Submissions by arortiz73 (MTP)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
A modern shade of the Marquis de Sade, come to massacre the masquerade for the meta-god.
SELF POEM
Published
22nd May 2021 1:09pm
22nd May 2021 1:09pm
Retro Curse
Reductively,
retrospective of the speck
in the reflection there’s remorse
-for the rejection of the sections
that would wreck inflection’s course;
of course despite the right corrections,
there’s affliction at the source, there-
for looking back in first perspective,
fresh prospective now looks worse.
What is coarse must be cursed
...retro-retractively.
Before the sunset and circlejerk.
retrospective of the speck
in the reflection there’s remorse
-for the rejection of the sections
that would wreck inflection’s course;
of course despite the right corrections,
there’s affliction at the source, there-
for looking back in first perspective,
fresh prospective now looks worse.
What is coarse must be cursed
...retro-retractively.
Before the sunset and circlejerk.
#monsters
266 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
21st May 2021 4:50am
21st May 2021 4:50am
The Season Stream of Nutmeg
She's the season stream of nutmeg
scent to slake miasmafalls
that toxic-lake a dried monsoon
below the tethered jelly walls.
Listlessly, I fall like offal,
further laundering the visions
of the Comfort Inns that pall me
heated porphyritic fissions.
In this suite my flesh is turning
bated burn-of-soul for you
that I may fast-unforge my fingers
and escape the nothing through...
But the molten cast's enfolding,
burbling my shapeless goo
into a hemostatic plasma
which my asthma can't subdue.
...
scent to slake miasmafalls
that toxic-lake a dried monsoon
below the tethered jelly walls.
Listlessly, I fall like offal,
further laundering the visions
of the Comfort Inns that pall me
heated porphyritic fissions.
In this suite my flesh is turning
bated burn-of-soul for you
that I may fast-unforge my fingers
and escape the nothing through...
But the molten cast's enfolding,
burbling my shapeless goo
into a hemostatic plasma
which my asthma can't subdue.
...
#dark
#death
#scary
#monsters
#illness
219 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
14th May 2021 4:50am
14th May 2021 4:50am
Windfall
Knight is swollen.
The beast has won
a head crestfall
in foreign tongue.
The ears bleed on
then wrap the doll
in pollen bare and
cryptic scrawl. Un
done before the mid
night sun. All fair,
the beast has won.
The beast has won
a head crestfall
in foreign tongue.
The ears bleed on
then wrap the doll
in pollen bare and
cryptic scrawl. Un
done before the mid
night sun. All fair,
the beast has won.
#monsters
341 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th May 2021 4:19am
13th May 2021 4:19am
Corvid Canteen
Our brain's a complaining monstrosity
that strains from maintaining porosity.
A horror dungeon of grunge
horse-hung like a sponge,
and poor us, it's draino trained prosody.
Eating grains to gain in viscosity;
'meats stains and feigns luminosity.
Treats curmudgeonly grudge
with sweet bludgeonous nudge,
and sledges sludge in disposed adiposity.
More insane than slur-slang verb paucity,
eschews effete sprain error-plain travelocity.
If you're pungent some Mange come
plunge into strange and SARS-caw-
fuck a sardonic...
that strains from maintaining porosity.
A horror dungeon of grunge
horse-hung like a sponge,
and poor us, it's draino trained prosody.
Eating grains to gain in viscosity;
'meats stains and feigns luminosity.
Treats curmudgeonly grudge
with sweet bludgeonous nudge,
and sledges sludge in disposed adiposity.
More insane than slur-slang verb paucity,
eschews effete sprain error-plain travelocity.
If you're pungent some Mange come
plunge into strange and SARS-caw-
fuck a sardonic...
#monsters
280 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st Apr 2021 5:12pm
1st Apr 2021 5:12pm
Murphy's Opus # $!@?*
Never before
have I felt the good grace
of a warm weed-whacker
across my face;
whizzing and whirring
like licorice lace:
concerto cacophony
for the modern mace.
Given the fact
that it slipped my embrace,
who is the maestro:
the wire,
the whacker,
or my bleeding face?
As I face the music's
momentus monotony,
my bucolic briskets
become baptized botany;
blessed by
the benediction
of a beautiful elf
from high upon
the toolshed shelf.
It's Murphy's Opus ...
have I felt the good grace
of a warm weed-whacker
across my face;
whizzing and whirring
like licorice lace:
concerto cacophony
for the modern mace.
Given the fact
that it slipped my embrace,
who is the maestro:
the wire,
the whacker,
or my bleeding face?
As I face the music's
momentus monotony,
my bucolic briskets
become baptized botany;
blessed by
the benediction
of a beautiful elf
from high upon
the toolshed shelf.
It's Murphy's Opus ...
#funny
299 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
30th Mar 2021 3:43pm
30th Mar 2021 3:43pm
Pelotok
Selfie stick, hi! My name is Jennifer.
We can be best friends like FOREVER.
I could mount you on my mom's
exercise bike. And we can have zoom
parties and binge-watch the weather
with our smart watches altogether,
or whatever. I'm soo clever! LIKE!
(Eat that Peloton!) Ugh, Spring Break
#hashtag AtHomeAloneAgainInBed
because of Covid, remember? Now,
watch me take this silicone dick...
