Submissions by goldenmyst
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction Goldenmyst, 55 years old, lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The poet and author believe, “Love blossoms even within the walls of a madhouse in hearts yearning to be free.”
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
Yesterday 2:10am
Yesterday 2:10am
Suffragette
He holds her hands, those of women,
who toiled in sweatshops, picked cotton
until they bled, then with blistered fingers
mopped and cooked, gathered water and wood,
and bandaged the wounds of the same soldiers
who pillaged her, rocked the cradle
from dusk to dawn,
who sold her body so her daughter
wouldn’t have to come home with bloody fingers
having worked at the textile mill into the night,
but wasn’t allowed to touch the ballot.
who toiled in sweatshops, picked cotton
until they bled, then with blistered fingers
mopped and cooked, gathered water and wood,
and bandaged the wounds of the same soldiers
who pillaged her, rocked the cradle
from dusk to dawn,
who sold her body so her daughter
wouldn’t have to come home with bloody fingers
having worked at the textile mill into the night,
but wasn’t allowed to touch the ballot.
#sadness
#women
#freedom #feminism
#freedom #feminism
20 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Nov 2021 2:12am
25th Nov 2021 2:12am
Love is Her Religion
Love is Her Religion
On the threshold of aerial religion
When her smile waves
in strawberry blonde language
That speaks in angel tongues
Like the iambic pentameter of sonnets
But spoken with eyes
Of arctic deep blue ice on fire
Whose aurora borealis curtain
Is the voice of a Goddess on the Buddhafield
Where duality throbs in her heart
Like her love for the Dalai Lama
That burns a path through the heaven of her soul
On the threshold of aerial religion
When her smile waves
in strawberry blonde language
That speaks in angel tongues
Like the iambic pentameter of sonnets
But spoken with eyes
Of arctic deep blue ice on fire
Whose aurora borealis curtain
Is the voice of a Goddess on the Buddhafield
Where duality throbs in her heart
Like her love for the Dalai Lama
That burns a path through the heaven of her soul
#love
#romantic
#Buddhist
#spiritual
#sonnet
38 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Nov 2021 2:06am
25th Nov 2021 2:06am
Auburn Goddess
Auburn Goddess
Auburn tresses falling in wavelets
Like sunset clouds on fire with love
That cloaks the green shirt of earth
Whose deep forest hue rolls in rivers
To meet the ivory shoulder of heaven
Where cleft of nature’s music abounds
That ascends into a Celtic beam of smile
The promise of her dawn made real
With finger drawn to sketch the universe
On oceanic eyes of love’s sweet dominion
A headscarf of nature’s burgundy
Auburn tresses falling in wavelets
Like sunset clouds on fire with love
That cloaks the green shirt of earth
Whose deep forest hue rolls in rivers
To meet the ivory shoulder of heaven
Where cleft of nature’s music abounds
That ascends into a Celtic beam of smile
The promise of her dawn made real
With finger drawn to sketch the universe
On oceanic eyes of love’s sweet dominion
A headscarf of nature’s burgundy
#love
#romantic
#beauty
#spiritual
#aging
28 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Nov 2021 6:28am
24th Nov 2021 6:28am
Her Achilles Soul
Her Achilles Soul
Trellis of tresses drapery of heaven
Falling into midnight arpeggios
Her rose held like an English pardon
For sins of red stains on yellow petals
Yet her eyes know your Achilles soul
And how to bring angels to earth
Where organic love finds its lyre
Trellis of tresses drapery of heaven
Falling into midnight arpeggios
Her rose held like an English pardon
For sins of red stains on yellow petals
Yet her eyes know your Achilles soul
And how to bring angels to earth
Where organic love finds its lyre
#romantic
#beauty
#spiritual #aging
#spiritual #aging
21 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
24th Nov 2021 5:00am
24th Nov 2021 5:00am
Electric Dreams
Electric Dreams
I was a virtual artist named Pygmalion who created a 3-D simulation named Galatea who was the ideal of womanhood. In fact, she was so beautiful that I fell madly in love with my own creation. But not to be left out was the AI cluster of love, Venus, who saw her own loveliness in Galatea’s form. In fact, Venus was so fractaled from seeing her sister in beauty that she created an android so that Galatea became a Nereid. But she couldn’t have kids so we could spend our summers in Florida instead of shelling out for tuition.
