Submissions by absinthe (Fats)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I breed pigs, ducks and chickens on a small forest home farm on Bohol Island.
Pig
It was the fellow called Anteng
Who crept in the night and saw
The pig in the bushes
He crept in the night
For other purposes
The pig wore a white shirt
And a black pair of shorts
It was small but Anteng thought
It was bigger than 50 kilos
Anteng wants it all
The pig stood up
And split itself into two
Anteng said that pig
Split itself into three
For other purposes
When daylight came
The pig was gone
And the lines under Anteng's eyes
Spread like ripples of water
In the bladder of a man
Who could not...
Who crept in the night and saw
The pig in the bushes
He crept in the night
For other purposes
The pig wore a white shirt
And a black pair of shorts
It was small but Anteng thought
It was bigger than 50 kilos
Anteng wants it all
The pig stood up
And split itself into two
Anteng said that pig
Split itself into three
For other purposes
When daylight came
The pig was gone
And the lines under Anteng's eyes
Spread like ripples of water
In the bladder of a man
Who could not...
911 reads
19 Comments
The Emblem
The bird was of a mythical colour. It was no larger than the common tree sparrow.
It came from quite a distance, travelled quite a distance. From the sky to the city below.
It was a bird never before witnessed. It had no name in the world of ornithology.
It was of a species born of isolation. Of myths, folklore, the undiscovered colony.
The rare jewel flapped its wings for the last time. Thus it slipped into a concrete crevice.
Its eyes shut, beak rested on its breast. An emblem crimson in the mark of a heart.
In the early smog and the cold it tucked. No bathing,...
It came from quite a distance, travelled quite a distance. From the sky to the city below.
It was a bird never before witnessed. It had no name in the world of ornithology.
It was of a species born of isolation. Of myths, folklore, the undiscovered colony.
The rare jewel flapped its wings for the last time. Thus it slipped into a concrete crevice.
Its eyes shut, beak rested on its breast. An emblem crimson in the mark of a heart.
In the early smog and the cold it tucked. No bathing,...
766 reads
5 Comments
Tears
He elected one of her many inflorescences. It peeped out of her womb like a phallus.
With bare hands he gathered her young flowers. He was gentle but firm.
With split rattan he tied her into a bundle. Tight and straight and neat.
Soon her soft springy flowers stiffened. She swelled of his constrict.
With a keen knife special for the purpose he cut her. A slice clean at the tip of her bundle.
She wept and he caught her tears. With a cup that concealed her wounds.
He will return at dusk and again at dawn. Each time he risks his life for her tears. ...
With bare hands he gathered her young flowers. He was gentle but firm.
With split rattan he tied her into a bundle. Tight and straight and neat.
Soon her soft springy flowers stiffened. She swelled of his constrict.
With a keen knife special for the purpose he cut her. A slice clean at the tip of her bundle.
She wept and he caught her tears. With a cup that concealed her wounds.
He will return at dusk and again at dawn. Each time he risks his life for her tears. ...
877 reads
14 Comments
Lines
The lines on the paper
Made no sense to him
The |, / and \
The -, ( and )
But all in his head
He knew that
| and | make the ||
And _ needs = across the ||
He could tell how many /
make a /\
to span a ====
The length of ()
And the number of ""
To cover the distance between / and \
And how many : will put them together.
----
A poem I wrote nearly 2 years ago - about the fisherman who built our house, an amazing man who does not read or...
Made no sense to him
The |, / and \
The -, ( and )
But all in his head
He knew that
| and | make the ||
And _ needs = across the ||
He could tell how many /
make a /\
to span a ====
The length of ()
And the number of ""
To cover the distance between / and \
And how many : will put them together.
----
A poem I wrote nearly 2 years ago - about the fisherman who built our house, an amazing man who does not read or...
698 reads
10 Comments
Circles
The old man was feeling better today.
He had taken his tablets.
His heart palpitated with a more comfortable regularity than the
swollen sputtering that curdled his blood.
Each day
I could see the blankness of death in his daughter's face,
how the distance between her eyes widened,
and the length of her upper lip protruded
towards the ground.
Her face looked like a vast desert.
But the old man,
he smiled amusedly as his children debated the expensive maintenance of
his heart. His eyes twinkled as his wife,
his second,...
He had taken his tablets.
His heart palpitated with a more comfortable regularity than the
swollen sputtering that curdled his blood.
Each day
I could see the blankness of death in his daughter's face,
how the distance between her eyes widened,
and the length of her upper lip protruded
towards the ground.
Her face looked like a vast desert.
But the old man,
he smiled amusedly as his children debated the expensive maintenance of
his heart. His eyes twinkled as his wife,
his second,...
923 reads
17 Comments
Surrender
Beneath her bedding was an enormous heap. Hundreds of bundles of money.
They bore the faces of her country's heroes. And the autographs of her government's thieves.
A large white blanket lay over the heap. Once pure now patched with dirt, blood, sweat.
It was a gift from her mother, three years ago. Given on the day of her wedding.
The dirt came from the revolution. When the young couple moved to the hills.
The blood, when she lost her children. At the riot against the regime.
And the sweat, oh the endless nights of anguish. Until they found her husband's body....
They bore the faces of her country's heroes. And the autographs of her government's thieves.
A large white blanket lay over the heap. Once pure now patched with dirt, blood, sweat.
It was a gift from her mother, three years ago. Given on the day of her wedding.
The dirt came from the revolution. When the young couple moved to the hills.
