Submissions by Uley-Bone
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
DARK POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2013 1:21pm
23rd Feb 2013 1:21pm
The Clockwork Madrigal
*For the Edgar Allan Poe ala The Raven contest**
Dreaming murmur,
as weary volumes
wrought open, whispered,
once forgotten chamber doors
from a stir of words—purple
the tongue silken hours
Souls always gather
like an echo's tongues,
where Lenore lay dying...
For centuries,
minutes like embers—
seconds burning
a demons harvest
for a glimpse
into and
beyond this world
and the scars
of nevermore.
The floor is weak
where ghosts
don once mortal shades,
restless
murmured the sunset...
Dreaming murmur,
as weary volumes
wrought open, whispered,
once forgotten chamber doors
from a stir of words—purple
the tongue silken hours
Souls always gather
like an echo's tongues,
where Lenore lay dying...
For centuries,
minutes like embers—
seconds burning
a demons harvest
for a glimpse
into and
beyond this world
and the scars
of nevermore.
The floor is weak
where ghosts
don once mortal shades,
restless
murmured the sunset...
#dark
#ghosts
#EdgarAllanPoe #death
#EdgarAllanPoe #death
740 reads
9 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2013 12:44pm
22nd Feb 2013 12:44pm
Satanic Memorae
From within this light disturbed
the small shadow, cowering among
those despotic temples--
the image sunken deeper;
prayers full of words
both sacred and divine
and left the profane blank;
opening, belief is unusual,
within those silent, unholy corridors
where desperate eyes speak unto
those reprobate angels scattering
like vermin under the neon lace
as old dreams wander like ghosts.
Only good little boys go to Heaven...
The cover of this great work
ne'er changes--fading graffiti
inflicted like scars;
within...
the small shadow, cowering among
those despotic temples--
the image sunken deeper;
prayers full of words
both sacred and divine
and left the profane blank;
opening, belief is unusual,
within those silent, unholy corridors
where desperate eyes speak unto
those reprobate angels scattering
like vermin under the neon lace
as old dreams wander like ghosts.
Only good little boys go to Heaven...
The cover of this great work
ne'er changes--fading graffiti
inflicted like scars;
within...
824 reads
4 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
5th Feb 2013 9:08am
5th Feb 2013 9:08am
Gravity
Undisturbed, chemically
treat unrest as the dreams
recalled from sleep
endure only in my head,
while most had never even
made it that far
Singular motion,
such as a rear-view
mirror wears the legend
what objects may have
been closer
than they appeared
In hindsight
of a reckless mind,
fixing without repair
or remedy to remain
walking through
the still-life of
those dreams, as
necessity overcomes
the will for...
Stoic and unyielding,
the hide of creature
life breathes you in
and...
treat unrest as the dreams
recalled from sleep
endure only in my head,
while most had never even
made it that far
Singular motion,
such as a rear-view
mirror wears the legend
what objects may have
been closer
than they appeared
In hindsight
of a reckless mind,
fixing without repair
or remedy to remain
walking through
the still-life of
those dreams, as
necessity overcomes
the will for...
Stoic and unyielding,
the hide of creature
life breathes you in
and...
879 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Feb 2013 12:09pm
4th Feb 2013 12:09pm
"Roll Me Away"
*For the Rep Your State" competition--which is certain to lose, but damned if it didn't feel good writing it. I miss it.**
Rolling slow down the old
Seger back-list,
blown along by a winsome
wind and the same ole
travelers addiction
to a place and time
that can never be changed
Most of what anyone
knows or remembers
about where I was born
are the unmangling
of highways
leading them away,
or around,
from Detroit City;
and the big puddles,
such as Huron, Superior
and of course, the greatest
Lake...
Rolling slow down the old
Seger back-list,
blown along by a winsome
wind and the same ole
travelers addiction
to a place and time
that can never be changed
Most of what anyone
knows or remembers
about where I was born
are the unmangling
of highways
leading them away,
or around,
from Detroit City;
and the big puddles,
such as Huron, Superior
and of course, the greatest
Lake...
857 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
4th Feb 2013 12:08pm
4th Feb 2013 12:08pm
The Hole
And so,
we first learn to dream
within
Cutting teeth
upon the paper
and cardboard
philosophies,
and wondering
why it all smelled
of milk and blood
"Breathe baby, breathe"
Mama plead against
the dull eyed stare
of everything
objectionable
Until life became
another object of herself,
slipping upon the darkness
and into the deep
dark wonder of the below
may rise o'er and above her
Fallen within
a plastic coffin,
where youth was preserved
in old black and white...
we first learn to dream
within
Cutting teeth
upon the paper
and cardboard
philosophies,
and wondering
why it all smelled
of milk and blood
"Breathe baby, breathe"
Mama plead against
the dull eyed stare
of everything
objectionable
Until life became
another object of herself,
slipping upon the darkness
and into the deep
dark wonder of the below
may rise o'er and above her
Fallen within
a plastic coffin,
where youth was preserved
in old black and white...
