Submissions by byeantigone
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Very New poet (the capitalization emphasizes that).
SELF POEM
Published
1st Sep 2013 6:54am
1st Sep 2013 6:54am
Eyes Half Closed
light dances between partitions
and the fan is whirring beside me
the water is as still as it can be
and the breeze is cool but light
unfinished bread
and a cup half empty
The bed is slept in, undone
and a thin film of dust covers the ground
dark trees sway gently in the distance
The busy streets and monochrome passer bys
are my company
and I am all alone
and the fan is whirring beside me
the water is as still as it can be
and the breeze is cool but light
unfinished bread
and a cup half empty
The bed is slept in, undone
and a thin film of dust covers the ground
dark trees sway gently in the distance
The busy streets and monochrome passer bys
are my company
and I am all alone
518 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th Aug 2013 4:34am
20th Aug 2013 4:34am
Cellophane Wings
I dart right left right
towards the bright light
until spots beneath my eyes
form
Drawn towards your disgust
and the heat of your 22 kilowatt
lamp light at the corner
of the street
Air is damp cold but sweaty
I see everything
and their mother and their sister
and their brother
and father
and I head towards the light
Bright and warm
I'm near and cellophane wings
erratic against the wind
and I'm almost there
and I touch it
I touch it
and I die
towards the bright light
until spots beneath my eyes
form
Drawn towards your disgust
and the heat of your 22 kilowatt
lamp light at the corner
of the street
Air is damp cold but sweaty
I see everything
and their mother and their sister
and their brother
and father
and I head towards the light
Bright and warm
I'm near and cellophane wings
erratic against the wind
and I'm almost there
and I touch it
I touch it
and I die
403 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Apr 2013 11:32am
3rd Apr 2013 11:32am
Stationary
It's dark out and we've no place to go,
But to sit, keep sitting, in this chair,
Leather black, smooth and shiny,
Type, type, type until fingers are dull,
Write, write, write until the ink runs out,
And the breath leaves your lungs,
And the pump leaves your heart,
It's late and it's dusk and the sun is setting
And we've nowhere else to go but here.
But to sit, keep sitting, in this chair,
Leather black, smooth and shiny,
Type, type, type until fingers are dull,
Write, write, write until the ink runs out,
And the breath leaves your lungs,
And the pump leaves your heart,
It's late and it's dusk and the sun is setting
And we've nowhere else to go but here.
520 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
5th Mar 2013 12:50pm
5th Mar 2013 12:50pm
Daily Deprecation
You close your eyes
and try to centre yourself
but you can't
it won't work
it never does
You bite your tongue
and it bleeds through
your teeth
and you fight the
quick rise
of the sour bitter
taste of bile
You claw at yourself
trying to see
whether your skin
will rip off
or shed
as your nails
dig into flesh
And the showers you take
are on the highest
temperature setting
you're sweating
but you aren't melting
yet
You palm your eyes
so hard ...
and try to centre yourself
but you can't
it won't work
it never does
You bite your tongue
and it bleeds through
your teeth
and you fight the
quick rise
of the sour bitter
taste of bile
You claw at yourself
trying to see
whether your skin
will rip off
or shed
as your nails
dig into flesh
And the showers you take
are on the highest
temperature setting
you're sweating
but you aren't melting
yet
You palm your eyes
so hard ...
515 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2013 4:13am
3rd Mar 2013 4:13am
The Cynic without his Revolutionary
Forgive my lack of eloquence,
I am no orator.
In fact, I am one of
that dying breed
of starved artists.
We own nothing but the
watery bogs
beneath our eyes,
world worn shoulders
and hands shaking,
gripping the bottle
for dear life.
Look into our pale,
dull, transparent eyes
that give way to the
cynic behind.
We speak in colour
shapes, shadows, depth,
with forked tongues
and poison breath,
stone hearts buried
in the yard next door.
No, we no longer have them.
Just as our...
I am no orator.
In fact, I am one of
that dying breed
of starved artists.
We own nothing but the
watery bogs
beneath our eyes,
world worn shoulders
and hands shaking,
gripping the bottle
for dear life.
Look into our pale,
dull, transparent eyes
that give way to the
cynic behind.
We speak in colour
shapes, shadows, depth,
with forked tongues
and poison breath,
stone hearts buried
in the yard next door.
No, we no longer have them.
Just as our...
492 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th Feb 2013 12:04pm
26th Feb 2013 12:04pm
Pluto, I am Earth
Your face is a constellation,
an installation of dots and colours;
Do hot, flaming meteors
burn, leave ashes on your skin?
Like the universe,
you are infinite.
I can only hope to climb
that mountain that leads
to hoping to be
affiliated with you.
'Tis a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.
Unlike so many others
before me, I will not
say your eyes are like the stars.
Rather, they are like
the dark sky we look at
every night.