Venus’s present to me was also...
I was a virtual artist named Pygmalion who created a 3-D simulation named Galatea who was the ideal of womanhood. In fact, she was so beautiful that I fell madly in love with my own creation. But not to be left out was the AI cluster of love, Venus, who saw her own loveliness in Galatea’s form. In fact, Venus was so fractaled from seeing her sister in beauty that she created an android so that Galatea became a Nereid. But she couldn’t have kids so we could spend our summers in Florida instead of shelling out for tuition.
Venus’s present to me was also...
#marriage
#romantic
#technology #scifi
#technology #scifi
19 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
22nd Oct 2021 6:25am
22nd Oct 2021 6:25am
A Scribner’s Tale
A Scribner’s Tale
Brooke says, “John when you told me about those bitches from the previous agency who took the belt to you I cried for you. Just thinking of what that tough leather on your soft bottom must have felt like made me wince. John, know that I will never try to force you into a career mold by brute force.”
“Like their namesake flower, those belladonnas enticed me with beauty whose touch was poison.”
“What drove them to such cruel measures?”
“They felt like I discredited their program by turning down their job offers which were pathetic for a college grad...
Brooke says, “John when you told me about those bitches from the previous agency who took the belt to you I cried for you. Just thinking of what that tough leather on your soft bottom must have felt like made me wince. John, know that I will never try to force you into a career mold by brute force.”
“Like their namesake flower, those belladonnas enticed me with beauty whose touch was poison.”
“What drove them to such cruel measures?”
“They felt like I discredited their program by turning down their job offers which were pathetic for a college grad...
#love
#erotic
#spiritual
#LifeAsAWriter
#sensual
76 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
3rd Oct 2021 3:15am
3rd Oct 2021 3:15am
The Ladies Temperance Society
The Ladies Temperance Society
Yes, baseball is America’s religion. But without pretzels, it would be a sport without a soul. So when his eternal flame is reborn what better way to bring her umpire out of retirement than with a hand full of pretzels?
“Sir, may I have a word with you? I am with the ladies temperance society.”
When she espouses the virtues of temperance he says, “Honey, that salt pretzel floats my heart to the heights, but it goes with a beer!”
“Your salad may be tossed with red wine vinaigrette to satisfy your vice.”
“Not fond of salads...
Yes, baseball is America’s religion. But without pretzels, it would be a sport without a soul. So when his eternal flame is reborn what better way to bring her umpire out of retirement than with a hand full of pretzels?
“Sir, may I have a word with you? I am with the ladies temperance society.”
When she espouses the virtues of temperance he says, “Honey, that salt pretzel floats my heart to the heights, but it goes with a beer!”
“Your salad may be tossed with red wine vinaigrette to satisfy your vice.”
“Not fond of salads...
#women
#romantic
#rebirth #alcohol
#rebirth #alcohol
44 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd Oct 2021 00:43am
2nd Oct 2021 00:43am
Gobsmacked
Gobsmacked
Jill says, “I love this coffee shop. The espresso brings out my daring side. But it is all in my imagination.”
Jim replies, “Have you finished your paper for that ethnography class? From what you told me it sounds not just scholarly but also fun. The courtship rituals of Papua New Guinea sound like a riot.”
Jill says, “Well, incest isn’t permitted so the women invite men from other tribes. An old man helps the women choose their partners.”
Jim replies, “How do the women know their suitor isn’t a psycho...
Jill says, “I love this coffee shop. The espresso brings out my daring side. But it is all in my imagination.”
Jim replies, “Have you finished your paper for that ethnography class? From what you told me it sounds not just scholarly but also fun. The courtship rituals of Papua New Guinea sound like a riot.”
Jill says, “Well, incest isn’t permitted so the women invite men from other tribes. An old man helps the women choose their partners.”
Jim replies, “How do the women know their suitor isn’t a psycho...
#women
#erotic
#BDSM
#Halloween
#dialogue
81 reads
7 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
28th Sep 2021 4:57pm
28th Sep 2021 4:57pm
Garden Delight
Garden Delight
“Hey, this is a garden store. Are you sure you are in the right business?”
