Submissions by boy
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Sep 2017 6:55pm
14th Sep 2017 6:55pm
The Shower
Your hum
Through the pulse of hissing water
Whistled like that of a boiling tea kettle.
Naked & pale,
You entered the shower
& slid closed the fog-roiled door behind you.
You cleansed the day's sins
& watched them slither down the molded drain
To mingle with those of strangers - a foul concoction.
With a turn of your wrist,
You dammed the waterfall
& emerged red & newborn.
A clean canvas,
ready to be freshly stained by tomorrow's griefs.
Through the pulse of hissing water
Whistled like that of a boiling tea kettle.
Naked & pale,
You entered the shower
& slid closed the fog-roiled door behind you.
You cleansed the day's sins
& watched them slither down the molded drain
To mingle with those of strangers - a foul concoction.
With a turn of your wrist,
You dammed the waterfall
& emerged red & newborn.
A clean canvas,
ready to be freshly stained by tomorrow's griefs.
438 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Aug 2017 8:09pm
18th Aug 2017 8:09pm
La tristesse
spoken]
It's like the old Dutchman van Gogh said
After cocking and releasing the lever:
La tristesse durera toujours.
The sadness will last forever.
[sung]
Low-down tired & fed up with the life I'm livin'
But they say what makes a man's
The way he plays his hand,
& not the cards that he's been given.
But I'm low-down tired,
So long since I felt the fire,
I'm low-down tired & fed up with the life I'm livin'.
Feel like I'm fadin' & I spent so much time hopin',
Barin'...
It's like the old Dutchman van Gogh said
After cocking and releasing the lever:
La tristesse durera toujours.
The sadness will last forever.
[sung]
Low-down tired & fed up with the life I'm livin'
But they say what makes a man's
The way he plays his hand,
& not the cards that he's been given.
But I'm low-down tired,
So long since I felt the fire,
I'm low-down tired & fed up with the life I'm livin'.
Feel like I'm fadin' & I spent so much time hopin',
Barin'...
422 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
10th Dec 2015 7:13pm
10th Dec 2015 7:13pm
Eventual Strangers
When lovers part after fleeting romance,
Whether by will or circumstance,
There dies a short-lived unity -
The sting of missed opportunity.
And couples, too, feel the sting
That dissolution of a union may bring.
However, they experience it more acutely
And observe their heartache more astutely.
But when two who are bound by blood and intimacy
Are torn apart by infidelity
The sting rings hollow in the jilted heart
While the other plays the sorrowful part.
What twinge of rejection? What ephemerality?
What comfort to be had in...
Whether by will or circumstance,
There dies a short-lived unity -
The sting of missed opportunity.
And couples, too, feel the sting
That dissolution of a union may bring.
However, they experience it more acutely
And observe their heartache more astutely.
But when two who are bound by blood and intimacy
Are torn apart by infidelity
The sting rings hollow in the jilted heart
While the other plays the sorrowful part.
What twinge of rejection? What ephemerality?
What comfort to be had in...
517 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Dec 2015 2:21am
8th Dec 2015 2:21am
A Month in Hell
For one month I dwelt
Half in hell
& half in this, the living world.
Food turned to ash
In my mouth,
The milk & cream of heaven
Curdled in my throat;
And undernourished, I became gaunt & frail.
I choked on every
Inward breath and
Vomited upon every exhale;
And asphyxiated, my face was stained & pale.
Nature withered in my gaze
And fauna fled my path.
My father froze in the mountains
My mother drowned in the sea;
And alone, I knew arrant fear.
No blade could pierce
My pallid skin...
Half in hell
& half in this, the living world.
Food turned to ash
In my mouth,
The milk & cream of heaven
Curdled in my throat;
And undernourished, I became gaunt & frail.
I choked on every
Inward breath and
Vomited upon every exhale;
And asphyxiated, my face was stained & pale.
Nature withered in my gaze
And fauna fled my path.
My father froze in the mountains
My mother drowned in the sea;
And alone, I knew arrant fear.
No blade could pierce
My pallid skin...
564 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Oct 2015 4:51am
10th Oct 2015 4:51am
Haiku 1
"It's like Dylan said:
'All the tired horses in the sun' "
and then she trailed off...
'All the tired horses in the sun' "
and then she trailed off...
396 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Feb 2015 3:14am
14th Feb 2015 3:14am
Nihilism IS Exhausting
I've done nothing with the time I've been given
but break my back & bare my brain
screaming my words to heaven;
Broken back & barren brain
& still the song remains the same.
I used to write the pretty poems,
the words flew pure and free,
but now I write the terse, bleak ones;
it's all the same to me.
but break my back & bare my brain
screaming my words to heaven;
Broken back & barren brain
& still the song remains the same.
