Submissions by The_Silly_Sibyl (Essex Boy)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
29th Jul 2021 7:05pm
29th Jul 2021 7:05pm
Night School
The van pulled up in the car park of the large supermarket just outside town. It was past midnight and almost pitch dark, given the lack of streetlight, which had been shut off by the council after eleven as an energy-saving measure. The van was black and unmarked.
Its door slid open and five men jumped out, dragging a sixth behind them. They all wore black turtlenecks, jeans, trousers, and trainers, like fascist Blackshirts updated to the 1990s. The sixth was thrust by the scruff of his neck up against the closed door by a man with large upper arms and a permanent, sardonic...
Its door slid open and five men jumped out, dragging a sixth behind them. They all wore black turtlenecks, jeans, trousers, and trainers, like fascist Blackshirts updated to the 1990s. The sixth was thrust by the scruff of his neck up against the closed door by a man with large upper arms and a permanent, sardonic...
#violence
#scary
#fear
14 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th Jul 2021 7:03pm
26th Jul 2021 7:03pm
Venus’ Honeypots
My love, I’ve filled our bed with carnations.
Please tell me you recall?
The bunch that sat by your bedstead
the first night we made love.
I watched them as they drank the sun,
and you performed your toilet in
the tiny men’s en suite. It’s been years since
I’ve felt another woman’s touch,
my breasts against hers, so
that now the carnations
are even lovelier, knowing that you’ll
be here soon. My husband thinks I’ve
turned frigid, and takes it as a blessing.
He’s not been well since ‘93. But you
and me... for me, at least,...
Please tell me you recall?
The bunch that sat by your bedstead
the first night we made love.
I watched them as they drank the sun,
and you performed your toilet in
the tiny men’s en suite. It’s been years since
I’ve felt another woman’s touch,
my breasts against hers, so
that now the carnations
are even lovelier, knowing that you’ll
be here soon. My husband thinks I’ve
turned frigid, and takes it as a blessing.
He’s not been well since ‘93. But you
and me... for me, at least,...
#lesbian
#historical
17 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
22nd Jul 2021 10:13pm
22nd Jul 2021 10:13pm
a man’s touch
your touch is invisible
and ultimately riven
by reality
what lurks in hellfire
is always more tempting
than what sits ramrod on
a cloud and talks of adherence
to propagation of
the light
I ache to be held in darkness
the only light
a flickering
of painfully red flames
and ultimately riven
by reality
what lurks in hellfire
is always more tempting
than what sits ramrod on
a cloud and talks of adherence
to propagation of
the light
I ache to be held in darkness
the only light
a flickering
of painfully red flames
#erotic
66 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd Jul 2021 10:02pm
22nd Jul 2021 10:02pm
Junkyard Stories
for the late David MacLeod, who shared my love of junk cinema
To paraphrase Manny Farber, you can catch them trying to shove art up into the crevices of dreck. - Roger Ebert
Who said that plot and character
are absolute in form?
That we must save the cat?
Why do structures known to all
need to structure everything?
Poo to your dictates of true belief!
I’ve nailed my theses
to the door of your church,
and spread faeces
across your nave.
Structure doesn’t save,
obsession does.
We don’t need our...
To paraphrase Manny Farber, you can catch them trying to shove art up into the crevices of dreck. - Roger Ebert
Who said that plot and character
are absolute in form?
That we must save the cat?
Why do structures known to all
need to structure everything?
Poo to your dictates of true belief!
I’ve nailed my theses
to the door of your church,
and spread faeces
across your nave.
Structure doesn’t save,
obsession does.
We don’t need our...
#PopCulture
18 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
21st Jul 2021 1:51pm
21st Jul 2021 1:51pm
A Village Ritual
I
'Are we really staying here?'
'What's wrong with it?'
They'd pulled up outside a mock-Tudor B&B. The Gothic-lettered sign stretched up through a layer of pink roses. The grave-silent, residential street leant down towards a picnic area on the edge of dense forest. It all made Sally feel that she was at the last resting place before Nowhere. 'It looks like where old people go to die.' Paul rolled his eyes. 'Don't be stupid' he said, and opened the driver's side door, getting out. 'You know it's another long stretch to mum's and I'm not showing up at three...
'Are we really staying here?'
'What's wrong with it?'
They'd pulled up outside a mock-Tudor B&B. The Gothic-lettered sign stretched up through a layer of pink roses. The grave-silent, residential street leant down towards a picnic area on the edge of dense forest. It all made Sally feel that she was at the last resting place before Nowhere. 'It looks like where old people go to die.' Paul rolled his eyes. 'Don't be stupid' he said, and opened the driver's side door, getting out. 'You know it's another long stretch to mum's and I'm not showing up at three...
#evil
31 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Jul 2021 8:55pm
18th Jul 2021 8:55pm
birthday
It was my birthday yesterday,
so I suppose I should write a poem.
I have no grand or mystic theme,
no conversations with
the Godhead, life, or memory,
to make you stare and think
‘good lord! This poetry is alchemy...
The base metals of life have been
transmuted into gold.’
So instead I’ll talk about
a half-Mexican, American
Naval officer I once knew.
He sent me, unsolicited,
pictures of his butt,
and him in uniform.
(I wasn’t confident enough
to ask that he wear his uniform
while showing me his...
so I suppose I should write a poem.
