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.
DARK POEM
Published
18th Feb 2011 11:27pm
18th Feb 2011 11:27pm
Why I'm Not Jolly
I drifted for millenia on a wave of rest,
so peaceful and tranquil in both motion and aim,
now riding over stormier oceans of dementia and of pain,
such woe and sorrow amidst my sea of names.
Beyond the eyes of a million ghosts do my dreams lie,
now nightmares born of their warping minds,
so fragile in the heads like clicking glass clockwork,
so silent within the cages of the damned.
And my vessell is bleeding time and is bleeding space,
consuming all it passes and devouring my dreamscape,
a world now nothing but memory to your anonymous hero,...
so peaceful and tranquil in both motion and aim,
now riding over stormier oceans of dementia and of pain,
such woe and sorrow amidst my sea of names.
Beyond the eyes of a million ghosts do my dreams lie,
now nightmares born of their warping minds,
so fragile in the heads like clicking glass clockwork,
so silent within the cages of the damned.
And my vessell is bleeding time and is bleeding space,
consuming all it passes and devouring my dreamscape,
a world now nothing but memory to your anonymous hero,...
829 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
16th Feb 2011 1:34pm
16th Feb 2011 1:34pm
Tabula rasa
The eyes open;
A duality is born-
the screaming half-orphan.
A duality is born-
the screaming half-orphan.
703 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Feb 2011 1:03am
13th Feb 2011 1:03am
Rehab.
I promised more with vowels and consonants,
than in ink or blood or soul.
And I will be lonely in the consequence.
In hazy mind lost far to sea,
with acrobatic turtles and tropical fish and tap-dancing starfish in a Broadway Spectacular!
With shady brother choking on hairballs and spliff and whiskey chasers,
sitting on sofas wearing sunglasses indoors and using bottle caps as ash trays.
I struck up with strangers before you came along,
lying naked feeling empty with a leg stretched on my skin,
now an angry blaze behind the tired misty eyes.
...
than in ink or blood or soul.
And I will be lonely in the consequence.
In hazy mind lost far to sea,
with acrobatic turtles and tropical fish and tap-dancing starfish in a Broadway Spectacular!
With shady brother choking on hairballs and spliff and whiskey chasers,
sitting on sofas wearing sunglasses indoors and using bottle caps as ash trays.
I struck up with strangers before you came along,
lying naked feeling empty with a leg stretched on my skin,
now an angry blaze behind the tired misty eyes.
...
846 reads
1 Comment
DRUGS POEM
Published
30th Jan 2011 5:43pm
30th Jan 2011 5:43pm
Getting high and going to do my shopping; a stream of consciousness.
I see the street wobble and rock,
like a vessel on stormier seas than I.
I walk like Jesus over rippling concrete and ride out the peripheral glances,
just because it's raining and I'm wearing sunglasses.
The security is clocking me,
he's got me in his gaze,
because I'm wearing a black and grey hood,
and not a lot else.
Okay, magazines and newspapers and dvds and cds,
and I can't afford any of this, so I'm wasting my time.
And I won't bother with the yoghurts,
it's 6 for 2 quid,
and the offer's forming a line.
There's fruit and...
like a vessel on stormier seas than I.
I walk like Jesus over rippling concrete and ride out the peripheral glances,
just because it's raining and I'm wearing sunglasses.
The security is clocking me,
he's got me in his gaze,
because I'm wearing a black and grey hood,
and not a lot else.
Okay, magazines and newspapers and dvds and cds,
and I can't afford any of this, so I'm wasting my time.
And I won't bother with the yoghurts,
it's 6 for 2 quid,
and the offer's forming a line.
There's fruit and...
1169 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Jan 2011 4:21pm
24th Jan 2011 4:21pm
A poem for you.
