Submissions by blocat
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Comedy writer and also write serious stuff from the heart when I'm in the mood. Without humour life has no real balance and we take ourselves too seriously. I use humour as armour against the slings and arrows of outrageous circumstance. ;-)
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Dec 2020 00:18am
2nd Dec 2020 00:18am
Sunset
I climbed our hill today,
I felt you, smelt you,
Heard you whisper in the wind
‘I love you.’
The clouds blazed,
Red as the roses you so loved.
‘Lonely up here, isn’t it?’
I turned.
The old man was kneeling,
Patting his terrier,
His face bleak
‘I used to come up here with my dear wife’ he said.
‘Lonely isn’t a place’ I told him
‘Lonely lives in the soul.’
A tear leaked down his face,
He nodded, turned and left.
I wept...
I felt you, smelt you,
Heard you whisper in the wind
‘I love you.’
The clouds blazed,
Red as the roses you so loved.
‘Lonely up here, isn’t it?’
I turned.
The old man was kneeling,
Patting his terrier,
His face bleak
‘I used to come up here with my dear wife’ he said.
‘Lonely isn’t a place’ I told him
‘Lonely lives in the soul.’
A tear leaked down his face,
He nodded, turned and left.
I wept...
#love
314 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
6th Nov 2020 00:29am
6th Nov 2020 00:29am
Respectable People
Councillor Septimius Snodgrass, Lord Mayor of Brazdon, and staunch church warden surveyed his Sunday lunch table with a self-satisfied sigh. Both his children had done well for themselves as he, too, had done.
‘How’s the world of the PR executive coming along Amanda?’ he asked his pretty daughter, ‘still making a fortune, are we?’
Amanda smiled demurely ‘hardly a fortune, dad, but I’m getting by.’
‘What? A twenty-five-year-old with her own business, flat and a new car? I’d say you were doing handsomely.’
Amanda preened.
‘Material things...
‘How’s the world of the PR executive coming along Amanda?’ he asked his pretty daughter, ‘still making a fortune, are we?’
Amanda smiled demurely ‘hardly a fortune, dad, but I’m getting by.’
‘What? A twenty-five-year-old with her own business, flat and a new car? I’d say you were doing handsomely.’
Amanda preened.
‘Material things...
#sex
#sensual
#temptation #passion
#temptation #passion
319 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
18th Sep 2020 10:43am
18th Sep 2020 10:43am
What's in a Name?
His cutthroat razor gleamed ‘you raped and beat my mother, Johnson.’ Then he leapt, slashing. I sidestepped, kicking his groin.
The razor at his neck I asked, ‘how old are you?’
‘Twenty, bastard.’
‘I left Eileen Brady twenty-one years ago. My name's Johnstone.’
That’s how I first met my son.
The razor at his neck I asked, ‘how old are you?’
‘Twenty, bastard.’
‘I left Eileen Brady twenty-one years ago. My name's Johnstone.’
That’s how I first met my son.
#anger
306 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd May 2020 10:21am
2nd May 2020 10:21am
Diary of Death
June 7th 2012
At last, at long last, I have the bastard where I want him. Of course, I had to be subtle, I had to let him think that this remote island honeymoon was his idea. Poor fool, he doesn’t know I even suspect him. He’s had three rich wives all of whom have died in tragic circumstances so now he’s very wealthy. Wealthy but greedy. He won’t strike until at least the second week because our joint bank account won’t come into effect until then and he won’t want any complications.
June 8th:
We spent all morning on our sun loungers on the veranda drinking iced tea and...
At last, at long last, I have the bastard where I want him. Of course, I had to be subtle, I had to let him think that this remote island honeymoon was his idea. Poor fool, he doesn’t know I even suspect him. He’s had three rich wives all of whom have died in tragic circumstances so now he’s very wealthy. Wealthy but greedy. He won’t strike until at least the second week because our joint bank account won’t come into effect until then and he won’t want any complications.
June 8th:
We spent all morning on our sun loungers on the veranda drinking iced tea and...
#confessional
512 reads
2 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
11th Apr 2020 8:18pm
11th Apr 2020 8:18pm
Rage
I need you to write, be it deep or trite
No ordinary folk on this page
So, spill your guts and rage, rage
As said the sage,
Against the dying of the light
Kick butts, spill your guts
I don’t fuckin’ care
Just don’t stand and stare
I wanna be reeling from your feeling
Kick me hard in the nuts,
I want to hear your authentic voice
Give me the choice
To listen or to laugh
Or to be told to fuck off
You make your poetic, prophetic noise
For I’m conceding my heart is bleeding
Torn by the scorn
Of...
No ordinary folk on this page
So, spill your guts and rage, rage
As said the sage,
Against the dying of the light
Kick butts, spill your guts
I don’t fuckin’ care
Just don’t stand and stare
I wanna be reeling from your feeling
Kick me hard in the nuts,
I want to hear your authentic voice
Give me the choice
To listen or to laugh
Or to be told to fuck off
You make your poetic, prophetic noise
For I’m conceding my heart is bleeding
Torn by the scorn
Of...
#emotions
660 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd Jan 2020 11:59am
2nd Jan 2020 11:59am
Cold Turkey
I didn’t realise what a manipulative, selfish old cow my mother was until I was in my late teens. That’s why I’m always upset when people compare me to her.