I tread so carefully
as I gaze,
careful as to not get sucked
deep...
an installation of dots and colours;
Do hot, flaming meteors
burn, leave ashes on your skin?
Like the universe,
you are infinite.
I can only hope to climb
that mountain that leads
to hoping to be
affiliated with you.
'Tis a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.
Unlike so many others
before me, I will not
say your eyes are like the stars.
Rather, they are like
the dark sky we look at
every night.
I tread so carefully
as I gaze,
careful as to not get sucked
deep...
598 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Feb 2013 4:47am
24th Feb 2013 4:47am
Daily Monotony
One, two, three, four (tic)
Graph one, two, three (toc)
White noise and twelve black dots
swarm behind my eyes (tic)
Graph three, Graph four,
Graph (toc) I don't even know anymore (tic)
My neurons come to an abrupt (tic)
stop and the silence screams (toc)
Everything goes (tic) dark
Lines of sine and (toc) cosine
and dots (tic) and blots of
dark (toc) figures
Gentle thump thump thumping (toc)
of the bass (tic) of the (toc)
radio and I (tic) grasp
the (tic) handle (toc)
of (tic) my (toc) coffee
(tic)
I open my eyes...
Graph one, two, three (toc)
White noise and twelve black dots
swarm behind my eyes (tic)
Graph three, Graph four,
Graph (toc) I don't even know anymore (tic)
My neurons come to an abrupt (tic)
stop and the silence screams (toc)
Everything goes (tic) dark
Lines of sine and (toc) cosine
and dots (tic) and blots of
dark (toc) figures
Gentle thump thump thumping (toc)
of the bass (tic) of the (toc)
radio and I (tic) grasp
the (tic) handle (toc)
of (tic) my (toc) coffee
(tic)
I open my eyes...
517 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2013 2:15am
23rd Feb 2013 2:15am
We All Fall Down
Stuck in this dark pit
A sad excuse for a town
Sticky corners and dark streets
Littered with dreadful trash
And dreary people
The townsmen are puppets
The townsmen are weak
The townsmen will never be free
Petty problems and household drama of
The copious amounts of household women
And men
Ambitious as we are,
We will not be able to do anything
Your optimism will only die here
You ideals will only be stumped
The fire ablaze
Drowned by the plastic faces
And useless laws
Do not...
A sad excuse for a town
Sticky corners and dark streets
Littered with dreadful trash
And dreary people
The townsmen are puppets
The townsmen are weak
The townsmen will never be free
Petty problems and household drama of
The copious amounts of household women
And men
Ambitious as we are,
We will not be able to do anything
Your optimism will only die here
You ideals will only be stumped
The fire ablaze
Drowned by the plastic faces
And useless laws
Do not...
587 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Feb 2013 7:04am
17th Feb 2013 7:04am
Of Epitomes and Foundations
I was born to be this.
The same psychedelic rock, pop punk shit
blaring in my ear.
I sigh inwardly and let my ears bleed.
I was born to be this.
Cynicism diffusing from person-air-person,
Self-hate catered by hatred of others,
Has it ever dawned to you that things could be different?
They haunt your mind because you let them
and your acceptance of the fact pushes toward us -me.
People aren't angels, I concur,
But they aren't wholly devils either.
That's why they are called humans, are they not?
I was born to be this ...
The same psychedelic rock, pop punk shit
blaring in my ear.
I sigh inwardly and let my ears bleed.
I was born to be this.
Cynicism diffusing from person-air-person,
Self-hate catered by hatred of others,
Has it ever dawned to you that things could be different?
They haunt your mind because you let them
and your acceptance of the fact pushes toward us -me.
People aren't angels, I concur,
But they aren't wholly devils either.
That's why they are called humans, are they not?
I was born to be this ...
607 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Feb 2013 5:56am
17th Feb 2013 5:56am
'Menteng' Under the February Rain
I want to paint the crying clouds of your dreary streets;
Motted black and orange swimming in the dark alleyways and roads.
Pitter patter ascends to disastrous white noise,
irritating the most Zen of these
pseudo-intellectuals that linger with the stink of cigarettes and expensive coffees.
Thick, rimmed, glasses caked with mud and water droplets fall silently,
While the mouth screams, complains, incompetence and discontent, unmoving.
Feet plastered to the soles of expensive faux leather shoes
And heart clenching at a thousand unnecessary, pointless...
Motted black and orange swimming in the dark alleyways and roads.
Pitter patter ascends to disastrous white noise,
irritating the most Zen of these
pseudo-intellectuals that linger with the stink of cigarettes and expensive coffees.
Thick, rimmed, glasses caked with mud and water droplets fall silently,
While the mouth screams, complains, incompetence and discontent, unmoving.
Feet plastered to the soles of expensive faux leather shoes
And heart clenching at a thousand unnecessary, pointless...
681 reads
4 Comments
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