I saw them serve the world to it on a platter dripping gold,
weaving intricate dances between tables and chairs,
plie's and lifts over lesser-known faces to the all-consuming appetite,
with glistening lips and sparkling teeth like polished saw-blades bolted to bone,
reclining in its seat with belly aching for more and a cloud of smoke billowing endlessly from puffing cheeks,
watched closely by writers and singers and souls,
all intimate with the subject at hand,
who sipped wine in half-lit halls and spoke in whispered hush,
who laughed too loud and clapped...
weaving intricate dances between tables and chairs,
plie's and lifts over lesser-known faces to the all-consuming appetite,
with glistening lips and sparkling teeth like polished saw-blades bolted to bone,
reclining in its seat with belly aching for more and a cloud of smoke billowing endlessly from puffing cheeks,
watched closely by writers and singers and souls,
all intimate with the subject at hand,
who sipped wine in half-lit halls and spoke in whispered hush,
who laughed too loud and clapped...
1033 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
20th Jan 2011 3:56pm
20th Jan 2011 3:56pm
You've been there before, it just hasn't happened yet.
I am what will be,
but not what has been.
And you don't remember what's yet to be seen.
Twisting through minutes and seconds and ticks,
looking your god in the eye.
Behind windows and hollow bars and graffiti and muck,
watching the world spinning by.
Now locked down in armchair of sickly dark green,
with blown-out pupils fixed on high-definition screen,
lighting smoke after smoke between drink after drink,
you've been here before,
don't remember,
just think.
It was there in conception and there in the sweat,
with the...
but not what has been.
And you don't remember what's yet to be seen.
Twisting through minutes and seconds and ticks,
looking your god in the eye.
Behind windows and hollow bars and graffiti and muck,
watching the world spinning by.
Now locked down in armchair of sickly dark green,
with blown-out pupils fixed on high-definition screen,
lighting smoke after smoke between drink after drink,
you've been here before,
don't remember,
just think.
It was there in conception and there in the sweat,
with the...
832 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Jan 2011 1:13am
20th Jan 2011 1:13am
Union Jack-off
Oh, child of a nation ruled with iron fist,
caught in a whirlwind of Mr Whippy's and fish and chips and pints of beer,
drowning in crisps and the royal family,
oh, child of iron fist.
And the sigh shakes the timbers of splintering bones,
the cathedral of biological orchestras,
carried adrift by the night's effeminate breeze.
Back in my day, before the war, we had freedom,
to say and to do and to think as we pleased.
Back in my day we had laughter and madness,
but now all we have is the political Nazi on high.
And on the asylum windows I will...
caught in a whirlwind of Mr Whippy's and fish and chips and pints of beer,
drowning in crisps and the royal family,
oh, child of iron fist.
And the sigh shakes the timbers of splintering bones,
the cathedral of biological orchestras,
carried adrift by the night's effeminate breeze.
Back in my day, before the war, we had freedom,
to say and to do and to think as we pleased.
Back in my day we had laughter and madness,
but now all we have is the political Nazi on high.
And on the asylum windows I will...
1042 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jan 2011 4:22pm
19th Jan 2011 4:22pm
Are you mad?
My family came here on a boat from space,
trailing hands through the cosmos with stars in their eyes,
singers and dancers and sellers of tales and wonders and fantasy worlds,
who fished whales from black holes and smoked clouds across decades and centuries whilst crooning to jazz,
who dropped anchor in voids and observed white dwarves,
who swallowed supernovas and laughed crazy in the faces of gods,
who made their homes in gardens and drew cocks on the walls,
who slept through the storms forging city and home and neighbourhood as well,
who sent...
trailing hands through the cosmos with stars in their eyes,
singers and dancers and sellers of tales and wonders and fantasy worlds,
who fished whales from black holes and smoked clouds across decades and centuries whilst crooning to jazz,
who dropped anchor in voids and observed white dwarves,
who swallowed supernovas and laughed crazy in the faces of gods,
who made their homes in gardens and drew cocks on the walls,
who slept through the storms forging city and home and neighbourhood as well,
who sent...
