Submissions by VOID (Rhys Waterman)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm not a poet. I'm a guy who writes words. Sometimes, people like those words. Sometimes they find meaning in them. And if I can keep doing that, then I'll be around.
DRUGS POEM
Published
6th Nov 2011 5:03am
6th Nov 2011 5:03am
Afterthought.
The bongo bass line deep in vein,
a stumble upon keys almost misspelling the Christ almighty,
in body and soul and in deepest pumping Heart.
And did Mary scream when such an icon was born?
Or was she but the silent Virgin,
with all innocence and shyness and cherry red cunt?
And did Jospeh weep for his bastard child born of some infidel he knew only as 'God'?
Or did he cry out in joy for the 'miracle' of his wife's illogical pregnancy?
Or even did he cry aloud in joy for the sight of the Angel,
who was very matter-of-fact indeed.
And the drum...
a stumble upon keys almost misspelling the Christ almighty,
in body and soul and in deepest pumping Heart.
And did Mary scream when such an icon was born?
Or was she but the silent Virgin,
with all innocence and shyness and cherry red cunt?
And did Jospeh weep for his bastard child born of some infidel he knew only as 'God'?
Or did he cry out in joy for the 'miracle' of his wife's illogical pregnancy?
Or even did he cry aloud in joy for the sight of the Angel,
who was very matter-of-fact indeed.
And the drum...
760 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
6th Nov 2011 4:07am
6th Nov 2011 4:07am
Shaman Hair
I see it before me like a window,
peering in to that world beyond,
like a tranuniversal voyeur,
sneaking glimpses of what I am not.
And as I write these words,
do Venetian snares play,
a simple melody that fingers may filet.
And does the night cry for ecstasy?
With blaring siren in pitch of orgasmic cry,
now but a harpy in the night to the subtle ear,
and a screech and wail to the gentleman's conch.
And what is inside my eyes,
if he is not a serial killer,
let my soul be eaten by satan,
for he is sin,
sin incarnate,...
peering in to that world beyond,
like a tranuniversal voyeur,
sneaking glimpses of what I am not.
And as I write these words,
do Venetian snares play,
a simple melody that fingers may filet.
And does the night cry for ecstasy?
With blaring siren in pitch of orgasmic cry,
now but a harpy in the night to the subtle ear,
and a screech and wail to the gentleman's conch.
And what is inside my eyes,
if he is not a serial killer,
let my soul be eaten by satan,
for he is sin,
sin incarnate,...
697 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Oct 2011 1:54pm
26th Oct 2011 1:54pm
I waited all this time, for this?
What dream did I have last night, that you were so angry but so sexy and all covered in lightning?
And why were you crying when you had so many jokes to tell?
I was lost in a room with no walls,
and a blind man singing to me of all the trouble he'd seen,
which made no sense,
but who am I to question?
Which is an excellent question,
in of
itself.
And whilst we're on the subject,
why is the sky blue?
Is it a giant painting,
or the refraction of light waves through hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and whatwasthequestionagain?
I'm...
And why were you crying when you had so many jokes to tell?
I was lost in a room with no walls,
and a blind man singing to me of all the trouble he'd seen,
which made no sense,
but who am I to question?
Which is an excellent question,
in of
itself.
And whilst we're on the subject,
why is the sky blue?
Is it a giant painting,
or the refraction of light waves through hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and whatwasthequestionagain?
I'm...
831 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
24th May 2011 8:17pm
24th May 2011 8:17pm
Dream
Here is a world were I wear
goggles
in my bed,
to inject my eyes with an adventure,
be it literal or sexual
or even
spiritual.
Benign responsibilities now resting
limply
in my jeans and laughing at comedic lips parting against bathroom walls.
Handprints,
handprints,
handprints working their way from the kitchen to the bedroom,
telling a story about trapeze-walking human
mantises!
With a girlfriend all covered in wires,
(but proud to declare herself wireless!)
and a sad or depressing handshake to sleep,
now in a...
goggles
in my bed,
to inject my eyes with an adventure,
be it literal or sexual
or even
spiritual.
Benign responsibilities now resting
limply
in my jeans and laughing at comedic lips parting against bathroom walls.
Handprints,
handprints,
handprints working their way from the kitchen to the bedroom,
telling a story about trapeze-walking human
mantises!