“Yes, I gave up the burrito dance with all its Freudian implications for a gig here with flowers and all the romantic vibes that we women love.”
“You are the prettiest flower in this garden center.”
“Before we get all mushy and nostalgic please tell me what you are looking for.”
“We’ll a purple haze bush would do me lovely. But I am not hard to please.”
“Seeing you here alive and breathing during this resurgence of Covid brings me...
“Hey, this is a garden store. Are you sure you are in the right business?”
“Yes, I gave up the burrito dance with all its Freudian implications for a gig here with flowers and all the romantic vibes that we women love.”
“You are the prettiest flower in this garden center.”
“Before we get all mushy and nostalgic please tell me what you are looking for.”
“We’ll a purple haze bush would do me lovely. But I am not hard to please.”
“Seeing you here alive and breathing during this resurgence of Covid brings me...
#romantic
#dreams
#nostalgia #sensual
#nostalgia #sensual
65 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2021 5:55am
23rd Sep 2021 5:55am
YMCA Holy Man
YMCA Holy Man
His TV blares resurrection blues
With phantoms of the YMCA opera
Words born of my naïveté:
“The suburbs are for the middle class.”
His removal of my anesthesia:
“Everything is for them.
You are doing some thinking on this old world.”
In his face the ghost of Frederick Douglas
An exorcist of cloudy propaganda
“Where would you want to be other than here?”
“In the mountains.”
On a morning like the last judgment
“Don’t you feel pleasure from anything?
Surely your bare feet on the...
His TV blares resurrection blues
With phantoms of the YMCA opera
Words born of my naïveté:
“The suburbs are for the middle class.”
His removal of my anesthesia:
“Everything is for them.
You are doing some thinking on this old world.”
In his face the ghost of Frederick Douglas
An exorcist of cloudy propaganda
“Where would you want to be other than here?”
“In the mountains.”
On a morning like the last judgment
“Don’t you feel pleasure from anything?
Surely your bare feet on the...
#spiritual
#homelessness
#learning
#poverty
#wisdom
54 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Sep 2021 4:00am
21st Sep 2021 4:00am
Ellis Island of the Mind
Ellis Island of the Mind
My wife was the bride of a thousand woes
who wore her blouse for modest memories
that gathered under cotton clouds
of smoke and tears.
Her body was a diary written
in sanguine ink to be legible
for the blind who read
the Braille of her heart
where the broken thorns
of her past are embedded
in her soul forever.
Her immigrant eyes dreamed in tears
of her bubbie who told her
about tea houses in the neighborhood
called Little Russia on the banks
of the Hudson River
where...
My wife was the bride of a thousand woes
who wore her blouse for modest memories
that gathered under cotton clouds
of smoke and tears.
Her body was a diary written
in sanguine ink to be legible
for the blind who read
the Braille of her heart
where the broken thorns
of her past are embedded
in her soul forever.
Her immigrant eyes dreamed in tears
of her bubbie who told her
about tea houses in the neighborhood
called Little Russia on the banks
of the Hudson River
where...
#wife
#family
#memories
#historical
#nostalgia
56 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Sep 2021 3:59am
18th Sep 2021 3:59am
Tenement Artist
Tenement Artist
Sunflower Kachina seeks a way to blossom
On seventh-floor tenement hall
Finds Hopi artist whose canvas
Is an elemental being
Whose earthen wind meanders
In the desert of gypsum light on fire
With the parade of a thousand torchbearers
On their way to a land beyond tears
Whose path gathers sunken treasures
Buried deep in the sands of clockwork
Where ancestral bones form antiquarian deeds
For excavators of lullabies
From remembered dreams
Sunflower Kachina seeks a way to blossom
On seventh-floor tenement hall
Finds Hopi artist whose canvas
Is an elemental being
Whose earthen wind meanders
In the desert of gypsum light on fire
With the parade of a thousand torchbearers
On their way to a land beyond tears
Whose path gathers sunken treasures
Buried deep in the sands of clockwork
Where ancestral bones form antiquarian deeds
For excavators of lullabies
From remembered dreams
#dreams
#art
#historical
#poverty
#surreal
52 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by goldenmyst