The blood, when she lost her children. At the riot against the regime.
And the sweat, oh the endless nights of anguish. Until they found her husband's body....
1161 reads
10 Comments
Tanaga 3
When the great scythe in the night
Jumps into sea then we might
Bury our children under
To wake them from their slumber
------
This is not an easy riddle so - The inside scoop: It is best to plant your seeds (especially string beans) when the moon is waxing crescent and the tide is at its lowest. Why?
The crescent moon mimics the shape of pods of beans hanging from the vine, and during low tide, the fertility of the shore is revealed ...
Jumps into sea then we might
Bury our children under
To wake them from their slumber
------
This is not an easy riddle so - The inside scoop: It is best to plant your seeds (especially string beans) when the moon is waxing crescent and the tide is at its lowest. Why?
The crescent moon mimics the shape of pods of beans hanging from the vine, and during low tide, the fertility of the shore is revealed ...
773 reads
6 Comments
Rain (An example of the generative use of the 2-sentence/line poem)
On a cool day of summer. In the morning of delight.
In the maze of pleasure. He is science, I am art.
As the wind caressed. As smooth as a plum.
The first drops of rain. I am home, I am found.
As the rain came down. I listened to its music.
I hummed a melody. Such utmost pleasure.
The beauty of a virgin. I opened, I drenched.
His fingers played me. As gently as a cloud.
In the morning of delight. I listened to its music.
Such utmost pleasure. He is science, I am art.
I opened, I drenched. As smooth as a plum.
As gently as a...
In the maze of pleasure. He is science, I am art.
As the wind caressed. As smooth as a plum.
The first drops of rain. I am home, I am found.
As the rain came down. I listened to its music.
I hummed a melody. Such utmost pleasure.
The beauty of a virgin. I opened, I drenched.
His fingers played me. As gently as a cloud.
In the morning of delight. I listened to its music.
Such utmost pleasure. He is science, I am art.
I opened, I drenched. As smooth as a plum.
As gently as a...
892 reads
13 Comments
Tanaga 2
Thus peept the civet in the
Drunken spree and quick did he
Jump the weasel out the bush
Cocksh me, boy, ya wee lil pussh!
---
Photo:
Greek (attributed to the Brygos Painter)
Red-Figure terracotta tondo (plate), ca. 490 - 470 BCE
Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK
ETA: I removed the image - it was too obvious!!!
Drunken spree and quick did he
Jump the weasel out the bush
Cocksh me, boy, ya wee lil pussh!
---
Photo:
Greek (attributed to the Brygos Painter)
Red-Figure terracotta tondo (plate), ca. 490 - 470 BCE
Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK
ETA: I removed the image - it was too obvious!!!
723 reads
4 Comments
State of Grace
I woke up at 4am. The flat looked unfamiliar.
Of course, this is his place. This is his bed and sheets.
The dawn peeked through the curtains. It illuminated.
His naked body in the shadows. My sleeping beauty.
I sit up beside him. The man I should have loved.
I touch myself in places where he'd kissed. For once.
For once in my life my nakedness means something. Beautiful.
Alive. This is the man I should have loved.
I walk to the window. Pretty cobblestones below.
I will stroll that path today. An hour before the wife comes.
With my umbrella....
Of course, this is his place. This is his bed and sheets.
The dawn peeked through the curtains. It illuminated.
His naked body in the shadows. My sleeping beauty.
I sit up beside him. The man I should have loved.
I touch myself in places where he'd kissed. For once.
For once in my life my nakedness means something. Beautiful.
Alive. This is the man I should have loved.
I walk to the window. Pretty cobblestones below.
I will stroll that path today. An hour before the wife comes.
With my umbrella....
817 reads
20 Comments
Just Shoot Me!
I'm at Chapter Seven now of Amy Tan's "The Bonesetter's Daughter." Ruth Young's mother, LuLing, has come to life as a difficult woman haunted by a ghost and a curse in her past. But then everything in Ruth's life seem difficult: her boyfriend, her boyfriend's ex-wife and two daughters, her clients and her ghostwriting job, her list of tasks. It seems that the harder she tries to organize and the harder she tries not to be difficult, the more things become difficult. Ruth just thrives on the difficult.
Life is a cycle of struggles and difficulties, we don't even have to try....
Life is a cycle of struggles and difficulties, we don't even have to try....
754 reads
2 Comments
Tanaga 1
Banyar my Burman with cat
How much you got ba 8 kyat?
Streets of Yangon they do bled
Banyar teeth and mouth to red
---
Finally, my first poem with rhyme and meter, thanks to the challenge/inspiration from malin's poems.
What is the Tanaga?
"Poesia muy alta en tagalo, compuesta de siete silabas, y cuatro versos, llena de metafora."
"There is high poetry in Tagalog, composed of seven syllables and four verses with frequent metaphors."
From Vocabulario de la lengua tagala, trabaxado por varios sugetos doctos y graves....
How much you got ba 8 kyat?
Streets of Yangon they do bled
Banyar teeth and mouth to red
---
Finally, my first poem with rhyme and meter, thanks to the challenge/inspiration from malin's poems.
What is the Tanaga?
"Poesia muy alta en tagalo, compuesta de siete silabas, y cuatro versos, llena de metafora."
"There is high poetry in Tagalog, composed of seven syllables and four verses with frequent metaphors."
From Vocabulario de la lengua tagala, trabaxado por varios sugetos doctos y graves....
773 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by absinthe (Fats)