon hanging pearly white, beaming bright from his pedestal;
countless eyes boring down: burning judgement.
As the hammer falls she finds herself craving darkness.
Wound up tight in looking glass logic and cocooned against reason,
voices weave their way through the silence. Not quite solid.
They speak in contrast, tones of black and white:
"Yes" "No"
"Alive?" "Dead"
"No, no, no"
They seep into the distance, however much she reaches for them,...
The moon hanging pearly white, beaming bright from his pedestal;
countless eyes boring down: burning judgement.
As the hammer falls she finds herself craving darkness.
Wound up tight in looking glass logic and cocooned against reason,
voices weave their way through the silence. Not quite solid.
They speak in contrast, tones of black and white:
"Yes" "No"
"Alive?" "Dead"
"No, no, no"
They seep into the distance, however much she reaches for them,...
1283 reads
25 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
1st Jul 2013 7:36pm
1st Jul 2013 7:36pm
Snap.
Billows of worn gold and cigarette smoke hasten in from the east,
your presence scurrying under the rug, rearing over the morning:
playing both the part of lion and mouse, the ghost and the man.
You fall as waves, cascading into silence.
Turning around, I begin to write.
I used to own a pair of wings, I try not to remember.
You were the urge against the white, telling me let go;
curling content into the mind games and tight-rope safety systems.
My feathered, ruffled sense of being, warping itself into branches.
Stubborn, stiff, branches. ...
your presence scurrying under the rug, rearing over the morning:
playing both the part of lion and mouse, the ghost and the man.
You fall as waves, cascading into silence.
Turning around, I begin to write.
I used to own a pair of wings, I try not to remember.
You were the urge against the white, telling me let go;
curling content into the mind games and tight-rope safety systems.
My feathered, ruffled sense of being, warping itself into branches.
Stubborn, stiff, branches. ...
1118 reads
31 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th Jun 2013 8:39pm
14th Jun 2013 8:39pm
8:51
8:51 stares dead-man-unbroken into the back of my eyes,
flashing its electronic message in jagged blinks.
Medicine spoons rattle in their draws in response
to my pattering of feet, eager as the devil.
The air carries traces of decay; if you dared to follow
along glass stems dotted with saliva's braille,
beside blood smearing the bruised horizon,
you'd see the death in every morning.
I prefer not to look.
Rock and Roll drums a heavy beat into the walls,
blaring out into the beaks of song birds.
They're all...
flashing its electronic message in jagged blinks.
Medicine spoons rattle in their draws in response
to my pattering of feet, eager as the devil.
The air carries traces of decay; if you dared to follow
along glass stems dotted with saliva's braille,
beside blood smearing the bruised horizon,
you'd see the death in every morning.
I prefer not to look.
Rock and Roll drums a heavy beat into the walls,
blaring out into the beaks of song birds.
They're all...
1419 reads
22 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Jun 2013 9:49pm
8th Jun 2013 9:49pm
October
I sink into an October mindset, the universe dissolving
into fragments of gold, brown, and red, and red, and red.
Caffeine stained days pass without hindrance, I’ll live tomorrow.
Eyes are the window to the soul, though when I look in the mirror
my pupils are always encased in a saturated darkness.
The sun doesn't rise in there,
and who can blame her?
I woke cold, with the door swinging comically wide open.
Relief, fear, anger, disappointment.
Him, again.
He comes when he wishes, sometimes unwelcome,
never caring too...
into fragments of gold, brown, and red, and red, and red.
Caffeine stained days pass without hindrance, I’ll live tomorrow.
Eyes are the window to the soul, though when I look in the mirror
my pupils are always encased in a saturated darkness.
The sun doesn't rise in there,
and who can blame her?
I woke cold, with the door swinging comically wide open.
Relief, fear, anger, disappointment.
Him, again.
He comes when he wishes, sometimes unwelcome,
never caring too...