Tiktok, tiktok, tiktok, tik-. That one
goes out to you, #hashtag TREVOR.
Guess what!! My parents...
went on a trip like last...
We can be best friends like FOREVER.
I could mount you on my mom's
exercise bike. And we can have zoom
parties and binge-watch the weather
with our smart watches altogether,
or whatever. I'm soo clever! LIKE!
(Eat that Peloton!) Ugh, Spring Break
#hashtag AtHomeAloneAgainInBed
because of Covid, remember? Now,
watch me take this silicone dick...
Tiktok, tiktok, tiktok, tik-. That one
goes out to you, #hashtag TREVOR.
Guess what!! My parents...
went on a trip like last...
#monsters
382 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
17th Mar 2021 11:51pm
17th Mar 2021 11:51pm
Moth Ears
There are hidden radio waves that guide
the dead from their early graves and I'm
growing my moth ears tonight, Mother,
my heavy body steers your way.
The solitude from the TV tube has
electrified my inner-nude and rigorous
maggots wriggle and play. Moth ears grow;
magnets make my coffin sway.
Can you hear my broadcast, Mother? My
antenna sits erect today. I'm willfully
wrong, despite being dead so long and
my ears ridden with decay.
But the ground is sour... since it's the
witching hour, phantom maggots glow ...
the dead from their early graves and I'm
growing my moth ears tonight, Mother,
my heavy body steers your way.
The solitude from the TV tube has
electrified my inner-nude and rigorous
maggots wriggle and play. Moth ears grow;
magnets make my coffin sway.
Can you hear my broadcast, Mother? My
antenna sits erect today. I'm willfully
wrong, despite being dead so long and
my ears ridden with decay.
But the ground is sour... since it's the
witching hour, phantom maggots glow ...
#monsters
328 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Feb 2021 8:16pm
19th Feb 2021 8:16pm
Coup Du Journalism
The forecast for Cinderella
is a clean sheet of paper
with no lines,
so she can crumple it,
and watch the characters
collect in the contours.
Comments chime-in,
the concourse
crash-lands at her feet
without instruction
(which is fine)...
she doesn't need cliff notes
to deliver her special
brand of destruction.
Scissors and staples
go together like
cigarettes and wine.
Paperclips and Post-Its
write the cover of
the New York Times.
Dysfunction is her nature;
immaturity on a...
is a clean sheet of paper
with no lines,
so she can crumple it,
and watch the characters
collect in the contours.
Comments chime-in,
the concourse
crash-lands at her feet
without instruction
(which is fine)...
she doesn't need cliff notes
to deliver her special
brand of destruction.
Scissors and staples
go together like
cigarettes and wine.
Paperclips and Post-Its
write the cover of
the New York Times.
Dysfunction is her nature;
immaturity on a...
#monsters
281 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
8th Dec 2020 2:01pm
8th Dec 2020 2:01pm
The Season's Stream of Nutmeg
She's the season stream of nutmeg
scent to slake miasmafalls
that toxic-lake a dried monsoon
below the tethered jelly walls.
Listlessly, I fall like offal,
further laundering the visions
of the Comfort Inns that pall me
heated porphyritic fissions.
In this suite my flesh is turning
bated burn-of-soul for you
that I may fast-unforge my fingers
and escape the nothing through...
But the molten cast's enfolding,
burbling my shapeless goo
into a hemostatic plasma
which my asthma can't subdue.
...
scent to slake miasmafalls
that toxic-lake a dried monsoon
below the tethered jelly walls.
Listlessly, I fall like offal,
further laundering the visions
of the Comfort Inns that pall me
heated porphyritic fissions.
In this suite my flesh is turning
bated burn-of-soul for you
that I may fast-unforge my fingers
and escape the nothing through...
But the molten cast's enfolding,
burbling my shapeless goo
into a hemostatic plasma
which my asthma can't subdue.
...
#dark
#sex
#death
#hell
#desert
501 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Dec 2020 7:38pm
6th Dec 2020 7:38pm
Shhh! ...hark.
Shhh! ...hark-
Often it happens, and lots with low-T.,
when the shit gets excited 'n' fouls up the P.,
that fish once united, are now schools apart,
and captains of ships command shots in the dark.
While the sea urchins see, and sea casualties rise,
embarks a shit surgeon to clear up our eyes.
Prescripts are decided, and letters remarked,
but first we must cut off the fin of the shark.
I've seen this before with trout and with carp,
they tend to get fat, spawn dull, and fail sharp.
And as with all warning of swimming upstream,
any...
Often it happens, and lots with low-T.,
when the shit gets excited 'n' fouls up the P.,
that fish once united, are now schools apart,
and captains of ships command shots in the dark.
While the sea urchins see, and sea casualties rise,
embarks a shit surgeon to clear up our eyes.
Prescripts are decided, and letters remarked,
but first we must cut off the fin of the shark.
I've seen this before with trout and with carp,
they tend to get fat, spawn dull, and fail sharp.
And as with all warning of swimming upstream,
any...
#confusion
#zombies
441 reads
13 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th Oct 2020 2:28am
27th Oct 2020 2:28am
Cut Tracks (Septuple)
I cut her tracks to the Promised Land.
(MTP)
(MTP)
#monsters
377 reads
0 Comments
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