Submissions by cooky
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Jun 2013 8:45pm
18th Jun 2013 8:45pm
A Snipers view of the Great War
Fly on hand
born of comrade’s corpse,
the only memory of what has gone before.
The fleas that hide,
slowly drinking my soul,
a world where freedom lies
snug in the recess of my body,
a giving god to them.
And as I curse the itch with embers burn
I peer through the sight once more
waiting for my foe.
For country has made an avenging god
To see the eyes before they close,
knowing that darkness has come.
This tribute of victory
Is mine alone to dream
Though sleep is my victim’s vengeance,
a place where...
born of comrade’s corpse,
the only memory of what has gone before.
The fleas that hide,
slowly drinking my soul,
a world where freedom lies
snug in the recess of my body,
a giving god to them.
And as I curse the itch with embers burn
I peer through the sight once more
waiting for my foe.
For country has made an avenging god
To see the eyes before they close,
knowing that darkness has come.
This tribute of victory
Is mine alone to dream
Though sleep is my victim’s vengeance,
a place where...
#war
#PTSD
619 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
18th Jun 2013 8:44pm
18th Jun 2013 8:44pm
A flawed prophet
I am a successful surgeon
but In reality I am a failure.
For I pay for the company of life.
I pay to be human,
pay for the understanding
that my patients receive for free.
I am the geek in the corner
the wall paper that eyes don’t see.
My bond is with god
for he shows me his creation
and I must correct his mistakes.
Vanity is to say such things
but the sick will come to my door.
They gamble that I could be a saviour
for fear is anointed by hope.
The good and the bad
will sell their convictions.
My hand can...
but In reality I am a failure.
For I pay for the company of life.
I pay to be human,
pay for the understanding
that my patients receive for free.
I am the geek in the corner
the wall paper that eyes don’t see.
My bond is with god
for he shows me his creation
and I must correct his mistakes.
Vanity is to say such things
but the sick will come to my door.
They gamble that I could be a saviour
for fear is anointed by hope.
The good and the bad
will sell their convictions.
My hand can...
656 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
7th Jun 2013 10:25am
7th Jun 2013 10:25am
Soldiers Thoughts
(World War One)
Memory is our contribution to life
and sleep the eternal dream.
This voice of youth has one last breath
and we give it to you.
My comrade’s corpse will be forgotten
like the ash from generals cigar.
Our blood will pour to fill their ambitions,
So sweet is the vintage they consume
at Christ’s table this night.
The claret of soldier boys
will oil the guns this day,
and prayers will be sent
In the glory of our annihilation.
The lines on the map grow restless.
The horses all know their fate,
for...
Memory is our contribution to life
and sleep the eternal dream.
This voice of youth has one last breath
and we give it to you.
My comrade’s corpse will be forgotten
like the ash from generals cigar.
Our blood will pour to fill their ambitions,
So sweet is the vintage they consume
at Christ’s table this night.
The claret of soldier boys
will oil the guns this day,
and prayers will be sent
In the glory of our annihilation.
The lines on the map grow restless.
The horses all know their fate,
for...
624 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
21st Apr 2013 7:05pm
21st Apr 2013 7:05pm
After the Battle
I felt his breath leave the battle field
as bayonet pierced his heart.
The surprise of death lay in his eyes
his blood poured warmth upon my hands,
anointing my soul with his.
His flow of life will find the earth
to merge with victims past
and another ghost will follow me,
shouting for my demise.
This lowly man who took the shilling
as Judas took his thirty,
now looks across this no man’s land
for this corruption belongs to me.
Beneath this mud
lies the dreams of men
the commandments of life,
now lost within these...
as bayonet pierced his heart.
The surprise of death lay in his eyes
his blood poured warmth upon my hands,
anointing my soul with his.
His flow of life will find the earth
to merge with victims past
and another ghost will follow me,
shouting for my demise.
This lowly man who took the shilling
as Judas took his thirty,
now looks across this no man’s land
for this corruption belongs to me.
Beneath this mud
lies the dreams of men
the commandments of life,
now lost within these...