With a girlfriend all covered in wires,
(but proud to declare herself wireless!)
and a sad or depressing handshake to sleep,
now in a...
897 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
24th May 2011 3:37pm
24th May 2011 3:37pm
The Android
Definition undetermined and underlined
in bold red ink,
now a cherry mess
at the back of my
mind.
And they are chanting and calling for dignity and shame
and the right to feel loved for just once in their bloody lives,
thank you very
much.
All because The Android spoke,
unleashed the lethal lore,
babbling Bible and choking on Kurzweil
whilst eating a sadistic meal of saw blades and salt.
Never sacrificing the Dream,
now a relentless massacre in every city from London to Kyoto to Oslo.
And there is crying in New Orleans...
in bold red ink,
now a cherry mess
at the back of my
mind.
And they are chanting and calling for dignity and shame
and the right to feel loved for just once in their bloody lives,
thank you very
much.
All because The Android spoke,
unleashed the lethal lore,
babbling Bible and choking on Kurzweil
whilst eating a sadistic meal of saw blades and salt.
Never sacrificing the Dream,
now a relentless massacre in every city from London to Kyoto to Oslo.
And there is crying in New Orleans...
863 reads
0 Comments
SONG LYRICS
Published
7th May 2011 1:05pm
7th May 2011 1:05pm
A song for a girl
Your name is flashing up on my screen again,
you're happy to talk to me,
but I don't need a friend.
I don't need another friend,
I don't need another friend,
all I want and all I need,
is someone to be there at the end.
And it's coming,
it's fate,
and all our hearts are gonna break.
My ultimatum in the post,
it's coming,
coming,
it's coming,
coming,
we're coming.
Your name is racing across my lips again,
you're so happy to see me,
but I'm not so I'll pretend.
I'm not happy, I'll pretend,
I'm...
you're happy to talk to me,
but I don't need a friend.
I don't need another friend,
I don't need another friend,
all I want and all I need,
is someone to be there at the end.
And it's coming,
it's fate,
and all our hearts are gonna break.
My ultimatum in the post,
it's coming,
coming,
it's coming,
coming,
we're coming.
Your name is racing across my lips again,
you're so happy to see me,
but I'm not so I'll pretend.
I'm not happy, I'll pretend,
I'm...
1020 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
3rd May 2011 6:59pm
3rd May 2011 6:59pm
Anhedonia
My sleep is broken by mechanical strings,
plucked by clockwork fingers from inside the wall.
I am lulled and seduced by the robotic lullaby,
now drifting again in to an automatic slumber,
dreaming that I am waking up.
Anhedonia is with me more often every day,
now waking up with her and smiling with her and kissing her before work.
She is waiting when I return from Hell,
with a luke-warm supper of tasteless grey,
which tastes like every other meal I'll eat this week.
Anhedonia is stirring in her sleep,
now writhing and...
plucked by clockwork fingers from inside the wall.
I am lulled and seduced by the robotic lullaby,
now drifting again in to an automatic slumber,
dreaming that I am waking up.
Anhedonia is with me more often every day,
now waking up with her and smiling with her and kissing her before work.
She is waiting when I return from Hell,
with a luke-warm supper of tasteless grey,
which tastes like every other meal I'll eat this week.
Anhedonia is stirring in her sleep,
now writhing and...
1119 reads
1 Comment
DRUGS POEM
Published
3rd May 2011 5:13pm
3rd May 2011 5:13pm
How do I feel?
I feel like I'm floating,
a cloud of turgid smoke,
now drifting from windows and spreading thin on a western breeze.
Now invisible in the night to those passing beneath and around and through,
inhaling me and making me the part of them that itches at the back of the mind,
exhaling me between puffs on a crumbling four-minute old cigarette,
watching me dance skywards amongst the nicotine ballerinas,
as I am floating away to spread thin on a western breeze.
And I am dripping through cracks in poorly-lit bathrooms,
flooding the veins of an idiot in the dark....
a cloud of turgid smoke,
now drifting from windows and spreading thin on a western breeze.
Now invisible in the night to those passing beneath and around and through,
inhaling me and making me the part of them that itches at the back of the mind,
exhaling me between puffs on a crumbling four-minute old cigarette,
watching me dance skywards amongst the nicotine ballerinas,
as I am floating away to spread thin on a western breeze.