1255 reads
27 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
3rd Jun 2013 10:19pm
3rd Jun 2013 10:19pm
Daughter of the dust
Daughter of the dust and the sigh that shifts the ashes.
Prisoner of the broken streetlight and patchwork blankets.
Families of drunken splotches cloud my vision overcast
as I tiptoe the line of consciousness, don't fall off.
Weather men warn of storms,
a match is lit.
Roots branch down from heaven in jagged outlets of radiance,
water droplets forming streams which meander through
cement valleys to plunge into gutters.
A concrete, water drumming, symphony.
I find it strange that as years pass,
the air still bites as sharp...
Prisoner of the broken streetlight and patchwork blankets.
Families of drunken splotches cloud my vision overcast
as I tiptoe the line of consciousness, don't fall off.
Weather men warn of storms,
a match is lit.
Roots branch down from heaven in jagged outlets of radiance,
water droplets forming streams which meander through
cement valleys to plunge into gutters.
A concrete, water drumming, symphony.
I find it strange that as years pass,
the air still bites as sharp...
1404 reads
30 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
24th May 2013 10:06pm
24th May 2013 10:06pm
Long live
Rainbows dance, ducking close, close, and then away;
mutated grass blades stand stainless steel sharp,
a thousand shades of red.
Shredded rays of moonlight limp through the window
with a spiritless final struggle of physics.
The birthplace of the paranormal:
this is where it all began,
so listen carefully.
Air secrets sulphur inside his cloak of copper wires;
electricity bearing popularity in this new age.
You aren't safe here, I told you to run
when the wind began to howl:
"Long live, long live, long live"
they...
mutated grass blades stand stainless steel sharp,
a thousand shades of red.
Shredded rays of moonlight limp through the window
with a spiritless final struggle of physics.
The birthplace of the paranormal:
this is where it all began,
so listen carefully.
Air secrets sulphur inside his cloak of copper wires;
electricity bearing popularity in this new age.
You aren't safe here, I told you to run
when the wind began to howl:
"Long live, long live, long live"
they...
1168 reads
26 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
19th May 2013 5:58pm
19th May 2013 5:58pm
In the company of voices
When did it all begin?"
They visited when the world stooped into a harsh stillness;
the wind was stripped of its whistle, tearing through treetops
without a whisper.
A sinner was released from his haven, can you feel the drums?
Mountains of percussion that fell as thrashing waves,
melting into tides of inhales and exhales.
I couldn't hear a sound.
They sounded bitter before they opened their mouths,
telling of death-defying eyes crouching in the dark.
I often...
They visited when the world stooped into a harsh stillness;
the wind was stripped of its whistle, tearing through treetops
without a whisper.
A sinner was released from his haven, can you feel the drums?
Mountains of percussion that fell as thrashing waves,
melting into tides of inhales and exhales.
I couldn't hear a sound.
They sounded bitter before they opened their mouths,
telling of death-defying eyes crouching in the dark.
I often...
1170 reads
28 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th May 2013 5:45pm
15th May 2013 5:45pm
Ripple
Sometimes captured in tame swirls
of dew-frosted morning breezes,
I don't breathe.
At a gamble of a step the water stops,
drops, and rolls, away from my footprint;
crafting a thousand ringed shadows of disorder.
Gnarled skeletons of trees flinch backwards with a gasp
of rustled shock, cowering away into the unseen.
Someone I used to recognize launches a flare
for help in-between the first thought
and the second; I dismiss them.
Smoke lingers as an unwanted ghost.
...
of dew-frosted morning breezes,
I don't breathe.
At a gamble of a step the water stops,
drops, and rolls, away from my footprint;
crafting a thousand ringed shadows of disorder.
Gnarled skeletons of trees flinch backwards with a gasp
of rustled shock, cowering away into the unseen.
Someone I used to recognize launches a flare
for help in-between the first thought
and the second; I dismiss them.
Smoke lingers as an unwanted ghost.
...