1143 reads
16 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
30th Jan 2013 11:40am
30th Jan 2013 11:40am
Into the Void: 5 & 6
5- Dandelion
"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes."
Marquis De Sade
And through this thick mourning walk down yet another grim and narrow corridor, which only the night-mind may conjure its won devils--awake, with ready despair and debilitating the heart, and the hidden score of the dying.
He found the body there as it had been left, as the city birds drew dense and dark like a malevolent cloud overhead; and this only protectorate remained well away, dispelling his own demons with a cold and cruel mind--...
"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes."
Marquis De Sade
And through this thick mourning walk down yet another grim and narrow corridor, which only the night-mind may conjure its won devils--awake, with ready despair and debilitating the heart, and the hidden score of the dying.
He found the body there as it had been left, as the city birds drew dense and dark like a malevolent cloud overhead; and this only protectorate remained well away, dispelling his own demons with a cold and cruel mind--...
825 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
29th Jan 2013 9:02am
29th Jan 2013 9:02am
Into the Void: 4
4- Images From the Fire
"God's first creature, which was light."
Francis Bacon
Unleashed, as he lay deeper within the small cell and his vision, overwhelmed and consumed by memorae elicited his heart to act...
Those that he been inspired to create her from the spores of a wildflower and a human debris sought only the profit of their own invention. There was ill concern given to the form of beauty, save what certain men might pay to lie beside it-- and if only for an hour or so, possess it. Her rogue alchemist an outlaw has arisen her...
"God's first creature, which was light."
Francis Bacon
Unleashed, as he lay deeper within the small cell and his vision, overwhelmed and consumed by memorae elicited his heart to act...
Those that he been inspired to create her from the spores of a wildflower and a human debris sought only the profit of their own invention. There was ill concern given to the form of beauty, save what certain men might pay to lie beside it-- and if only for an hour or so, possess it. Her rogue alchemist an outlaw has arisen her...
822 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
27th Jan 2013 9:13am
27th Jan 2013 9:13am
Into the Void: 2 & 3
2- The Inquiry
"Their rage supplies them with their weapons."
Virgil
"Are you from the Ministry?" Worton Mule asked the tall, dark man standing to the aside of this inquiry into the death of a young woman--her battered body found bound upon that most notorious of the city's trees, which had grown outside of the great old House of Laws--older, still, than before the structure's own rise into this world and the men who would discover its need.
And so, the story goes, that the last man to die here at the hands of a violent mob, named...
"Their rage supplies them with their weapons."
Virgil
"Are you from the Ministry?" Worton Mule asked the tall, dark man standing to the aside of this inquiry into the death of a young woman--her battered body found bound upon that most notorious of the city's trees, which had grown outside of the great old House of Laws--older, still, than before the structure's own rise into this world and the men who would discover its need.
And so, the story goes, that the last man to die here at the hands of a violent mob, named...
772 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
26th Jan 2013 12:20pm
26th Jan 2013 12:20pm
Into the Void: The Whimpering Depths Of The Ocean
819 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
22nd Jan 2013 6:13am
22nd Jan 2013 6:13am
By-Gones In Black & White
Tucked safely within
another animal's skin,
safe from what lay beneath
whim of wickedness had exceeded the reach--
as devils, perhaps expose too much
of an inner, private world
that her hand rare failed to clutch
a long leather jacket, hid a demon girl
And an imperfect youth
wishing herself away into the blue
of what she had seen other women do.
Among the shadows below Hollywood-land, into
the withdrawal into the fool
as she was frequently asked to expose
herself, and of course, show her costume
to dreaming men, lost in wily...
another animal's skin,
safe from what lay beneath
whim of wickedness had exceeded the reach--
as devils, perhaps expose too much
of an inner, private world
that her hand rare failed to clutch
a long leather jacket, hid a demon girl
And an imperfect youth
wishing herself away into the blue
of what she had seen other women do.
Among the shadows below Hollywood-land, into
the withdrawal into the fool
as she was frequently asked to expose
herself, and of course, show her costume
to dreaming men, lost in wily...
727 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Jan 2013 10:06am
21st Jan 2013 10:06am
The Wheel
I am drawn within my own designs-
along the back-road when the city just seems too much rock & stone, where very little seems to grow.
Though I did make note that some things change- with wrecking balls and jack-hammers. Sometimes,
pyromaniacs perform a public service.
But even that seemed to scar over in time, though the opinions may vary on whether it was healed rightly or not. There is a junkyard for discarded ideals.
Give me the hollowed-out skeleton of an Edsel, lain
deep in the brush and overgrown with weeds and
wildflowers- with some...
along the back-road when the city just seems too much rock & stone, where very little seems to grow.
Though I did make note that some things change- with wrecking balls and jack-hammers. Sometimes,
pyromaniacs perform a public service.
But even that seemed to scar over in time, though the opinions may vary on whether it was healed rightly or not. There is a junkyard for discarded ideals.
Give me the hollowed-out skeleton of an Edsel, lain
deep in the brush and overgrown with weeds and
wildflowers- with some...
707 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Uley-Bone