And I am dripping through cracks in poorly-lit bathrooms,
flooding the veins of an idiot in the dark....
962 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Apr 2011 9:02pm
13th Apr 2011 9:02pm
M is for Mystery
M is for Mystery,
or so my blind psychobabble tells me,
with its ivory chattering a chorus of static and bells in my ear.
Behind my eyes is a giant clock with hands,
hands,
HANDS MADE OF EBONY,
ticking to the heartbeat of a dead little boy now seven years old for the twelth time in a row,
before iron and carnage and incantations of the last judgements!
And he is taken away,
by bells and by static and you have drowned him in oil and in blood.
And with the coppery crimson now staining his teeth he is smiling forever from the void of my darkest mind.
...
or so my blind psychobabble tells me,
with its ivory chattering a chorus of static and bells in my ear.
Behind my eyes is a giant clock with hands,
hands,
HANDS MADE OF EBONY,
ticking to the heartbeat of a dead little boy now seven years old for the twelth time in a row,
before iron and carnage and incantations of the last judgements!
And he is taken away,
by bells and by static and you have drowned him in oil and in blood.
And with the coppery crimson now staining his teeth he is smiling forever from the void of my darkest mind.
...
875 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
5th Mar 2011 1:03pm
5th Mar 2011 1:03pm
Keep Waiting
I saw the world ending in the eyes of a girl.
And it was green.
It was so green, behind tears and hands and it was peeking through fingers,
now a month away with the tiniest glimmers of Hope.
For the first time, I am heart-broken,
now wearing a seatbelt and speeding through midnight streets with smoke billowing from my head,
nothing but a hopeful little speck on a hopeless giant rock.
Now sitting in rooms and debating eternity,
smoking and laughing to drown sorrow within,
and in my friends I am lost to the opposite side,
no longer myself but...
And it was green.
It was so green, behind tears and hands and it was peeking through fingers,
now a month away with the tiniest glimmers of Hope.
For the first time, I am heart-broken,
now wearing a seatbelt and speeding through midnight streets with smoke billowing from my head,
nothing but a hopeful little speck on a hopeless giant rock.
Now sitting in rooms and debating eternity,
smoking and laughing to drown sorrow within,
and in my friends I am lost to the opposite side,
no longer myself but...
821 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
19th Feb 2011 1:39pm
19th Feb 2011 1:39pm
Aaron
Buried deep under earth and stone,
my best friend is rotting and my best friend is dead,
locked in a room now forever alone.
And for all his sins he can never atone,
with every crime against god now an echo in the head,
buried deep under earth and stone.
Listening to nature scream and groan,
praying for the songs of birds instead,
locked in a room now forever alone.
Buried by mother who did disown,
who brought him milk and brought him bread,
buried deep under earth and stone.
Now kneeling in the rain with whispered moan,...
my best friend is rotting and my best friend is dead,
locked in a room now forever alone.
And for all his sins he can never atone,
with every crime against god now an echo in the head,
buried deep under earth and stone.
Listening to nature scream and groan,
praying for the songs of birds instead,
locked in a room now forever alone.
Buried by mother who did disown,
who brought him milk and brought him bread,
buried deep under earth and stone.
Now kneeling in the rain with whispered moan,...
718 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
19th Feb 2011 00:37am
19th Feb 2011 00:37am
My Angry Itch
I cry and I scream and I bleed for a fix,
now huddling in sweat and filth and nightmare,
sobbing silently for a cure to my angry itch.
Now trembling and laughing in the jester's shade,
my home entertainment now hallucination in a padded cell,
making mockery of a world heavily pregnant with a bastard child,
father now long gone and left to raise his twisted seed.
A million pin-prick explosions across my chest,
searing sin and shit and swears on every wall,
reading like scriptures from now extinct philosophers,
their words not ink but fuel to...
now huddling in sweat and filth and nightmare,
sobbing silently for a cure to my angry itch.
Now trembling and laughing in the jester's shade,
my home entertainment now hallucination in a padded cell,
making mockery of a world heavily pregnant with a bastard child,
father now long gone and left to raise his twisted seed.
A million pin-prick explosions across my chest,
searing sin and shit and swears on every wall,
reading like scriptures from now extinct philosophers,
their words not ink but fuel to...
896 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by VOID (Rhys Waterman)
