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.
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
249 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
355 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
318 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
296 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
15th Jun 2021 3:18pm
15th Jun 2021 3:18pm
The Widow’s Cock
It seems that life is always fought between
a fox and cock. The latter struts about
his house as King David, his wives arrayed
on beds of hay. The fox, a cunning lout,
requests that King Cock’s rigour be displayed.
A widow, once, was gifted such a cock
and stalked by such a fox. That night she locked
her new monarch inside with his new brides.
The foolish Cock let Noble Fox come in,
and just as Cock’s veins tautened in the shaft
of its long neck, so that music
might issue forth, the fox bit down
and choked the chicken’s warbling. ...
a fox and cock. The latter struts about
his house as King David, his wives arrayed
on beds of hay. The fox, a cunning lout,
requests that King Cock’s rigour be displayed.
A widow, once, was gifted such a cock
and stalked by such a fox. That night she locked
her new monarch inside with his new brides.
The foolish Cock let Noble Fox come in,
and just as Cock’s veins tautened in the shaft
of its long neck, so that music
might issue forth, the fox bit down
and choked the chicken’s warbling. ...
#narrative
272 reads
1 Comment
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
13th Jun 2021 11:28pm
13th Jun 2021 11:28pm
Summer Sunday School
On Sunday morning I went out for a while in the neighbourhood; I bought some raisin bread. The day was warm but a little sad, as Sundays often are in Paris, especially when one doesn’t believe in God.” - Michel Houellebecq
Near where I live
is a Quaker meeting house,
and an Anglican church
I’ve been in once,
but only to help with a stall
at a farmer’s market.
On hot and humid
Sunday mornings,
I sit on a bench
in the shadow of a tree,
and watch the leaves
and motes of dust,
falling like notes
in a composition, ...
Near where I live
is a Quaker meeting house,
and an Anglican church
I’ve been in once,
but only to help with a stall
at a farmer’s market.
On hot and humid
Sunday mornings,
I sit on a bench
in the shadow of a tree,
and watch the leaves
and motes of dust,
falling like notes
in a composition, ...
#nature
#religion
259 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
13th Jun 2021 11:05pm
13th Jun 2021 11:05pm
Lizzie
1
The first ghost story I heard
was told in the playground, when I
was eight or nine. It was called Lizzie,
and about a woman of that name
who kills her newborn and hides it in
a closet under the stairs.
(My house had such a closet,
so this became the scene.)
Several years passed,
apparently without
degradations of the flesh
that would make the child in the closet
reveal itself.
But one night as she dozed
Lizzie heard a voice at the foot of the stairs.
‘Lizzie... I’m on the...
The first ghost story I heard
was told in the playground, when I
was eight or nine. It was called Lizzie,
and about a woman of that name
who kills her newborn and hides it in
a closet under the stairs.
(My house had such a closet,
so this became the scene.)
Several years passed,
apparently without
degradations of the flesh
that would make the child in the closet
reveal itself.
But one night as she dozed
Lizzie heard a voice at the foot of the stairs.
‘Lizzie... I’m on the...
#hate
#ghosts
322 reads
1 Comment
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
12th Jun 2021 9:17pm
12th Jun 2021 9:17pm
Perspectives
I
My love is unequivocal. To sin,
a manor born, and in that house we dwell,
us mortal billions. Begin
to understand, I beg. The hell
I fear is not a Middle Age dungeon.
I would not hurt you if I could.
For my eternal condition
is just as tied to origins of wood
and rock. The bleak, corrupted earth.
That your urges are of Sodom
does not mean mine are worth
a damn. The caul of man drips with venom.
The hell I fear is death without my God.
But we are still brothers, from womb to sod.
II ...
My love is unequivocal. To sin,
a manor born, and in that house we dwell,
us mortal billions. Begin
to understand, I beg. The hell
I fear is not a Middle Age dungeon.
I would not hurt you if I could.
For my eternal condition
is just as tied to origins of wood
and rock. The bleak, corrupted earth.
That your urges are of Sodom
does not mean mine are worth
a damn. The caul of man drips with venom.
The hell I fear is death without my God.
But we are still brothers, from womb to sod.
II ...
#LGBT
302 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
12th Jun 2021 00:05am
12th Jun 2021 00:05am
Necessary Hell
Is it not interesting to see
How the Christians continually
Try to separate themselves in vain
From the doctrine of eternal pain? - Stevie Smith
Hell hath been described by men,
a thousand years from ages when
you liked it or were tried,
struck down, strung up, sky high’d.
But now description is finessed,
like an iron maiden dressed
in granny’s gown and bonnet.
Their logic likes to pirouette.
The dance, as I recall,
is known as sophistry. Appalled
by hell, scholars form a fire brigade
and soak the...
How the Christians continually
Try to separate themselves in vain
From the doctrine of eternal pain? - Stevie Smith
Hell hath been described by men,
a thousand years from ages when
you liked it or were tried,
struck down, strung up, sky high’d.
But now description is finessed,
like an iron maiden dressed
in granny’s gown and bonnet.
Their logic likes to pirouette.
The dance, as I recall,
is known as sophistry. Appalled
by hell, scholars form a fire brigade
and soak the...
#religion
250 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
11th Jun 2021 10:56pm
11th Jun 2021 10:56pm
Sonnet Found in Castle Dracula
The furnaces burn blue tonight in grounds
I dare not view by day. They guard what keeps
me rich, tho’ bored of bullion. The sounds
that reach me here, in this castle that weeps
with child’s blood and mother’s tears, are all
just wind and wolves. In dreams only I hear
the aural perfume of your voice, in thrall
to my once ruddy flesh. A single year
outstretched, across a rack, is my record
on earth, skin denied skin. Without a mate
to feast on lovingly. To thrust a sword
into, a welcoming rosebud. To sate.
The skin on Satan’s...
I dare not view by day. They guard what keeps
me rich, tho’ bored of bullion. The sounds
that reach me here, in this castle that weeps
with child’s blood and mother’s tears, are all
just wind and wolves. In dreams only I hear
the aural perfume of your voice, in thrall
to my once ruddy flesh. A single year
outstretched, across a rack, is my record
on earth, skin denied skin. Without a mate
to feast on lovingly. To thrust a sword
into, a welcoming rosebud. To sate.
The skin on Satan’s...
#vampires
241 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
11th Jun 2021 2:51pm
11th Jun 2021 2:51pm
The Shadow Knows
ode to MR James
Je n’y crois pas, mais je les crains. (I do not believe, but I’m afraid.) - Germaine de Staël
As a boy he dreamed
about a Judgement Day,
on which all of mankind
was ranged on a cloud
before God.
Mutton-chops and shawls,
top hats and petticoats
in school assembly
as He
decided their eternal home.
The wicked were plunged into Hell.
I picture them falling
like failed minions
in a spy movie, trapdoors opening
beneath their feet
and flames licking up through ...
Je n’y crois pas, mais je les crains. (I do not believe, but I’m afraid.) - Germaine de Staël
As a boy he dreamed
about a Judgement Day,
on which all of mankind
was ranged on a cloud
before God.
Mutton-chops and shawls,
top hats and petticoats
in school assembly
as He
decided their eternal home.
The wicked were plunged into Hell.
I picture them falling
like failed minions
in a spy movie, trapdoors opening
beneath their feet
and flames licking up through ...
#scary
291 reads
7 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by The_Silly_Sibyl (Jack Thomas)
