Submissions by Xavier-Earl-Jones1
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I still wonder if somewhere there is a place where I don't do this and everything has a meaning I understand.
DARK POEM
Published
28th Sep 2021 7:48pm
28th Sep 2021 7:48pm
A deeper well
There's a body in the stairwell
I can see it lying there
In the darkest of the corners
Just below me on the stair.
I cannot see if it is breathing
Cannot say its man or beast
I cannot tell if it is watching
From the rags it lies beneath.
I stand quietly and unmoving
Straining ears for telltale sound
The russle of a boot heel
Or a scraping of the ground
As we masqurade as statues
Theres a sound from far away
The tinkling of voices
As some merry children play.
I cannot have them find this...
I can see it lying there
In the darkest of the corners
Just below me on the stair.
I cannot see if it is breathing
Cannot say its man or beast
I cannot tell if it is watching
From the rags it lies beneath.
I stand quietly and unmoving
Straining ears for telltale sound
The russle of a boot heel
Or a scraping of the ground
As we masqurade as statues
Theres a sound from far away
The tinkling of voices
As some merry children play.
I cannot have them find this...
#regret
#fear
164 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Sep 2021 4:24pm
28th Sep 2021 4:24pm
In periphery
Life is always more beautiful
in periphery.
when you observe the threads through instinct
Without preconception or indifference
The world becomes a perfect place
Full of blurred un-focused wonders.
I experience the world as it should be
Devoid of the distractions of foresight
This vision couldn't be more tactile
Distilled from the corner of my eye.
To witness where we do not exist anymore
Less vestigial images projected on the canvas of my mind
Watercolours to the vivid gouache of time.
An abstraction defined ...
in periphery.
when you observe the threads through instinct
Without preconception or indifference
The world becomes a perfect place
Full of blurred un-focused wonders.
I experience the world as it should be
Devoid of the distractions of foresight
This vision couldn't be more tactile
Distilled from the corner of my eye.
To witness where we do not exist anymore
Less vestigial images projected on the canvas of my mind
Watercolours to the vivid gouache of time.
An abstraction defined ...
#SelfReflection
200 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Aug 2015 3:16am
11th Aug 2015 3:16am
A little death
Sleep is a little death.
Everyday you wake up less then you were
The night before.
Leaving tiny pieces of yourself
In your nightmares
And your dreams
In both happy and dark places
Some screaming and others blissfully unaware
That they ever existed anywhere but paradise.
Rejoicing in their brokeness.
Sleep is a tight coffin
Holding you like a warm wooden blanket
Its rough timber splintering your skin
With promises of solace and release
From the pain of conciousness
the worries of a days life
the bright...
Everyday you wake up less then you were
The night before.
Leaving tiny pieces of yourself
In your nightmares
And your dreams
In both happy and dark places
Some screaming and others blissfully unaware
That they ever existed anywhere but paradise.
Rejoicing in their brokeness.
Sleep is a tight coffin
Holding you like a warm wooden blanket
Its rough timber splintering your skin
With promises of solace and release
From the pain of conciousness
the worries of a days life
the bright...
530 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Apr 2014 4:47am
17th Apr 2014 4:47am
Three
A seven forty seven
A thousand miles from its destination
On the ground
No manifiest to be found
No engine sound.
If I could take my life
and put it in this suitcase
Where would i go?
To forget all that i am
And find myself again
To far off places
Where people who had names
No longer remember them
Or care,
I would be there.
In cities with cultures rich in history
And bursting with colour
Or silent in mornings
With cobbled streets.
And rooftops made of clay.
Or on fields of rapeseed
From here to the...
A thousand miles from its destination
On the ground
No manifiest to be found
No engine sound.
If I could take my life
and put it in this suitcase
Where would i go?
To forget all that i am
And find myself again
To far off places
Where people who had names
No longer remember them
Or care,
I would be there.
In cities with cultures rich in history
And bursting with colour
Or silent in mornings
With cobbled streets.
And rooftops made of clay.
Or on fields of rapeseed
From here to the...
