Submissions by The_Silly_Sibyl (Jack Thomas)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I've written about religious, historical, and philosophical subjects, because I find systems of belief and existentialism interesting. But I've also written a lot about stuff like The Jerry Springer Show, slasher films, and junk food.
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
26th Aug 2021 11:50pm
26th Aug 2021 11:50pm
Saturday the 14th
based on characters created by Sean S Cunningham and Victor Miller in Friday the 13th
"Camp is what the boy looks forward to in Scouting." - Lord Robert Baden-Powell, founder of Scouting
In the movie that girl chops my head off, but obviously that's bullshit, since you don't survive that. The movie had a lot of bullshit in it, right down to casting that old bitch Betsy Palmer as me. Did they really think that a pampered little actress like that would be strong enough to push an arrow through both a mattress and a young guy's throat? I doubt...
"Camp is what the boy looks forward to in Scouting." - Lord Robert Baden-Powell, founder of Scouting
In the movie that girl chops my head off, but obviously that's bullshit, since you don't survive that. The movie had a lot of bullshit in it, right down to casting that old bitch Betsy Palmer as me. Did they really think that a pampered little actress like that would be strong enough to push an arrow through both a mattress and a young guy's throat? I doubt...
#grief
#scary
#Fanfiction #PopCulture
#Fanfiction #PopCulture
297 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Aug 2021 8:45am
24th Aug 2021 8:45am
The Reading Life
The reading life is filled with sin.
You quake in your confessional,
knelt before the grille,
telling Shakespeare’s priest
you’ll read a German master soon,
a thesis on the hallowed spits of time
on which we all roast.
But, you see, there I go again.
Bringing up grotesquerie.
Not getting tight on anything
but pulp; detective stories,
horror books, things with lurid covers and
a rote but pleasing plot.
Know this, at least:
in his day, Shakespeare too
was jeered at by the Bards,
because his blank...
You quake in your confessional,
knelt before the grille,
telling Shakespeare’s priest
you’ll read a German master soon,
a thesis on the hallowed spits of time
on which we all roast.
But, you see, there I go again.
Bringing up grotesquerie.
Not getting tight on anything
but pulp; detective stories,
horror books, things with lurid covers and
a rote but pleasing plot.
Know this, at least:
in his day, Shakespeare too
was jeered at by the Bards,
because his blank...
#books
254 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Aug 2021 4:15pm
21st Aug 2021 4:15pm
importance of the domestic in gothic fiction
more than you'd think
there's nothing scarier
than the dinner table
or a living room
where someone died
(my great-grandmother
in the 1930s
crashed through the floor
while bringing in tea
she was pregnant
and both passed away
when infection set in
with only pre-war medicine
to keep the lasting light at bay)
think on families
with wicked patriarchs
clustered 'round mahogany
while soup is ladled out
a storm outside the tall windows
but whether set
in European castles or ...
there's nothing scarier
than the dinner table
or a living room
where someone died
(my great-grandmother
in the 1930s
crashed through the floor
while bringing in tea
she was pregnant
and both passed away
when infection set in
with only pre-war medicine
to keep the lasting light at bay)
think on families
with wicked patriarchs
clustered 'round mahogany
while soup is ladled out
a storm outside the tall windows
but whether set
in European castles or ...
#gothic
247 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Aug 2021 10:01pm
20th Aug 2021 10:01pm
sometimes, just a dog
I’d like to write
of grand and intellectual things
but while I’m working up the brains
I’ll say that sometimes just a dog
is quite enough for me
to see the beauty
in the world
more than the Taj Mahal
or sunsets on
the desert floor
just a ball of teeth and fluff
arranged on a pillow
and posing with black little eyes
probably thinking of food
of grand and intellectual things
but while I’m working up the brains
I’ll say that sometimes just a dog
is quite enough for me
to see the beauty
in the world
more than the Taj Mahal
or sunsets on
the desert floor
just a ball of teeth and fluff
arranged on a pillow
and posing with black little eyes
probably thinking of food
#animals
265 reads
6 Comments
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
269 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
264 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
367 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
237 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
284 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
316 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
287 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
252 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by The_Silly_Sibyl (Jack Thomas)