We used to go to Grandma’s to stay over Christmas. On arrival, mother would greet everyone like long lost friends, air-kissing her way around the family and gushing about how much she’d missed them even though she never mentioned them from one year ‘til the next. Immediately after this charade, she’d go to her room claiming she had a headache. This left me and dad downstairs to help with peeling a mountain of potatoes and Brussels...
We used to go to Grandma’s to stay over Christmas. On arrival, mother would greet everyone like long lost friends, air-kissing her way around the family and gushing about how much she’d missed them even though she never mentioned them from one year ‘til the next. Immediately after this charade, she’d go to her room claiming she had a headache. This left me and dad downstairs to help with peeling a mountain of potatoes and Brussels...
#misunderstood
651 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Dec 2019 1:02am
15th Dec 2019 1:02am
Hope Springs Eternal
I’ve got a sexy neighbour she lives across the street
She is so fit and curvy, big tits and a smile so sweet
She came to see me Friday, she’d been working hard all day
Said she was feeling horny and wanted some fun play
I felt my breath get heavy; my collar getting hot
My Adam's apple bobbing, I nearly lost the plot
She flashed her mile-deep cleavage before my lustful eyes
Was this the day I’d dreamed about? I started to arise
I can only trust an older man, someone good like you
I’ve checked out all the neighbours, and only you...
She is so fit and curvy, big tits and a smile so sweet
She came to see me Friday, she’d been working hard all day
Said she was feeling horny and wanted some fun play
I felt my breath get heavy; my collar getting hot
My Adam's apple bobbing, I nearly lost the plot
She flashed her mile-deep cleavage before my lustful eyes
Was this the day I’d dreamed about? I started to arise
I can only trust an older man, someone good like you
I’ve checked out all the neighbours, and only you...
#funny
487 reads
8 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
16th Nov 2019 11:50pm
16th Nov 2019 11:50pm
A Stubborn Woman
She’s old, it’s cold, her house smells of mould
No one visits any more, knocks her door
She shivers as the postman delivers
Yet another bill, she feels the chill
Too proud to beg for help. Old school fool?
Lives mostly in the dark, but years ago, at Bletchley Park
Her workload breaking code
Defeated the enemies of her nation
Now suffers degradation
Stubborn, uncommunicative, won’t change her ways
The Social Services report says
She lives, now, within her head, remembering Fred
The dashing young airman she never wed
Incinerated...
No one visits any more, knocks her door
She shivers as the postman delivers
Yet another bill, she feels the chill
Too proud to beg for help. Old school fool?
Lives mostly in the dark, but years ago, at Bletchley Park
Her workload breaking code
Defeated the enemies of her nation
Now suffers degradation
Stubborn, uncommunicative, won’t change her ways
The Social Services report says
She lives, now, within her head, remembering Fred
The dashing young airman she never wed
Incinerated...
#hope
#courage
#inspirational
#admiration
#respect
531 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
10th Oct 2019 1:54pm
10th Oct 2019 1:54pm
The Cougar's Claws
Her eyes widened, and a wicked smile played briefly on her full lips. Well now, she thought, who would have believed it? Old stick-in-the-mud and his missus deviating from their routine. She watched as Peter’s parents boarded the King’s Lynne train. It was only Thursday; they usually went on Friday. Yes, oh yes, this was indeed a golden opportunity, the boy would be alone. She felt herself beginning to dampen her underwear in anticipation of the pleasure to come.
Returning quickly to her car, Amelia retrieved her binoculars, she could hardly believe her luck. Her heartbeat quickened as...
Returning quickly to her car, Amelia retrieved her binoculars, she could hardly believe her luck. Her heartbeat quickened as...
#fiction
524 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
27th Aug 2019 1:41am
27th Aug 2019 1:41am
The Oneness
He was halfway through his evening meditation when the Oneness came. A great vibration arose deep within him. It started gently at first, then gradually grew in intensity, until it filled every fibre of his being with vibrancy. The deepest feeling of peace he’d ever known subsumed him. His breath, almost imperceptibly shallow, disappeared altogether in the stillness.
Hello Adsach. It was not an audible voice but the thought of another being.
Speech was beyond him; he knew what he was experiencing was real. Who are you? he thought,
We have no need of individual names. If...
Hello Adsach. It was not an audible voice but the thought of another being.
Speech was beyond him; he knew what he was experiencing was real. Who are you? he thought,
We have no need of individual names. If...
#TruthOfLife
571 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Aug 2019 11:18pm
21st Aug 2019 11:18pm
The Buggeration Factor
Have you noticed that when you’re rushed
And for time you are quite pushed
You pray that your bus is running late
But, no, it’s gone, and you must wait
When leaving home in plenty time
The weather’s great, all looks fine
The bloody bus is late again
And, oh, my, god! It starts to rain
Your umbrella left behind
And no shelter can you find
Standing in the foul deluge
Howling gale and no refuge
Cruel fate has struck again
Leaving you to curse in vain
No matter what you try to do
Buggeration’s got it in...
And for time you are quite pushed
You pray that your bus is running late
But, no, it’s gone, and you must wait
When leaving home in plenty time
The weather’s great, all looks fine
The bloody bus is late again
And, oh, my, god! It starts to rain
Your umbrella left behind
And no shelter can you find
Standing in the foul deluge
Howling gale and no refuge
Cruel fate has struck again
Leaving you to curse in vain
No matter what you try to do
Buggeration’s got it in...
#admiration
489 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by blocat