804 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Apr 2013 6:58pm
21st Apr 2013 6:58pm
The Rose
This immortal rose that lovers seek
will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak
for her presence will be on every corner.
And those who confuse that heady perfume
with a lust for love,
will only find winter in an unknown heart
for beauty was always a fragile thing.
We who have seen this gift from above
will always get burned by its light.
The poet and the painter
have perfumed our existence
with loves testimony to this.
The pain and tears fall on empty shield
for love will break your heart
but when we reach out to hold the...
will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak
for her presence will be on every corner.
And those who confuse that heady perfume
with a lust for love,
will only find winter in an unknown heart
for beauty was always a fragile thing.
We who have seen this gift from above
will always get burned by its light.
The poet and the painter
have perfumed our existence
with loves testimony to this.
The pain and tears fall on empty shield
for love will break your heart
but when we reach out to hold the...
852 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Apr 2013 6:32pm
20th Apr 2013 6:32pm
The Five Pillars of Poetry
Imagination is the river
that guides the quill.
Dreams the sailing ship
that unleashes the voyage
through the pages of a poets mind.
To write is to find
the meaning of love.
Where beauty opens the gate,
to a never ending yellow brick road
Of human emotion.
For that is what we seek.
The pen can create gods
and mortal frailty.
Sunshine is the span of life,
darkness is forever
and within these letters
we find immortality.
Beauty is found in pain
hope is an emerald sea,
envy comes from Oscar’s words
and...
that guides the quill.
Dreams the sailing ship
that unleashes the voyage
through the pages of a poets mind.
To write is to find
the meaning of love.
Where beauty opens the gate,
to a never ending yellow brick road
Of human emotion.
For that is what we seek.
The pen can create gods
and mortal frailty.
Sunshine is the span of life,
darkness is forever
and within these letters
we find immortality.
Beauty is found in pain
hope is an emerald sea,
envy comes from Oscar’s words
and...
635 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
20th Apr 2013 6:28pm
20th Apr 2013 6:28pm
Epitaph of the Dragon
Chained to these walls of despair
I was condemned by a Judas race.
Assassins’ wait on every corner
hiding in the lights of man
looking for my face.
To be last of your species is a lonely place
in loneliness everyone’s your enemy,
my existence violates this earth.
I am demonised by children not yet born
for I am Auschwitz I am war,
I am the monster behind your door.
Cremation is ordained upon my soul
the future dies when cities burn.
Life gives way to extinction
but the last rights give way to destiny
for the dragon has one...
I was condemned by a Judas race.
Assassins’ wait on every corner
hiding in the lights of man
looking for my face.
To be last of your species is a lonely place
in loneliness everyone’s your enemy,
my existence violates this earth.
I am demonised by children not yet born
for I am Auschwitz I am war,
I am the monster behind your door.
Cremation is ordained upon my soul
the future dies when cities burn.
Life gives way to extinction
but the last rights give way to destiny
for the dragon has one...
768 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Apr 2013 8:53pm
19th Apr 2013 8:53pm
The Bible according To Netto
In these isles of cheap illusion
the kids run free,
screaming for the sugar of childhood.
While their mother walks on
down wine bottle lane,
to escape life’s demons
for one more day.
The shells of beings look
but do not see.
Part time lives
in worn out trainers
minimum wage to stretch,
their withered faces
all smart price packed,
on another out of date trolley.
Buy one get one free,
a horse burger is a burger
a person is a person.
Each hiding themselves from the world,
Incognito in a world of poverty.
...
the kids run free,
screaming for the sugar of childhood.
While their mother walks on
down wine bottle lane,
to escape life’s demons
for one more day.
The shells of beings look
but do not see.
Part time lives
in worn out trainers
minimum wage to stretch,
their withered faces
all smart price packed,
on another out of date trolley.
Buy one get one free,
a horse burger is a burger
a person is a person.
Each hiding themselves from the world,
Incognito in a world of poverty.
...
712 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Apr 2013 8:50pm
19th Apr 2013 8:50pm
The Thatcher Years
No poppies for madam
that privilege is reserved
for the common man.