700 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Jan 2014 6:00pm
29th Jan 2014 6:00pm
Underground
Hung heads
Weigh vacant eyes,
Ageing corpses cobweb these ancient seats.
We are standing witness's
Vestiges set asway like the meat in a smokehouse;
The smell is sweat in the absence of smouldering hickory.
Wooden and graven with apathy
like the mottled wallpaper from the funeral home,
Waiting for something
Or someone,
that had long since passed away
Leaving a vestibule filled by paranoia and anger
seeking blame but shouldering none.
The frailty of everyone....
This Life.
It takes us underground
In...
Weigh vacant eyes,
Ageing corpses cobweb these ancient seats.
We are standing witness's
Vestiges set asway like the meat in a smokehouse;
The smell is sweat in the absence of smouldering hickory.
Wooden and graven with apathy
like the mottled wallpaper from the funeral home,
Waiting for something
Or someone,
that had long since passed away
Leaving a vestibule filled by paranoia and anger
seeking blame but shouldering none.
The frailty of everyone....
This Life.
It takes us underground
In...
597 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
12th Jan 2014 9:29pm
12th Jan 2014 9:29pm
For love
One day
I imagined it was enough
That it was all that it was
And ever would be
And that this would make me happy...
I lied to tell myself the truth.
We will stick to each other like glue
Until the men in white coats
With stitched eyes
Come to tear us apart.
To take us to where once caged men
Become caged dogs
To chase their frayed tails endlessly…
Seeking sedation
from their meddled minds.
The madness is love
(Insert pain)
I brace myself for the blows
But am only struck by the silence
That proceeds the...
I imagined it was enough
That it was all that it was
And ever would be
And that this would make me happy...
I lied to tell myself the truth.
We will stick to each other like glue
Until the men in white coats
With stitched eyes
Come to tear us apart.
To take us to where once caged men
Become caged dogs
To chase their frayed tails endlessly…
Seeking sedation
from their meddled minds.
The madness is love
(Insert pain)
I brace myself for the blows
But am only struck by the silence
That proceeds the...
582 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Jan 2014 8:44pm
11th Jan 2014 8:44pm
The fallen
Flotsam
Something to do with arteries and blood travel
As seen from above.
The red lights and Road traffic
Headlights and white cells
Both immunity to darkness.
There are viruses and caterpillars
Only one will be a butterfly
Dirty little edges
The dirt of death
Beneath the fingernails.
Either into neither
Or soaking in ether,
eager with the ghosts of Cain
A metaphor for president's
The reflection is the same
But I do not recall his name.
I am not the bringer
Or the rain
A metaphor for genesis....
Something to do with arteries and blood travel
As seen from above.
The red lights and Road traffic
Headlights and white cells
Both immunity to darkness.
There are viruses and caterpillars
Only one will be a butterfly
Dirty little edges
The dirt of death
Beneath the fingernails.
Either into neither
Or soaking in ether,
eager with the ghosts of Cain
A metaphor for president's
The reflection is the same
But I do not recall his name.
I am not the bringer
Or the rain
A metaphor for genesis....
486 reads
1 Comment
DRUGS POEM
Published
11th Jan 2014 8:35pm
11th Jan 2014 8:35pm
Shaken Not stirred
Jack is my best friend
We stay in most nights and hang out together.
He's not the best conversationalist
But he's a great listener
and always knows how to get me to open up
And talk about my problems
The glass is cold and weighty
Beveled, crystal
Clear.
Sometimes we invite Bud and Stella over too
And throw a party.
We've had some amazing times the four of us
Truly memorable.
Although most of the time I don't recall
Little if at all.
The contents dark and murky sweet
Honey, warm ...
We stay in most nights and hang out together.
He's not the best conversationalist
But he's a great listener
and always knows how to get me to open up
And talk about my problems
The glass is cold and weighty
Beveled, crystal
Clear.
Sometimes we invite Bud and Stella over too
And throw a party.
We've had some amazing times the four of us
Truly memorable.