802 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jan 2011 00:00am
19th Jan 2011 00:00am
I
I felt the world crumble in drug-addled, drunken violence,
fighting and flirting with itself,vomitingin the streets,
with screaming banshees scorching concrete and tarmac and cement trailing kites that are also ablaze,
with the bruises of violence and passion and sin across chest and track lines and shadows and cracked lips and tears,
who walked a passage to Hell beneath soaring sails playing chicken with lightening,
who climbed starsigns and hallucinations and mythical prophecies and the All-Singing Glory of the United States,
who were taught there and made mad...
fighting and flirting with itself,vomitingin the streets,
with screaming banshees scorching concrete and tarmac and cement trailing kites that are also ablaze,
with the bruises of violence and passion and sin across chest and track lines and shadows and cracked lips and tears,
who walked a passage to Hell beneath soaring sails playing chicken with lightening,
who climbed starsigns and hallucinations and mythical prophecies and the All-Singing Glory of the United States,
who were taught there and made mad...
973 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
17th Jan 2011 3:44pm
17th Jan 2011 3:44pm
Shut the f**k up
Another night of self-righteous rant;
of what you've seen and had to endure.
A little angel crucified over christmas trees,
and cast adrift in stormy seas.
Martyr for an age that doesn't care,
strap on your holy bomb.
Messiah to a world that never listened,
blown to pieces in a borrowed hallucination.
It's not how real,
or how close you seem.
It's how you come in every dream.
I see my world die before my eyes,
and lose it all to know I love you.
Better half of a twisted whole,
It's just how brutal I've made you.
of what you've seen and had to endure.
A little angel crucified over christmas trees,
and cast adrift in stormy seas.
Martyr for an age that doesn't care,
strap on your holy bomb.
Messiah to a world that never listened,
blown to pieces in a borrowed hallucination.
It's not how real,
or how close you seem.
It's how you come in every dream.
I see my world die before my eyes,
and lose it all to know I love you.
Better half of a twisted whole,
It's just how brutal I've made you.
872 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th Jan 2011 3:21am
8th Jan 2011 3:21am
Sleepless in Suffolk
The sleepless nights have come again,
to peel apart my eyelids.
To prop with matchsticks,
like a weakened doll,
as I were in trance.
In waking sleep and distance of my mind,
I am travelling at a million miles a second,
moving not an inch.
And you are on my mind.
In every instant I am in,
in every breath and beat.
You are there in the music and the laughter and the smile,
and the tears and sobs and chokes.
I watch the sun set over my home,
the darkness fall again.
And alone, I lie,
to pass the time,
with you still in...
to peel apart my eyelids.
To prop with matchsticks,
like a weakened doll,
as I were in trance.
In waking sleep and distance of my mind,
I am travelling at a million miles a second,
moving not an inch.
And you are on my mind.
In every instant I am in,
in every breath and beat.
You are there in the music and the laughter and the smile,
and the tears and sobs and chokes.
I watch the sun set over my home,
the darkness fall again.
And alone, I lie,
to pass the time,
with you still in...
740 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
31st Dec 2010 1:16am
31st Dec 2010 1:16am
What's This?
What is this?
In clarity of mind and of soul.
In cracking smiles and in washed-out joy,
what is this that makes us who we are?
What is this soft stepping upon the landing,
that makes my dreams warp in to sleuth-like serendipity,
and does paint my every step with waking despair?
What is this gentle tap at my window that wakes the dead,
bringing the unliving to my door in endless gain and bass?
What is this that makes the unholy rise to their feet?
In streets of swollen sorrow, I am with you.
Sweet Hannah, you are not alone.
Amidst...
In clarity of mind and of soul.
In cracking smiles and in washed-out joy,
what is this that makes us who we are?
What is this soft stepping upon the landing,
that makes my dreams warp in to sleuth-like serendipity,
and does paint my every step with waking despair?
What is this gentle tap at my window that wakes the dead,
bringing the unliving to my door in endless gain and bass?
What is this that makes the unholy rise to their feet?
In streets of swollen sorrow, I am with you.
Sweet Hannah, you are not alone.
Amidst...
985 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by VOID (Rhys Waterman)