I have no grand or mystic theme,
no conversations with
the Godhead, life, or memory,
to make you stare and think
‘good lord! This poetry is alchemy...
The base metals of life have been
transmuted into gold.’
So instead I’ll talk about
a half-Mexican, American
Naval officer I once knew.
He sent me, unsolicited,
pictures of his butt,
and him in uniform.
(I wasn’t confident enough
to ask that he wear his uniform
while showing me his...
#birthday
37 reads
5 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th Jul 2021 5:47pm
16th Jul 2021 5:47pm
The Secret Wedding
I belong to a writers' group in real life and we were recently asked to write a piece of text in response to a passage from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, so the names of several characters here, as well as the general scene, is taken from that novel
The marriage was conducted in secret, as it had to be, in a little church far from civilisation. The carriage that took them to the illegal matrimony arrived outside the church with no fanfare, and if Claire was upset that her wedding should be attended by no pomp or circumstance, not even a few apple-cheeked well-wishers...
The marriage was conducted in secret, as it had to be, in a little church far from civilisation. The carriage that took them to the illegal matrimony arrived outside the church with no fanfare, and if Claire was upset that her wedding should be attended by no pomp or circumstance, not even a few apple-cheeked well-wishers...
#magic
24 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Jul 2021 00:23am
2nd Jul 2021 00:23am
The Children’s Writer
I shut my eyes for a few minutes, with my portable typewriter on my knee – I make my mind a blank and wait – and then, as clearly as I would see real children, my characters stand before me in my mind's eye ... The first sentence comes straight into my mind, I don't have to think of it – I don't have to think of anything." - Enid Blyton
I never was as free
as the children in your books.
Perhaps no child is.
Perhaps that's the romance.
Derided as plain and unintelligent,
unadorned with anything
like style, grace, or that elusive beast
called...
I never was as free
as the children in your books.
Perhaps no child is.
Perhaps that's the romance.
Derided as plain and unintelligent,
unadorned with anything
like style, grace, or that elusive beast
called...
#books
37 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Jun 2021 8:46pm
27th Jun 2021 8:46pm
Subject Matter
I sometimes wonder if
I write too many poems about
movies and pulp fiction,
and junk food
and myths and legends.
But then I think,
why not write about
what keeps you just about
engaged with life?
I write too many poems about
movies and pulp fiction,
and junk food
and myths and legends.
But then I think,
why not write about
what keeps you just about
engaged with life?
#WritingPoetry
36 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Jun 2021 11:23pm
21st Jun 2021 11:23pm
fragments of a love poem
1
if I could be someone
that somebody was capable of loving
this would be a love poem
but as it is it’s just a note
left on a table in an empty room
with no light
2
when you crave human touch
but know that you haven’t earned it
and may never satisfy that craving
you curl up into yourself and dream
like a hermit crab
whose shell is warm
and painted on the inside
but also cold
in a way that can’t be fixed with heat
3
I dream and dream
and am forgiven
walking in the...
if I could be someone
that somebody was capable of loving
this would be a love poem
but as it is it’s just a note
left on a table in an empty room
with no light
2
when you crave human touch
but know that you haven’t earned it
and may never satisfy that craving
you curl up into yourself and dream
like a hermit crab
whose shell is warm
and painted on the inside
but also cold
in a way that can’t be fixed with heat
3
I dream and dream
and am forgiven
walking in the...
#love
#loneliness
62 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Jun 2021 7:08pm
20th Jun 2021 7:08pm
maybe that’s why it’s so wrong
it’s not until you’re grown
that you know who Shame is
really
and how it stood beside you all along
how it broke into your house
when you were 12
and watching an old movie with your dad
when Rock Hudson’s name scrolled past
and he said
‘he died from sucking other men’s willies’
Shame sat on your shoulder then
the pot-bellied imp with stubby horns
and laughed
so you laughed as well
not thinking much of it
not knowing Shame was there
later you said what your dad had told you
to...
that you know who Shame is
really
and how it stood beside you all along
how it broke into your house
when you were 12
and watching an old movie with your dad
when Rock Hudson’s name scrolled past
and he said
‘he died from sucking other men’s willies’
Shame sat on your shoulder then
the pot-bellied imp with stubby horns
and laughed
so you laughed as well
not thinking much of it
not knowing Shame was there
later you said what your dad had told you
to...
#LGBT
#shame
61 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jun 2021 11:15pm
17th Jun 2021 11:15pm
Understanding Selflessness
A Kurdish woman, Sevinaz Evdike, dedicates herself to helping these women even though their husbands may have killed her countrymen.“ - James Jackson, in The Times of London, on the subject of ISIS war brides
I can’t begin to comprehend
the vast reserves of goodness
in your bones. For they must be ingrained
that deep. To know
a giving up of hate as totally
as yours, as utterly holy
as all the golden cups and coins
that fill the stores of popes and sheikhs
and other men who wear God’s hand-me-downs,
is something I cannot approach. ...
I can’t begin to comprehend
the vast reserves of goodness
in your bones. For they must be ingrained
that deep. To know
a giving up of hate as totally
as yours, as utterly holy
as all the golden cups and coins
that fill the stores of popes and sheikhs
and other men who wear God’s hand-me-downs,
is something I cannot approach. ...
#forgiveness
39 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by The_Silly_Sibyl (Essex Boy)