Drape her coffin with Union jack
though there is no union for me.
Your guard of honour is expecting you,
made from the empty shell of boys
who left their dreams on Falkland hill.
This life that you once held
will be remembered .
The miner’s bones will see your corpse
for death came to them with broken heart,
their blood was washed away
and community was lost of hope
In the weeping’s of a crying pit.
The taste of rabbit stew
still stays upon my...
that privilege is reserved
for the common man.
Drape her coffin with Union jack
though there is no union for me.
Your guard of honour is expecting you,
made from the empty shell of boys
who left their dreams on Falkland hill.
This life that you once held
will be remembered .
The miner’s bones will see your corpse
for death came to them with broken heart,
their blood was washed away
and community was lost of hope
In the weeping’s of a crying pit.
The taste of rabbit stew
still stays upon my...
752 reads
2 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
1st Jul 2012 12:29pm
1st Jul 2012 12:29pm
Who was lizzie Van syl?
A small girl stands amongst the flowers of Bloemfontein
surrounded by the aurora of yellow tulips
for she belongs to the angel’s now.
Her finger Points at the carpets of flowers
a reminder of lives cut short.
The glint from the sun hides her fallen friends
and a faint wind rustles the petals
forming strange whispers, the voice of many.
A wind that grows stronger everyday
and the voices gather,
speaking in tongues from around the globe.
A cry for help that falls on deaf ears,
to destroy a deadly seed that once was planted here....
surrounded by the aurora of yellow tulips
for she belongs to the angel’s now.
Her finger Points at the carpets of flowers
a reminder of lives cut short.
The glint from the sun hides her fallen friends
and a faint wind rustles the petals
forming strange whispers, the voice of many.
A wind that grows stronger everyday
and the voices gather,
speaking in tongues from around the globe.
A cry for help that falls on deaf ears,
to destroy a deadly seed that once was planted here....
745 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Jun 2012 9:25am
15th Jun 2012 9:25am
A Snipers view of the Great War
Fly on hand
born of comrade’s corpse,
the only memory of what has gone before.
The fleas that hide,
slowly drinking my soul,
a world where freedom lies
snug in the recess of my body,
a giving god to them.
And as I curse the itch with embers burn
I peer through the sight once more
waiting for my foe.
For country has made an avenging god
To see the eyes before they close,
knowing that darkness has come.
This tribute of victory
Is mine alone to dream
Though sleep is my victim’s vengeance,
a place where...
born of comrade’s corpse,
the only memory of what has gone before.
The fleas that hide,
slowly drinking my soul,
a world where freedom lies
snug in the recess of my body,
a giving god to them.
And as I curse the itch with embers burn
I peer through the sight once more
waiting for my foe.
For country has made an avenging god
To see the eyes before they close,
knowing that darkness has come.
This tribute of victory
Is mine alone to dream
Though sleep is my victim’s vengeance,
a place where...
612 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
4th Jun 2012 1:24pm
4th Jun 2012 1:24pm
A Soldiers Tale
The trembling hand
the twitching face.
A desperate draw on cigarette
looking for courage in a cordite breath.
Huddled in mud protected by
slime filled walls,
these walls of Jericho shake
crumbling into my fear.
My tomb beckons another inspection.
Buried alive under corrupted soil,
a land lords greeting from the
putrid remains of the tenants before.
Did Mother give birth to me for this?
The screams of the howitzer,
Marching in footsteps, stamping it’s wrath,
for fear of the dead rising.
And we who...
the twitching face.
A desperate draw on cigarette
looking for courage in a cordite breath.
Huddled in mud protected by
slime filled walls,
these walls of Jericho shake
crumbling into my fear.
My tomb beckons another inspection.
Buried alive under corrupted soil,
a land lords greeting from the
putrid remains of the tenants before.
Did Mother give birth to me for this?
The screams of the howitzer,
Marching in footsteps, stamping it’s wrath,
for fear of the dead rising.
And we who...
753 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by cooky
