Submissions by Tristique
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Sting of it
I don't
I don't want
I don't
want to be with you anymore...
I practice it out loud.
Does it sting more to say it
or not say it at all?
There's hurt thread through everything —
I can't tell what is fresh or old pain anymore.
We can't heal each other.
I need space
to breathe.
I don't want
I don't
want to be with you anymore...
I practice it out loud.
Does it sting more to say it
or not say it at all?
There's hurt thread through everything —
I can't tell what is fresh or old pain anymore.
We can't heal each other.
I need space
to breathe.
742 reads
6 Comments
Idle Idols
It is
a trampling underfoot.
It is indulgence and arrogance,
the double team that drops the reigns
and allows the bolted rage to overrun
the white, shy rabbit.
Who would want to be the rabbit?
Why, no one.
Steaming, pawing, snorting beasts
are...
it.
The sexy, sneering
idols
of the masses.
a trampling underfoot.
It is indulgence and arrogance,
the double team that drops the reigns
and allows the bolted rage to overrun
the white, shy rabbit.
Who would want to be the rabbit?
Why, no one.
Steaming, pawing, snorting beasts
are...
it.
The sexy, sneering
idols
of the masses.
695 reads
4 Comments
Twelve Months Later
I baked a cake today,
decorated with sprinkles and sparkles.
I stuck one candle on it
and sang with everyone else.
Your smile is four-teeth sweetness.
I look at you,
and my stomach fills with liquid lead.
What I wouldn't give to be wrong,
clutching my dirge of dread.
You had another episode yesterday,
staring off into nothing.
Your tiny left fist is curled up tight,
tight,
tighter than the knots
in my gut.
I hear grim chariot wheels
grinding bright years into dust.
What I wouldn't give,
to go in your...
decorated with sprinkles and sparkles.
I stuck one candle on it
and sang with everyone else.
Your smile is four-teeth sweetness.
I look at you,
and my stomach fills with liquid lead.
What I wouldn't give to be wrong,
clutching my dirge of dread.
You had another episode yesterday,
staring off into nothing.
Your tiny left fist is curled up tight,
tight,
tighter than the knots
in my gut.
I hear grim chariot wheels
grinding bright years into dust.
What I wouldn't give,
to go in your...
909 reads
8 Comments
Noctua
There's a moon glow in the moment,
dispersing my learned stumbles.
A shrivelled faith stirs, unfurls
despite the bladed wing whirls.
Her instinct flits around, fluttering,
a lost moth seeking porch lights.
She has nestled in layers
of petal soft toxins.
Viscidity trails in the night air,
sticking clouds to stars,
when hemolymph bleeds clear intentions.
My eyes are bruise blue.
Her determination steals
from her epileptic aura.
My palms upwards, face open
and torsion bare, bare.
I am hers, to...
dispersing my learned stumbles.
A shrivelled faith stirs, unfurls
despite the bladed wing whirls.
Her instinct flits around, fluttering,
a lost moth seeking porch lights.
She has nestled in layers
of petal soft toxins.
Viscidity trails in the night air,
sticking clouds to stars,
when hemolymph bleeds clear intentions.
My eyes are bruise blue.
Her determination steals
from her epileptic aura.
My palms upwards, face open
and torsion bare, bare.
I am hers, to...
803 reads
6 Comments
Poetry During
The words to this
fell like stars
while I arched, tense
against firm flickers
of an ambrosic quickening.
My core tightens
around the plunge rhythm
of these words
and
poetry
is
inter-
rupted...
fell like stars
while I arched, tense
against firm flickers
of an ambrosic quickening.
My core tightens
around the plunge rhythm
of these words
and
poetry
is
inter-
rupted...
896 reads
2 Comments
Recognition
She strips bare in her voice,
and each gesture undresses acquiescence.
Her movements and eyes are pulled towards
his white hot patience.
Yes...
His gazes hold answers, not questions.
Slow, steady reaching outlines acceptance.
The naked spirits entwined, shine.
Their earthly connection dwells in pleasure.
Yes.
and each gesture undresses acquiescence.
Her movements and eyes are pulled towards
his white hot patience.
Yes...
His gazes hold answers, not questions.
Slow, steady reaching outlines acceptance.
The naked spirits entwined, shine.
Their earthly connection dwells in pleasure.
Yes.
889 reads
6 Comments
First Time Meet, Again
You slammed the door open,
long strides into my dusty retreat.
Solid arms around the forlorn moments,
convinced you want to wave them away.
Will this space hold your idea of us?
This time, will you stay?
long strides into my dusty retreat.
Solid arms around the forlorn moments,
convinced you want to wave them away.
Will this space hold your idea of us?
This time, will you stay?
694 reads
4 Comments
Wayward
Soft lights flicker on the wall
and the clock tuts the hour.
She curls in the armchair
borrowing darkness for a quilt.
If she stills herself, she can feel
his last fingertraces on her cheek.
The distance from that moment extends
her ache; it cleaves her in two.
and the clock tuts the hour.
She curls in the armchair
borrowing darkness for a quilt.
If she stills herself, she can feel
his last fingertraces on her cheek.
The distance from that moment extends
her ache; it cleaves her in two.
820 reads
2 Comments
Nighttide
Her fingertips graze his skin
and he is close in the dark, warm.
An embrace encircles her thoughts;
she quiets.
Daylight finds her side cold.
He wills his eyes closed, if only
to bloom at night under the glow
of her touch.
and he is close in the dark, warm.
An embrace encircles her thoughts;
she quiets.
Daylight finds her side cold.
He wills his eyes closed, if only
to bloom at night under the glow
of her touch.
766 reads
4 Comments
Perceptions
If the same dream visits again and again,
is it not its own reality?
The vines creep around her throat, rub the skin green,
reaching for naught but to layer around and around
and squeeze space and air out, her voice silenced.
She wakes into a fragile now, and restarts the dreaded
countdown until the next sleep.
is it not its own reality?
The vines creep around her throat, rub the skin green,
reaching for naught but to layer around and around
and squeeze space and air out, her voice silenced.
She wakes into a fragile now, and restarts the dreaded
countdown until the next sleep.
707 reads
10 Comments
Ley Lines
Her face betrays the careful shades, layered —
the awkward one, the odd one, the insignificant one.
When the ley lines align, when she distracts herself
with wonders, the cracks widen and there is a glimmer
of hidden colors, provoking nothing.
There is a rare orchid that blooms once every hundred years
and no one sees it.
the awkward one, the odd one, the insignificant one.
When the ley lines align, when she distracts herself
with wonders, the cracks widen and there is a glimmer
of hidden colors, provoking nothing.
There is a rare orchid that blooms once every hundred years
and no one sees it.
732 reads
4 Comments
Flickers
A thin veil keeps the world intact
although the flames burn bright
on that side of their heat.
The tips of their minds bend
to the light and warmth
and all and nothing... yes, all.
The first of firsts spirals to more
until all that is left is fire
burning through the veil.
although the flames burn bright
on that side of their heat.
The tips of their minds bend
to the light and warmth
and all and nothing... yes, all.
The first of firsts spirals to more
until all that is left is fire
burning through the veil.
679 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Tristique