I used to write the pretty poems,
the words flew pure and free,
but now I write the terse, bleak ones;
it's all the same to me.
704 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Feb 2015 2:37am
14th Feb 2015 2:37am
#11
I can't be the only one who notices
the relentless imperialism of mold
as it overtakes the shower;
the fuzzy tile trenches vomit their cargo
in foul mandalas that pattern the wretched floor.
I wonder why the roses on my mattress
stink of stale sweat
instead of sweet summer
& I laugh when no one notices:
I've been wearing the same clothes for two weeks.
the relentless imperialism of mold
as it overtakes the shower;
the fuzzy tile trenches vomit their cargo
in foul mandalas that pattern the wretched floor.
I wonder why the roses on my mattress
stink of stale sweat
instead of sweet summer
& I laugh when no one notices:
I've been wearing the same clothes for two weeks.
573 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Feb 2015 3:34am
8th Feb 2015 3:34am
Write
I can taste the certain sadness
of Thomas' "Fern Hill,"
as the apple boughs groan and crack
& the fruit begins to wilt.
The prowess of Rimbaud, l'enfant terrible,
induces a blinding pang;
For I too am poisoned
by the Gaelic blood, the dreaded mauvais sang.
I am riddled with despair
each time I revisit Baudelaire,
And yet I find strange solace there,
where darkness laid bare.
In every poem,
a tiny truth is spun;
For every poet,
a dance with death is done.
Better now to stain...
of Thomas' "Fern Hill,"
as the apple boughs groan and crack
& the fruit begins to wilt.
The prowess of Rimbaud, l'enfant terrible,
induces a blinding pang;
For I too am poisoned
by the Gaelic blood, the dreaded mauvais sang.
I am riddled with despair
each time I revisit Baudelaire,
And yet I find strange solace there,
where darkness laid bare.
In every poem,
a tiny truth is spun;
For every poet,
a dance with death is done.
Better now to stain...
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#ArthurRimbaud #PowerOfWords
#ArthurRimbaud #PowerOfWords
660 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Jan 2015 2:34am
10th Jan 2015 2:34am
Bile City
Desperation is the slow drive from home,
away from ground that knows & hugs your feet
like a favorite pair of shoes.
The car shrieking raspy carbon intimidation
while Father pilots the explosion
& home winks into nothing
as you slide down the asphalt esophagus
into the vile BILE CITY.
away from ground that knows & hugs your feet
like a favorite pair of shoes.
The car shrieking raspy carbon intimidation
while Father pilots the explosion
& home winks into nothing
as you slide down the asphalt esophagus
into the vile BILE CITY.
579 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
9th Jan 2015 3:42am
9th Jan 2015 3:42am
1928 Anglican BCP
O Father,
Whose fart in heaven,
Hollowed the Milky Way!
Your kingdom of cum,
Your will is dumb;
Your girth hangs down from heaven!
Give us, tonight, a dirty bed
& give us our tryst passes
As we give out tryst passes to those who orgy with us.
Inject us with temptation, deliberately evil.
Behind is the kingdom,
For the plower and the whorey,
Forever and ever.
AMEN.
Whose fart in heaven,
Hollowed the Milky Way!
Your kingdom of cum,
Your will is dumb;
Your girth hangs down from heaven!
Give us, tonight, a dirty bed
& give us our tryst passes
As we give out tryst passes to those who orgy with us.
Inject us with temptation, deliberately evil.
Behind is the kingdom,
For the plower and the whorey,
Forever and ever.
AMEN.
583 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
6th Jan 2015 3:07am
6th Jan 2015 3:07am
A Hangman Still Finds Work
We're not as young
as we are bold, anymore.
I can't stand the thought of
growing old anymore;
Of half-dreamed dreams & soft regrets
& memories clear as silhouettes,
Of bent fingers stained by cigarettes,
tracing time's ancient minuets.
Impossible to forget:
we all will be forgotten.
Impossible to ignore:
we trade our fitted flesh for the bloated rotten.
I believe it is beautiful
& I find it strange:
we all know the white-knuckled grip of change-
the...
as we are bold, anymore.
I can't stand the thought of
growing old anymore;
Of half-dreamed dreams & soft regrets
& memories clear as silhouettes,
Of bent fingers stained by cigarettes,
tracing time's ancient minuets.
Impossible to forget:
we all will be forgotten.
Impossible to ignore:
we trade our fitted flesh for the bloated rotten.
I believe it is beautiful
& I find it strange:
we all know the white-knuckled grip of change-
the...
729 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by boy