1159 reads
30 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th May 2013 8:21pm
10th May 2013 8:21pm
Silver linings and Insignificance
Tissue-paper irises ringed with
an alcoholics rusted lining
(as Fates pot of silver
paint was padlocked firm)
flit from the clock-hands to
the sky at compulsive
intervals.
The skyline wavers blunt and sharp,
darkness tipping the scales.
As grass stems rock me in their
softly swaying hammock,
I feel weightless.
My green glass bottle lenses
illuminate specks of distant light.
There is something breath-taking
in being insignificant.
Something that unleashes
the silver lining.
an alcoholics rusted lining
(as Fates pot of silver
paint was padlocked firm)
flit from the clock-hands to
the sky at compulsive
intervals.
The skyline wavers blunt and sharp,
darkness tipping the scales.
As grass stems rock me in their
softly swaying hammock,
I feel weightless.
My green glass bottle lenses
illuminate specks of distant light.
There is something breath-taking
in being insignificant.
Something that unleashes
the silver lining.
1028 reads
31 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th May 2013 6:20pm
5th May 2013 6:20pm
Seeing the red
Under a universe of scrunched-up ink-belittled papers,
I cling to the theory of expansion, wishing for red stars.
The chimes wail to glorify the god-knows-how-many-th hour passed.
Eyelids propped open with diesel soaked matchsticks
watch exhausted hallucinations play out their parts.
The figures live out tragedies, lighters in hand.
Although I clap, I don't call for encore.
They introduce themselves as the four humours,
sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic.
I'm in grave danger of melancholic overflow:
"Write...
I cling to the theory of expansion, wishing for red stars.
The chimes wail to glorify the god-knows-how-many-th hour passed.
Eyelids propped open with diesel soaked matchsticks
watch exhausted hallucinations play out their parts.
The figures live out tragedies, lighters in hand.
Although I clap, I don't call for encore.
They introduce themselves as the four humours,
sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic.
I'm in grave danger of melancholic overflow:
"Write...
1186 reads
28 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st May 2013 8:01pm
1st May 2013 8:01pm
Walls
Asylum-blanched paint buckle at their corners,
crinkling into many suppressed frown lines with a groan.
They clamp the four encased walls in protective layers,
walls that used to be able to talk
are gratefully silent.
A seat sits spine-straight in the ribs of the room,
an occupant slumping on the worn veteran timber.
Brutal cheek bones high and severe
with deceitfully soft lullaby eyes,
lure in curiosity.
Time seems to have paused ...
crinkling into many suppressed frown lines with a groan.
They clamp the four encased walls in protective layers,
walls that used to be able to talk
are gratefully silent.
A seat sits spine-straight in the ribs of the room,
an occupant slumping on the worn veteran timber.
Brutal cheek bones high and severe
with deceitfully soft lullaby eyes,
lure in curiosity.
Time seems to have paused ...
1073 reads
22 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
28th Apr 2013 9:53am
28th Apr 2013 9:53am
When life stops giving.
Tapestries of moss gather up their forces;
furled curls of jade latch onto soil,
bones gazing up from underneath.
Withered silhouettes framed by an ebbing glow
hold resignation letters and wings firm in hand,
singing out of loyalty for a memory lost.
A misguided phenomenon,
death harnessed.
I asked the night: When will death stop taking?
He turned his head away with a sigh dragged
deep from the unlit depths of his knowledge,
casting another shadow onto the gravestone
which I kneel by.
...
furled curls of jade latch onto soil,
bones gazing up from underneath.
Withered silhouettes framed by an ebbing glow
hold resignation letters and wings firm in hand,
singing out of loyalty for a memory lost.
A misguided phenomenon,
death harnessed.
I asked the night: When will death stop taking?
He turned his head away with a sigh dragged
deep from the unlit depths of his knowledge,
casting another shadow onto the gravestone
which I kneel by.
...
1354 reads
45 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Scribbler12
