Submissions by Uley-Bone
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
22nd Dec 2012 7:51am
22nd Dec 2012 7:51am
The Riverman: The Last Detail
624 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th Dec 2012 12:33pm
16th Dec 2012 12:33pm
The River-Man: The Beauty Of Spring
As long as you keep moving, you begin to understand the language. Not the one that people actually have to spend a moment or to tell you some something about where you are at as the language on the sidewalks; and the traffic, where it must slow down and perhaps even consider stopping. It is where they draw up all of their circles and arrows, winding up their pride like a town hall clock and over-filling the walls of their churches with those glad-happy tunes. It is in the corner bar, where someone inevitably has stopped in for a few, from the moment it opens to closing time.
Carlyle...
Carlyle...
711 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
14th Dec 2012 9:26am
14th Dec 2012 9:26am
Nocturina
*Old school poetry, thunked up for the Write A Poem For This Image competition.**
Nocturina
Wherein to the body and soul
to depart, wretched and unholy
this collect of the human fold
beneath a cloth canvas-- where oily
hands rose and descend upon
every town and field-- clowns
with cruel and swarthy lines defined
into their characters dance, swollen rebound
Of the manic calliopes,
swirl thick orgies of devils--
mad, as the mockingbirds, mimicries
hide the true voice, lost in faded trills
of decent and the endearment of...
Nocturina
Wherein to the body and soul
to depart, wretched and unholy
this collect of the human fold
beneath a cloth canvas-- where oily
hands rose and descend upon
every town and field-- clowns
with cruel and swarthy lines defined
into their characters dance, swollen rebound
Of the manic calliopes,
swirl thick orgies of devils--
mad, as the mockingbirds, mimicries
hide the true voice, lost in faded trills
of decent and the endearment of...
703 reads
10 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
13th Dec 2012 6:58am
13th Dec 2012 6:58am
Citizen Devils
Drawn closer, by heart-woven spells
endure this bitter pitch-- violent swells
of laughter, inflicting many deaths
eternity's shallow graves preserve the shadowy unrest
of what ill-dreams had spilled over into the emotional well
An honest wage
for an honest man;
e'er bound Diogenes, a slave
path reckoned by a twisting of hands
to unlock the mysteries at ends of the world
It is only by ingesting poison
that we can kill all fear--Opium
smells so sweet, as the nerve impulses
gradually weaken, dying in fading repulses ...
endure this bitter pitch-- violent swells
of laughter, inflicting many deaths
eternity's shallow graves preserve the shadowy unrest
of what ill-dreams had spilled over into the emotional well
An honest wage
for an honest man;
e'er bound Diogenes, a slave
path reckoned by a twisting of hands
to unlock the mysteries at ends of the world
It is only by ingesting poison
that we can kill all fear--Opium
smells so sweet, as the nerve impulses
gradually weaken, dying in fading repulses ...
560 reads
5 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
12th Dec 2012 6:45am
12th Dec 2012 6:45am
Stay Back, Or the Goose Gets It
651 reads
7 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
8th Dec 2012 10:59am
8th Dec 2012 10:59am
Amygdala: The Dark Side Of Venus
647 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
7th Dec 2012 11:43pm
7th Dec 2012 11:43pm
Amygdala (Interlude): Apostasy
658 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
4th Dec 2012 12:17pm
4th Dec 2012 12:17pm
Santa vs Evil Ways
Written for the Prose Hoes competition, but it was a tad bit too long winded to post there. Go-figure.**
"He knows when you've been sleeping"...
Wilson "Old Wiley" Cantor glanced downward toward the small young girl in line ahead of him, his gaze quickly drifting off and away from her toward the old timer wearing the security uniform. He had begun to rethink the whole idea, right down to the theory that people would hardly freak out if they seen some guy in a bank in a Santa Claus outfit. Kids always, for good and ill, freaked out when they seen the fat...
"He knows when you've been sleeping"...
Wilson "Old Wiley" Cantor glanced downward toward the small young girl in line ahead of him, his gaze quickly drifting off and away from her toward the old timer wearing the security uniform. He had begun to rethink the whole idea, right down to the theory that people would hardly freak out if they seen some guy in a bank in a Santa Claus outfit. Kids always, for good and ill, freaked out when they seen the fat...
837 reads
9 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Uley-Bone