Although most of the time I don't recall
Little if at all.
The contents dark and murky sweet
Honey, warm ...
597 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Aug 2013 10:54pm
27th Aug 2013 10:54pm
The tea cup
It's been here since before I was born;
'The tea cup'.
Those words, once emblazoned
are now less than cast on the ply-board sign front.
Many times I’ve passed, in vehicles large and small,
four wheeled and two.
Or on the other side of the street.
And as I do now, waiting for the bus home.
Playing counting games with fallacy.
I look to see the same faces;
how strange.
How strange that I’ve never been to
'The tea cup',
and drank of it's contents.
Maybe its bleakness frightened me somewhat
standing corpse like in the...
'The tea cup'.
Those words, once emblazoned
are now less than cast on the ply-board sign front.
Many times I’ve passed, in vehicles large and small,
four wheeled and two.
Or on the other side of the street.
And as I do now, waiting for the bus home.
Playing counting games with fallacy.
I look to see the same faces;
how strange.
How strange that I’ve never been to
'The tea cup',
and drank of it's contents.
Maybe its bleakness frightened me somewhat
standing corpse like in the...
736 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
26th Aug 2013 00:01am
26th Aug 2013 00:01am
Veneer
I am no shape of me.
Nothing that I choose to be.
The angles seek the meaning
of the outline that you see.
Those shadows will be drawn
In fading light
The grey is foremost traced upon them.
The silhouette is broken.
The veneer is all we are.
I find me not reflected in
Nor stenciled on,
As many scattered pieces….
The missing markings in the margin.
Paperless propriety
This is the most I am.
The veneer has appropriated feeling
As glazes on the porcelain.
Kaleidoscope are the colors ...
Nothing that I choose to be.
The angles seek the meaning
of the outline that you see.
Those shadows will be drawn
In fading light
The grey is foremost traced upon them.
The silhouette is broken.
The veneer is all we are.
I find me not reflected in
Nor stenciled on,
As many scattered pieces….
The missing markings in the margin.
Paperless propriety
This is the most I am.
The veneer has appropriated feeling
As glazes on the porcelain.
Kaleidoscope are the colors ...
563 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
25th Aug 2013 8:42pm
25th Aug 2013 8:42pm
Dune
It may as well be desert
that lies beyond the glass,
instead of being places that I haven't that we pass.
I remember many years ago, when I was only ten
I'd ride upon the train and things were all too different then.
Meadows pass by in the silence of memory
the resonance of color recalled,
that closeness of comfort recovered.
The glass was like a magnet
that drew me to it's source,
the landscape flashing wildly as the vehicle took it's course.
It instilled me with a wonder
an all inspiring awe
I’d sit...
that lies beyond the glass,
instead of being places that I haven't that we pass.
I remember many years ago, when I was only ten
I'd ride upon the train and things were all too different then.
Meadows pass by in the silence of memory
the resonance of color recalled,
that closeness of comfort recovered.
The glass was like a magnet
that drew me to it's source,
the landscape flashing wildly as the vehicle took it's course.
It instilled me with a wonder
an all inspiring awe
I’d sit...
701 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Aug 2013 8:55pm
24th Aug 2013 8:55pm
A room with a view
You are in a room with no windows
the room is small
A few paces from the wall
And to the door
Nothing more
The door is always locked
and you have never seen it open
But you try the handle everyday
anyway
Just to pass the time
There is no furniture around
So you must lie on the ground
which makes you stare up at the ceiling
And to the plaster
Which is peeling
You have no means to tell the time
It could be night
It might be day
But at what you guess is evening
You get on your knees to pray
Not...
the room is small
A few paces from the wall
And to the door
Nothing more
The door is always locked
and you have never seen it open
But you try the handle everyday
anyway
Just to pass the time
There is no furniture around
So you must lie on the ground
which makes you stare up at the ceiling
And to the plaster
Which is peeling
You have no means to tell the time
It could be night
It might be day
But at what you guess is evening
You get on your knees to pray
Not...
672 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Xavier-Earl-Jones1
